“It’s an Oceanian invention, or so my friend George says. Just suck on it, lad.”
Not having to lift his head to drink the water proved a godsend for the prince and he sipped as much of the cold water as Halim would allow.
“Not too much or you’ll get sick,” the older man warned.
Breathing a bit easier than he had, Ardalan flexed his hand. His arms were to either side of his head on the bunk. Halim took the hand his prince held up.
“What do you need, son?” he asked.
“My lady?”
Halim smiled gently. “Your lady is well and was in good spirits when last I saw her. She’ll be overjoyed to see you.”
Pain flickered through Ardalan’s eyes. “Not like this.” He knew how bad his back must look and he didn’t want Sitara to see it.
“I figured as much so we’ll be taking a slight detour on the way back to Oceania,” Halim told him.
“Oceania?” Ardalan questioned. His voice was slurring again.
“She did not want to stay in Kishnu,” Halim said and looked up. Aposolides was standing at the opened door.
“We just passed a Serenian schooner on her way to Kensett,” the Oceanian said. “They signaled to us the news that the Sultan of Asaraba died in his sleep last evening.” He glanced at the prince. “The country is in an uproar.”
“We need to get Exento there immediately,” Halim said. “Until His Grace is able to take his rightful place.”
“Exento?” Ardalan questioned. “Are you talking about Devrim Ramseur?”
“He’s an Oceanian, my Prince. We will pass him off for you until you are ready to assume the throne.”
“He really looks that much like me?”
“You could be twin brothers,” Halim answered. He switched his attention to Aposolides. “How far are we from Oceania?”
“A day at the most.”
“Is the Serenian ship still close enough to send her a message?”
“Aye.”
“Then tell her we have the crown prince onboard and will be bringing him to Asaraba as soon as we make a quick trip to Oceania. Our people need to know he’s on his way back before somebody decides to strike for control.”
Aposolides didn’t question the order. He left, his feet pounding up the steps to the top deck, shouting for his signalman.
“I can’t let her see me like this, Halim,” Ardalan said. He was striving to stay awake but the laudanum was making his head swirl.
“I figured as much. We were headed for the island from whence George hails, but we’ll need to go on to Seadrift and pick up your double,” Halim told Ardalan.
“What if she wants to see me?” There was deep fear—not for himself but for his lady—in those seven little words.
“She won’t even know you’re on the ship,” Halim said. “I promise. We’ll just pick up our look-alike and set sail for Asaraba.”
“Can you trust him, Halim?” the prince asked. His voice was getting weaker.
“Aye, lad, I trust him, but if he plays us false, you can rest assured I’ll take care of the matter.” He cupped Ardalan’s cheek. “Don’t you worry. You know I’ll see to everything.”
“I know,” came the soft whisper then the prince’s lashes closed over his fever-ridden gaze.
“I sent word to the Serenian ship,” Aposolides informed Halim when he returned. “Whoever the nincompoop dignitary is the Serenians have onboard, he wanted to row over and pay his respects to the new sultan. I discouraged him from doing so by telling him the lad had one bitch of a hangover and wouldn’t appreciate being disturbed.”
“Well, that’s partly true, my friend,” Halim said with a chuckle. “But if I know those pompous Serenians, they’ll think he was celebrating the sultan’s demise.”
“And rightly so from the looks of that boy’s back,” the Oceanian grumbled, for Halim had given him the prince’s history. “Let them think what they will, the bastards. They’re a rude bunch at the best of times.”
“He won’t mourn his father if I know the prince. There was never any love lost between them.”
* * * * *
The Sea Stallion sailed into the harbor of the Oceanian capital at Seadrift on the twenty-third day of Roshan, the first month of the Fourth Kahtrane. She was met at the dock by the queen’s personal secretary who bid Captain Evren meet with Princess Sitara at his convenience.
“Please inform the princess that we have news the sultan has gone on to the reward he deserves and we must hasten to Asaraba as quickly as possible,” Halim told the secretary. “Tell her we only stopped long enough to pick up a few things. She’ll understand.”
