Kyrin rubbed her face. The wind tugged her sticky hair from her temples, flapping her torn black sleeve. Next to Nara was Alaina, her face tracked with tears, looking uncertain.
Kyrin stared at her hands. Tae would understand. But she could not find him among the heaving sea of faces. She could not breathe. Seliam would wake soon.
It hardly mattered. She sank down cross-legged, laying the falcon in her lap. Except for her punishment, it was over. Every muscle had its own fire, and she wished she could go to the pool and drink and drink.
Behind her on the flags, cloth rustled as Seliam moved; he would have a headache. She fingered her falcon. It had another scratch to reveal the steel.
The stamping and cheering died. Whispers rose, and footsteps approached. She knew who stood behind her without looking.
Umar ripped her falcon from her unresisting hand. He and Jachin seized her under the arms and hauled her before the canopy. Her stumbling feet would not follow her will. They let go, and she fell on her knees. It hurt more than it ought, after Seliam’s blade.
A harsh step landed beside her, and Kyrin gazed at Jachin’s foot, at the tip of his bare blade resting on the stone. Umar snorted on her other side. He would see his revenge.
Ali’s chair vibrated with the force of his drumming fingers. Shema whispered in his ear, but she could do less than nothing.
Sirius Abdasir considered Kyrin, his brown eyes sober. Hers burned into his, but it mattered not. Snake. You should have stopped it.
He blinked slowly, his mouth curving neither up nor down. Kyrin turned her head and stared at a corner of the canopy, at the tassel battered by the wind. The sound of Ali’s slow clapping drew her back from its lonely bobs and jerks.
He smiled, grudging. “Well, O my askar. You have learned the strength of the mercy of the house of Ali Ben Aidon.” His eyes lingered on Sirius, who stared over the crowd as if in thought.
Kyrin’s mouth opened. The strength of the mercy—the murderer! She would have lunged up beside his chair and stabbed him if Umar did not have her falcon. She gripped her throbbing ankle until the pain anchored her to the stone.
Sirius Abdasir sighed. His gaze slid across Kyrin, he shrugged, and inclined his head to Ali. Through the quiet, his voice carried. “My most generous host, your askar has your mercies. I am instructed; a hand may be over generous to a slave—or an askar. My master will be pleased. Your slave fought well, and her teacher is restrained, worthy of reliance. And the golden slave is a skillful scribe. A man should not be bereft of his wives. There will be no divorce and no marriage. My master accepts.”
Kyrin forgave Sirius his dry tone—but her head was muddled. Tae and Alaina were safe, but the caliph accepted? What did he accept?
“It is well, O my brother.” Ali nodded to Shema, and she stood and unfastened a string of polished pearls and blue shell from around her neck, holding them high. Ali intoned, “In behalf of the light of my eyes, here is a token for the one who fought for our house.” After a pause in which every eye admired the drops of swirling milky cloud and bits of blue sky, Shema bent and laid the necklace in Kyrin’s hand.
The court erupted, and Kyrin stared down at the necklace. Ali’s word of crippling and freedom, Tae’s torment, Alaina’s forced marriage: all had been lies? Her smile was bitter. Ali yet found worth to wring from them and his flawed jewel.
Over her head, Shema said low, “Kyrin . . .” Hands clenched in her robes, Shema silently begged her to accept Ali’s gift. With a wave and an expansive grin, Ali invited Kyrin to put the necklace on.
She gave Shema a watery smile and closed her hand on the pearls, cool in her hot palm. Her father kept his blades clean, like his word. Oh, Father—Ali never meant ought but evil—but your honor is true. I will try to uphold it. I will find you. These she would take, in memory of her master’s word broken, of words kept, and her word to keep.
Ali turned to Sirius, and Shema called for Qadira to help her inside the house. The staring askars and Ali’s overjoyed household gathered before the kitchens, joining in the general celebration of sweetened tea and chattering each other’s amazement at what each had seen of the fight.
Jachin lifted Kyrin to her feet by an arm and shook her with a wide grin, chortling and bowing his head to her at the same time, then pulled her into a hug. He released her, and she inclined her head with a shaky smile. On his mighty arm she limped toward the kitchen and a cool drink. Umar had disappeared.
