“Oh?”
Kartek squeezed her jewel, taking comfort in its familiar warmth as its heat swirled about in her hand. “I am saddened by Gahiji’s death, of course, but . . . I fear I am even more sorry that I have lost the betrothal itself.”
“I don’t understand.”
Kartek turned to him. “My betrothal to Gahiji was the last thing my parents gave me before their deaths. That they had chosen a man for me before they died was a gift in itself. I knew the kingdom would have a good emeeri, and that through the marriage, our alliance with the ten tribes would benefit the entire region. But this enchantress . . . whoever she is, has rendered vain all those wise decisions and dreams in a single swoop.” She took a shaky breath. “I have no war experience, and not even an emeeri on the horizon to help me rule.”
Kartek felt a hand on her shoulder, and she willed herself not to shed the tears that wanted so much to come. Instead, she closed her eyes and pretended it was her father’s hand there to comfort her instead.
“I wish I could offer comfort,” he said quietly. “All I can say is that the Maker has a hand in this somehow. We will simply have to wait and see what happens.” He sighed. “I will speak with Jibril again. That man is hiding something, and I want to know what it is.” He looked back at her. “But in the meantime, try to have peace. Things will work out. They always do.”
3
Ten Minutes
“Here are the bandages, Jahira.”
Kartek wiped a bead of sweat away with her forearm before turning to the woman and giving her a tired smile. “Thank you, Nuri.”
“Jahira, you are tired. You should rest.” Nuri nodded at the cart Kartek was standing in front of. “My girls can pound those powders just as well as you. You will have more than enough work once the warriors return.” She looked around the tent at the countless cots and carts of healing supplies similar to hers. “Really, we have done about as much as we can. All these cots need now are warriors to fill them.”
Kartek considered arguing with the healer. She had sent Commander Fadil and several hundred of his men out to the river to join the tribesmen just the night before, but with every moment, dread seemed to hang heavier over her head like a noose waiting to tighten, and sleep had refused to come. Had she done the right thing?
A number of the alders had vehemently disagreed with the idea of sending the soldiers. Bennu, in particular, had made her dissent perfectly clear. And though Kartek had very little affection for the ill-humored old woman, she’d secretly shared many of the fears Bennu had very loudly voiced before all of the alders the day before.
How did they know if the tribesman were still even fighting? They might have been slaughtered by now, and sending Hedjet’s soldiers after the warriors would be sending them to their doom. Even riding their fastest, her men wouldn’t have reached the battle site until early this morning, especially as they had brought a number of caravans with them full of weapons and supplies. Or what if, Bennu had argued, the tribes were merely trying to lure Hedjet into a massive trap, emptying the city of its commander and best fighters before turning and overrunning the walls? Besides, even if they were telling the truth, Kartek was doing more than her fair share by sharing water and food with the tribes. She and her people really needn’t do more.
At one point in the meeting, Kartek had wondered if they would ever reach a consensus, so it had surprised and relieved her when Commander Fadil himself had stood.
“The tribes do not live in harmony as it is, and they have been nomadic now for over a thousand years. They rely on their Rayis to keep the peace and deal with other kingdoms, such as ourselves. No, I believe they are telling the truth, or they would have slaughtered one another by now in such close quarters. Furthermore,” he had fixed Bennu with a heavy glare, at which she had scoffed and looked at the ceiling, “I have had reports from scouts at our southern villages that a great number of warriors have been spotted by the river, as well as,” he paused and looked around the room, meeting the eyes of all eight alders, “creatures.”
So it had been decided that Commander Fadil would indeed go as soon as the sun had set. And to Kartek’s disappointment when the sun had risen the next morning, smoke was still rising from the river.
“I had hoped the battle would be over by now,” she told Nuri straining her eyes against the brightness of the sun as she looked southward again at the continuous column of brown and yellow smoke that still rose above the city wall. Even in the shade of the healing pavilions, to stare long at the column was nearly blinding. “Aren’t most battles over in minutes or hours at most?”
Nuri let her gray hair down from its rag and retied it so her hair was off her neck. “It depends on the battle. But I will admit that I have never seen one last this long before.” She pursed her lips. “All the more reason for you to get some rest. The warriors will most likely send news any time now. And I suspect we will need your skills more than ever when they do return. For that, you must be fresh.”
Kartek nodded and cast one more glance around the healing tent. “How many cots do we have ready?”
“Jahira!” A small boy ran in so fast he nearly collided with Nuri.
“Is that how you address the jahira?” Nuri frowned down at the boy.
“It is alright.” Kartek forced a tired smile as she bent down to address him. “What is it Ishaq? Does your father send word?”
“The men are returning!” He panted, a trickle of sweat running down his face. “My father asks that you prepare more tents for the men for healing.”
Kartek lost her smile. “More? How many does he need?”
“All of them.”
Kartek stared at him as she did the math in her head. How could her commander already need cots for one hundred and twenty-eight men? “You . . . you mean he needs all four tents for the injured?” She looked at Nuri in panic. “We have only prepared one!”
“He also says to tell you,” the boy continued, “that there are many tribesmen who are injured as well.”