“But, Captain…” the secretary whined.
“She will understand and she will make your queen understand if that’s what you’re worried about!” Halim snapped. “Now leave us. We have little time in port!”
The man known as Exento was on Captain Vasquez’s ship where the young man had been cooling his heels and feeling the tether of boredom pulling at him. He was all too happy to escape the tedium of the pirate ship for the adventure awaiting him and heavily cloaked and hooded, boarded the Oceanian vessel as soon as he was ordered.
No one save Captain Vasquez who came over to welcome Halim back to port knew of the priceless cargo the Sea Stallion carried. The Diabolusian did not ask to see that cargo, but wished Halim and Aposolides a safe journey to Asaraba, offering to escort them if they would allow him.
“I’d welcome you being at our back,” Aposolides said. “No ship would dare attack with you near us but we need to make the trip quickly and you’d wear your oarsmen out trying to keep up with us.”
“I understand,” Vasquez acknowledged. “If it’s all the same to you though, we’ll tag along behind and keep watch.” He ducked his head. “I’ve been hiding from a certain lawman whom I’d just as well stay clear of.”
“Mayhaps you won’t have to worry about that from now on. I’ll venture to say His Grace will grant you a Letter of Marquee for your trouble,” Halim suggested.
Vasquez raised his chin. “I was not finagling for such, Halim.”
“I know you weren’t, my friend.”
As quickly and as quietly as they could, both ships raised anchor and set out for the high seas. With a good wind, it would take the Sea Stallion four days to reach Asaraba, Captain Vasquez’s ship longer.
On the battlements of Seadrift Keep, Princess Sitara waved goodbye to the ships. The wind caught their sails and less than an hour later, no sign of either ship could be seen.
* * * * *
Devrim Ramseur crept silently into the cabin where he knew the new Sultan of Asaraba slept. His guilt had been prodding him ever since he stepped foot on the Sea Stallion and was informed Ardalan Jaleem was onboard two days earlier. “Here? Onboard this ship?” the Ojani had whispered. “He’s alive?”
“Aye, thanks to you!” the Oceanian captain had told him.
Devrim had listened wide-eyed to the tale of how the new Sultan of Asaraba came to be on the ship. He had wept upon hearing how the commandant had mistreated the man he thought was Devrim Ramseur.
“It could have been worse,” Captain Aposolides had stated.
“How?” Devrim sobbed. “How could it possibly have been any worse?”
“They could have hanged him.”
The thought seemed to stagger Devrim and he had slid down to the deck and had been quiet ever since. When he spied Halim come up on deck for a breath of fresh air, the young man slipped cautiously below.
It was to the captain’s private cabin the Ojani went. He had some idea where the stately room would be and wasn’t surprised to find the door open, a soft glow spreading light to guide his way. As quietly as he could, he tiptoed over to the bunk, his lower lip tucked between his teeth.
“Wake him up at your own peril,” a low grumble sounded behind Devrim.
Devrim swallowed and looked around to find the Asaraban captain glowering at him. “I…I…”
&n
bsp; “I know what you wanted,” Halim snapped. “Take a quick look at him then be about your business.”
When the Ojani turned back around, he found himself staring into a face, into eyes that were mirror images of his own. He sucked in a breath, his lips parting.
“Hello, Devrim,” the man on the bunk said, and he extended his hand to the Ojani.
“My Sultan!” Devrim stated, and fell to his knees beside the bunk. He took the proffered hand and brought it to his lips. “Forgive me, my Sultan. Forgive me!”
“Quit slobbering on his hand,” Halim groused. “And get the hell up!”
Devrim let go of Ardalan’s hand and scurried away from the bunk. He got to his feet and stood there bowing over and over again until Halim slapped his arm. The young man flinched, holding up his arm, afraid he’d be hit again.
“Stop that bobbing!” Halim hissed.
“Leave him be, Halim,” Ardalan ordered in a soft voice.