So. She would see him again. Somehow that did not seem so bad after Seliam tried to kill her with a sword. Two askars carried Seliam toward the men’s quarters, with several young Arabs of Sirius’s retinue hovering close. Good. Not even Seliam should be deserted as Faisal’s companions left him on the sand. Oh my brother, I hope you smile for me.
Tae appeared at her shoulder, his herb bag in his hand, and leaned down to wrap a cloth about her ankle. It burned, and she yelped. Alaina caught her other arm and steadied her, smiling so wide it must hurt. She kissed her, and Alaina’s face was wet. She had forgiven her, then. Kyrin closed her eyes. It was over; they were safe.
§
Sirius kissed Ali on both cheeks and dropped a clinking sack in his hands.
Ali smiled and handed the bag to Umar, who had appeared at his elbow. He gazed around the court and brought his hands together loudly. His slaves straightened with pride, and their shout echoed from wall to wall. “The house of Ben Aidon is merciful and great!” They boiled happily about the kitchens.
Ali fingered his chin. There was a banquet to come, and he must speak of his worthless one’s prowess. She had pleased Sirius, the delight of the caliph’s eyes, so she pleased him. He frowned. Yet she seemed less a jewel for his setting than before. He would fashion her. But he must take care or the jewel would shatter in his hand.
§
Kyrin limped through the breezeway, helped by Tae and Alaina. Nara stepped from the line of other elated women on their way to prepare the feast in the kitchen, her eyes glowing, and hugged Kyrin. “Oh, girl, girl,” she whispered.
Kyrin smiled and Nara wiped her eyes, hugged her again, and disappeared inside, where she called loud cheerful orders. Kyrin gripped Alaina’s arm for balance while Tae put an unused bandage back in his bag. “You did not watch?” she asked.
He tipped up her chin with his hand, gentle. “I saw.”
“Where did you go?”
“A place I had to be.”
31
Vengeance
I desire compassion, and not sacrifice. ~Matthew 9:13
“Kyrin! It’s time!” Alaina called. She bounced into the darkening room and shook what she grabbed first, Kyrin’s unbandaged foot. Her sister sat up and retrieved her leg. Kyrin looked wan as an inside-out thawb Nara had squeezed dry.
“Why do I have to eat with Ali in front of everyone?” she muttered. “And I have to wear his cursed necklace.”
“Oh, come, the pearls truly come from Shema, and you will feel better with some of Nara’s honey-almond cake and heavenly curried oryx inside you.” Alaina helped her up and lit the lamp. She brushed Kyrin’s thick hair, curling a little from her braid after the hasty bath before she collapsed on her rug.
“Now, beautiful ones,” Tae said softly. Alaina turned. Tae walked quietly to her, drew a pair of black hairpins from his sash, and laid them in Kyrin’s hand. The hard wood was glossy as rock. A falcon’s head, it’s beak open in an uncompromising scream, adorned each pin. Opposing carved whorls circled the black shafts down to their sharp points.
How fitting that he carved falcons for Kyrin. Alaina wound the pins into her hair with a few deft twists, and Tae tested her creation with a tug. Alaina captured a stray bit of Kyrin’s hair and wound it about one of the pins. She saved me from Seliam in a backwards kind of way. And I, the scribe who beat old Qadira’s poetic lines, I had no words for her in her needful moment. Creeping lizard, mo
nkey without a mouth, why did I say nothing? Tae at least asked Ali to give her a staff, bless him. I only want to do well in my place. If she would but listen . . . but she has been drawing away into her Subak. Alaina frowned. She is not always right.
The falcon pins held, a firm canted x, nestled at the top edges of Kyrin’s glistening coif.
“There,” Tae said. “It is fitting that you face Ali and his table tonight with these. You will wear the half-veil but not the hair wrap unless Ali commands otherwise. I do not think he will. This night you are a warrior. And the necklace is your spoil of war.”
Kyrin grinned at him.