Nuri’s face was tight, but she looked far less panicked than Kartek felt. “Very well, Ishaq,” the older woman said. “When will your father be here?”
“The scout said they will arrive in less than an hour.”
Kartek knew she should say something to calm the boy as well as all of the young women around her who were now staring at them with frightened eyes, but she couldn’t get her mouth to move.
“Ishaq,” Nuri said, “go tell your father we will be ready. Then send your brother back to help.”
The boy nodded at Nuri’s words and turned to go, but not before he glanced back pointedly at Kartek. “Do not worry, my jahira,” he said kindly, his dark brown eyes wide and trusting as he gazed up at her. “The Maker will spare us with your jewel and your power. You will heal all the men. I know it.”
Kartek could only manage a weak smile in return. “Go,” she told him.
When he was gone, she walked to the nearest cot and sat heavily upon it. “What shall we do, Nuri? I don’t—”
“The enchantress is not here at the palace, Jahira. We don’t even know if she’s won the battle or not. Perhaps the men were able to defeat her. Besides,” Nuri added in a lower voice, “you must take care with speaking so freely.”
Kartek glanced up at the many faces who had paused in the plaza and on the palace steps to watch them. Though they couldn’t hear her, as her soldiers were keeping the people at a distance while the cots were being prepared, she knew they were watching, judging every move she made. Many of those watching were from the tribes, coming into the market to buy supplies. They would report whatever they saw back to their tribal heads. If she wasn’t strong enough, they might think it an invitation to do as they pleased. If she was too harsh, she might cut off opportunities for future peace.
No matter what she did, there was always something lacking. As if she had any more to give. Kartek leaned forward and nodded, rubbing her eyes as though doing so could remove their dar
k circles. “I wish Mother and Father were here.”
To her surprise, Nuri sighed quietly. “I do as well, Jahira. But they are with the Maker now, and you must face this alone. It is your gift and burden.”
Kartek suppressed the urge to crawl beneath the cot and refuse to come out. She couldn’t hear the lecture of a jahira’s burden. Not now. Not when it was weighing on her like a dune of sand. So she stood taller instead and smoothed the pleats on her dress.
“Yes. Yes, you’re right. Now let’s see. We will take down this pavilion tent and move all four outside the walls. Then we can treat our men and the tribesmen outside of the city.” She nodded, more to herself than Nuri. “And I believe I will take your advice. I am going to refresh myself before the warriors arrive.”
Nuri bowed before rattling off a list of names of the girls under her tutelage. Not that they would be of great assistance when the warriors actually arrived, but at least they could prepare Kartek’s powders and bandages as more manservants set up the rest of the tents and cots.
Kartek left the shade of the expansive tent. The sun only made her sweat more, but at least there was a small breeze blowing, hot as it was. She walked back through the city’s open gates toward the palace, for once, not bothering to return the greetings her people showered upon her as she went. She briefly considered going to her rooms to get away from the crowds, but Oni would only fuss over her there. Taking solace in the kitchens would mean her cook would try to stuff her full of food she had no appetite for. Visiting any of the flower, music, art, or walking gardens would mean a string of well-intentioned servants asking her how they could be of assistance at every turn.
Outside. She needed to go outside. And alone, which meant she would have to get rid of Ebo first. Suddenly, Kartek knew exactly where she needed to go. She plotted her act as they stepped into the palace’s open, airy entrance. On an average day, such respite would be more than enough to satisfy her. But today, despite the open, airy layout of the palace with its cool stone floors, she was suddenly suffocating.
Taking care not to walk with too much purpose, Kartek casually turned left down the innermost hall and ran her hand down the intricately carved stone trellises around which vines of little red flowers were wrapped, each trellis wall serving as an inner barrier to one of the six indoor courtyards that they passed.
“Ebo,” she said, pausing at the threshold of the last courtyard. “I wish to go to the women’s bath.”
Her eunuch didn’t move an inch, only shifted his gaze directly to her, his dark brows knitting together. Now, Jahira? he seemed to be saying. Though he knew better than to directly question her, she could feel the disapproval rolling off him like a heat wave.
“Yes,” she answered as though he had spoken. “If I am to spend hours in a sweltering tent with dying men, I should at least like to feel as refreshed as possible when I begin.” She turned to the female servant standing at the door. “I am not to be disturbed.”
After the servant ran into the courtyard to ensure that no one else was already bathing, she returned, opened the door wide for Kartek, and bowed. Only after the door was closed behind her, however, did Kartek allow herself to breathe freely. Sand that had blown into the stone-laden courtyard crunched beneath her sandals and got caught between her toes as she headed toward the back of the courtyard. She passed eight shallow circular holes in the ground, all sumptuously lined with the smoothest of stones and covered by white shade structures into which were carved detailed patterns and designs. The water of the little pools beckoned to her, welcoming her like an old friends opening their arms for an embrace. Even more inviting was the privacy that would have been provided by the thin trellises surrounding each pool.
But a bath was the last thing on her mind. Instead, she was merely grateful that the city wall had been built directly into the palace. And that it had a hole. Because what Kartek needed was ten minutes. Ten minutes without looking at the healing tents and worrying about directly interacting with the tribesmen. Ten minutes without the critical eyes of the tribespeople being trained on her, or even faithful Ebo watching her every move. Ten minutes where no one could find her and ask her one more single infernal question.