“We may owe him a debt of gratitude, but I won’t have him bobbing and weaving like a crane full of liquor!” Halim stated.
“I owe him my life, Halim,” Ardalan said. “Let him bob and weave all he wants.”
Halim sniffed his disdain, but Devrim stopped bowing and moved back, obviously poised to run if ordered to do so.
“Will you help me, Dev?” the sultan asked. He was struggling to push himself up from his belly and when Halim started to rush forward, he shook his head. “I asked Dev.”
Halim’s face showed his hurt, but then cleared as he realized what Ardalan was about. He reluctantly moved back, putting his hands behind him and clutching them brutally to keep from shoving the Ojani out of the way and going to Ardalan himself.
“Be careful, my Sultan,” Devrim said as he hurried forward. He put out his hands but he didn’t want to touch the man for fear of hurting him.
Strain showed on Ardalan’s face and sweat broke out on his forehead and upper lip as he managed to prop himself up. “Take my hand, Dev,” he asked, “and help me up.”
“Is that wise, Your Grace?” Halim asked, digging his fingernails into his palms.
“I can’t lie on my belly like a dog the rest of my days, Halim,” Ardalan ground out as Devrim took his hand and helped to lever him to a sitting position.
Blowing and grunting, the sultan was able to twist around in the bunk until he was sitting—his legs straight out in front of him, his hands on the mattress bracing him. “By the grace of Alel, my ass hurts!” he groaned.
“That’s understandable,” Halim said. “You have a deep gash across both cheeks.”
Breathing hard, blowing a breath over his upper face to dry the sweat drenching it, Ardalan felt tears streaming down his cheeks and was momentarily embarrassed by his weakness.
“Once,” Devrim said as he hunkered down next to the bunk, “I was running away from Alara, trying to hide so she wouldn’t find me, and I ran right into a rock and broke my little toe.”
“What the hell has that got to do with anything?” Halim demanded, his voice full of outrage.
“It hurt so bad I thought I’d pass out.”
“From a fucking broken little toe?” Halim scoffed.
“Tears were spilling down my face but I couldn’t make a sound,” Devrim said. “You know why.”
“She’d have found you,” Ardalan said.
Devrim nodded. He didn’t need to say anything else. The two men understood one another.
“You’ve seen my lady, Devrim?”
“She is an angel,” Devrim said. He held up his arms for the sultan to see the tattoos Halim had forced on him. “She took away the pain.”
Ardalan stared at the tattoo—so like his own—and remembered what it had felt like when he’d gotten them. “I wish she had been there for me,” he said softly. He glanced over at Halim. “I need to lie down. My head’s swimming.”
Devrim scooted across the floor, out of Halim’s way, and got to his feet, standing in the doorway watching as the captain walked quickly to the bed.
“On your back?” Halim asked, shocked as Ardalan started to lean backwards.
“I’ve got to sooner or later.”
Tears gathered in Devrim’s eyes as he watched the sultan stretching out on the bunk, heard him sucking in an agonized breath. “I am so sorry,” he whispered. “I…”
“Devrim, you have my eternal gratitude,” the sultan said in between gasps. “Never question it. I would not have survived another night in the fortress. I know that as surely as I am lying here.”
Halim looked around and jerked his head toward the door, indicating Devrim was to leave them alone, but before the Ojani could leave, the sultan called out to him.
“The gods threw us together, Devrim,” he said. “You are truly a blessing in my life.”
“Oh don’t tell him that!” Halim complained in a singsong reprimand. “He’s got enough of a swelled head as it is knowing he’s going to be sitting the Cobra Throne for a bit!”
“He’ll do us proud, won’t you, Dev?” Ardalan asked, feeling unconsciousness reaching out to him for the pain on his back was more than he could stand.
“With my last breath, my Sultan,” Devrim swore. “With my very last breath!”
Chapter Twenty-One
“My condolences, dearling,” the Oceanian queen said as she reached over to squeeze Sitara’s hand, “on the untimely demise of your father, the maharaja.”