She needed ten minutes alone.
Moving from a walk to a run, she reached the great wall to find the loose stone at its foot. It took a bit of work, but she finally managed to slide the stones to the side. Slipping through the hole, she placed another stone on the other side to cover it back up. Then she ran for the well.
As she ran, leaving her palace, the city, and its great wall behind, she realized she couldn’t remember the last time she’d been truly alone. Ever since her parents’ illness, she had been constantly followed and fretted over by servants, handmaidens, bodyguards, alders, and anyone else who could find a way into the palace. Ahmos was fond of reminding Kartek that her people’s concern for her was nothing to scorn. She agreed with him, of course, but she couldn’t help feeling sometimes . . . or often, rather, that so much love could be rather stifling. Just like the desert heat that was now beating down upon her head and back.
It took her less than two minutes to reach the abandoned well. She wasn’t sure why it was abandoned, as its water was still good, and the sturdy palms that sheltered the well were healthy and heavy with dates. But the one time she had asked about the well as a child, she’d been scolded severely for venturing out of the palace walls alone.
Now Kartek carefully lifted her pleated skirt up above her knees and sat on the well’s low stone wall. She lowered the old bucket as fast as she could. Once she’d pulled it back up, she cupped her hands and lifted the water to her cheeks. Unlike the water at the palace, this water was cool, cool enough to help her clear her head and clean her face. Or it usually was. Even the cool water felt dirty today, unable to cleanse her skin decently in preparation for the blood she knew would soon cake her hands, neck, and face. The blood of men. Her men.
And Gahiji’s men. At least, they had been Gahiji’s men before he’d died and left her with not one but eleven peoples hanging in the balance.
Kartek reached behind her neck and opened the clasp of the gold chain that hung there. Pulling it down, she carefully cupped it between her hands where she might see it better, and she examined the jewel in the sunlight. The thick golden disk that encircled the pink stone had been carved with all sorts of ancient symbols, though few knew what they meant anymore. No bigger than her thumbnail, the whole pendant was the same color as the berries she’d tasted once in the northern realm, so bright in the direct light that it nearly hurt to look at.
Her mother had always made the jewel look so stately when she wore it. But after the sickness had taken them, when Kartek had been crowned jahira and the jewel had officially become hers, she’d immediately felt awkward when Ahmos had put it around her neck, much like a little girl trying on her mother’s clothes. And now she was playing pretend with the fate of the entire kingdom.
Kartek could heal, but she wasn’t nearly as talented or powerful as her mother had been, and on that first day as jahira, she’d been sure everyone around her knew it, from the oldest alder to the youngest child in the palace. As time had gone on, however, she had learned to draw strength from the jewel. Wearing it was like having her mother near, and its subtle power imparted a constant strength.
“Couldn’t you have stayed just a little longer?” she whispered.
Something behind her snapped.
Kartek jerked her head up and tried to turn to see what could have made the sound. As she did, one of the stones she was sitting on shifted, and she nearly fell backward into the well. She caught herself just before toppling headfirst inside, but as she did, the jewel slipped out of her hands. Pink and gold briefly sparkled in the sunlight before disappearing as it sank into the dark depths of the well.
Kartek stared down into the shadows in horror. Her jewel was gone.
4
Promises at the Pond
“No! No. No. No. No
. No!”
But it was too late. The gold chain and its perfect pink stone were gone. As if to seal her doom, she could just make out the shouts of men and the sounds of approaching caravans in the distance. Fadil and his men would be arriving back from battle soon. Most likely there would be some clinging to life with only moments left to live. Others might have an hour or two. Hundreds, possibly, would need her healing if she was to heal the tribesmen as well. And without her jewel, they were all as good as dead.
“No, Maker!” she pleaded hoarsely, staring open-mouthed into the black bottomless well. “Anything! I’ll do anything you ask! Just please let me have it back!” She briefly considered jumping in after it but banished the thought before it was complete. She knew full well she wouldn’t be able to get out again, even if she found the jewel. And by the time she got the proper servants out to search for the jewel, men would be dead because she had not been able to heal them. Besides, this was the desert. She was doubtful that any of her servants knew how to swim, let alone dive into a deep, deep well.
She wanted to cry, to scream. But try as she might, she could make nothing but a guttural choke.
Maybe if she dove in, she could find it and toss it up. She would die, but the jewel would be safe. The Maker would surely bestow it on another, perhaps one of her cousins, as she had no daughter of her own.
Without considering what she was doing, she leaned forward.
The people would be upset by her death, yes. Ahmos would be enraged, hurt, and heartbroken. And yet, they might not despise her memory so much if they knew she’d died to bring hope back to her people.
She leaned farther out over the ledge.
“Did you mean it?” a soft voice asked.
Kartek nearly lost her balance again at the stranger’s voice. Whirling around, she found herself staring into the most unusual face of a most unusual man.
The Green-Eyed Prince: A Retelling of The Frog Prince (The Classical Kingdoms Collection Novellas Book 1) Page 3