“Thank you, Your Grace,” Sitara said. “I will extend your sympathies to my mother.”
“You are feeling well today?” Queen Enea inquired.
“I feel very well, thank you,” Sitara said. She patted her ripening belly. “I’ve yet to feel the little one kick but they tell me when he starts, he won’t stop.”
“He?” the queen asked with a crooked brow. “You think it will be a boy?”
“I know it will,” Sitara said.
“You are what? Five months along now?”
“Almost.”
“Then you should feel him moving any day now. It generally takes longer with a first pregnancy. Have you picked a name?” It was plain for everyone at court to see how much affection the normally irascible monarch had for her Kishnu guest.
“I have,” Sitara said. “I will call him Ridá. It means contentment in Soqui.”
“Ridá,” the queen repeated. “I like that name. “Ridá Jaleem. It sounds stately.”
“One day he will be sultan,” Sitara said.
“Not too soon I hope.”
Both women turned at the soft words and the queen frowned angrily. She got up from the bench where she and Sitara had been sitting. “Young man what are you doing here?” she demanded.
Sitara’s heart did a funny little skip.
“Devrim, answer me!” the queen ordered.
“I’ve come to fetch my lady,” he said quietly.
Queen Enea started to speak, but one look at the face of the pregnant woman and she knew—as Sitara did—who it really was standing before them in the pristine white robes of the Sultan of Asaraba. From the golden silk agal that held in place the snow white ghutra concealing his dark brown hair, to the long sleeves of the jalabiya that hid the identifying tattoos at his wrist, he was every inch the sultan, the elegant, stately essence of authority. And when he stepped forward and held out his hand, dropping gracefully to one knee before his wife, the sight of him up close made the monarch of Oceania sigh like a schoolgirl.
“Where have you been?” Sitara asked, her heart in her eyes.
“It’s a long story, milady. Just know I’ve been trying to get back to you all this time.”
Sitara searched his dear face and found lines that had not been there before. There was suffering in his dark eyes but a sweet, gentle smile on his lips.
“Would you journey with me to your new home, my beloved?” he asked in the deep, sensual voice Sitara remembered from nearly a half a year before.
“I would journey with you wherever you bid, my husband,” Sitara whispe
red as she slipped her hand into his.
And it was at that moment the baby stirred and a look of wonder passed over the sultana’s lovely face. She drew her husband’s palm to her burgeoning belly and pressed it there for him to feel the movement of his son.
Ardalan’s eyes filled with tears, but the smile that slipped into place on his handsomely chiseled features shouted to the world that he was not only back from the dead but more alive than he had ever been.
Epilogue
There were three little boys and two little girls running about the courtyard and the gruff voice of a retired Captain of the Senior Guard calling after them.
“Ridá! Stop annoying your sister! Warith, do not pull the cat’s tail! Bashira, girls do not do such things! By the grace of Alel, you children will be the death of me yet!”
Lying in bed, her shapely body pressed closely to her husband’s naked back, Sitara kissed him between the shoulder blades, her fingers stroking up and down his arm. “Don’t you think we should go and rescue poor Halim?” she asked.
“Why? He’s enjoying himself,” her husband replied. “Can’t you hear it in his voice?” He turned over and slid his arm behind his lady’s back, pulling her to his side.
“Did he run after you like that?” she asked, extending her stroking to his chest.
“Merciful Alel, no!” Ardalan said with a pretend shiver. “I had a nanny who looked the other way when I pulled the cat’s tail. Halim most likely would have beat my ass.”
“I doubt that,” she said, for she knew how well the older man loved the younger.
“Danush! Dawoud! Get back here with that!”
“Well at least he’s after Dev’s sons now,” Ardalan said with a chuckle. “He’s an equal opportunity ogre.”
“Do you think we might have twin sons like Devrim’s?” she asked.
Ardalan gave her a horrified look. “Wench, watch your thoughts!”
“I want another child,” she said with a little pout.
“Aren’t five enough?” he countered.
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