Alaina felt lost, somehow more alone than she ever had. She shrugged the feeling away and turned Kyrin about. “They are beautiful, wait until you see them. Let us go find the mirror!” Shema had one of bronze, and she would clap her hands over Kyrin’s hair. Alaina smiled. Almost a Greek weave, almost the women of the Eagles’ coronet, she’d given Kyrin’s hair a twist of her own.
“Wait.” Tae smiled, beckoning, two honey-colored pins in his hand.
Alaina felt her blush, and following tears. Burn it. Delicately carved ferns circled the shafts. She fingered the wooden heads, the tiny ridges and long smooth leaves. “Thank you,” she said softly.
Gently Tae coiled her hair and slid the pins of golden honey in. “Great women in my country wear these, and you are worthy.”
Alaina turned and hugged him hard, and he laughed. He did not often laugh. And her sister, Lady Kyrin. She had beaten Seliam’s sword. They had beaten Ali, for the moment. But for how long?
Alaina shook the thought away. It was high time to see Shema. She smiled at Kyrin, and they slipped out of the room with the most un-warrior like of giggles.
“Bear them well!” Tae called.
“I will!” Determination welled in Alaina. She fingered the pins again. They could be a weapon yet they also made her feel a lady.
“Here.” Kyrin stopped before the Blue Flower room curtains and fixed Alaina’s slipping hair. “Few men have the touch to make it stay. I am sorry I growled when you woke me up. Come on.” She grinned. “Watch Nimah’s face when she sees you.”
Alaina’s smile widened. Nimah was as sharp as the ceramic potsherd Shema used to smooth her skin. She would admire her robin’s egg blue trousers and short thawb patterned off the black Persian clothing Mey had made Kyrin, with three inch cuffs at leg and arm. The garments reminded her of home in Britannia and set off her white silk sash. It had taken nothing to sew, and with the honey-gold pins in her hair it made her as exotic as Nimah could wish.
Alaina spun in a happy twirl down the passage. Tae would have to make some of those pins for Shema . . . She stopped short. “Kyrin, you can’t wear those old oak beads with our master’s pearls. . . . ” Her protest died. By the stiffness of her face, Kyrin was going to wear them.
§
The feast was long and loud. Sirius inclined his head when Kyrin approached the table, and Ali directed her to sit beside Shema. Kyrin sat, as uneasy as a falcon on her first man-made perch, clenching her cup so her hands would not move aimlessly. Shema nudged her with her foot and picked up a fruit. Kyrin took a date and some oryx, but her hunger was gone. She forced a bite down.
Throughout the procession of dishes—of curried oryx (which was heavenly), lamb, pigeon, rice with raisins, and dried fruits soaked in milk—Kyrin’s female servers offered her their favorite tidbits with indirect glances. She could not refuse, and soon her plate was piled.
Sirius’s gaze kept returning to her, and Kyrin ate so she did not have to meet his eyes more often than she must. It did not save her from his regard.
“My master is intrigued by a woman who knows a blade.”
Was that mild rebuke? Or an interest of his own? He had touched her hand once.
Ali broke in with a cheerful smile. “Ah, but who can know the depths of an infidel’s heart? They thrive from their first squall on the milk of false teaching. But they amuse us, and Allah knows the hour of vengeance.”
“A jewel of truth.” Sirius’s mouth curved without mirth.
Her master had diverted the conversation. Kyrin was content. Ali did not speak to her or to Shema. His regard had not changed. Kyrin chewed the rice in her mouth and swallowed.
“I would see the blade that defeated my askar.” Sirius was watching her.
That must be answered. Kyrin bowed where she sat, pulled her falcon dagger and the rabbit-skin sheath from her sash, and leaned across the table to set it in his hand. She put her hands back in her lap.
Sirius turned the weapon in his fingers, eyeing the bronze head; the jet eyes, amber in the light; the defiant beak. The muscles in his cheek flexed and the guardsman’s mouth thinned. Kyrin held her breath.
He paused. Then drew the dagger with a sharp movement, far enough to see the gleam of bronze. With a twist of his mouth he replaced the blade and tossed the falcon to her. Kyrin caught it. What had he expected to see?
“A worthy enough dagger for this one, is it not?” Ali smiled. Sirius nodded soberly, and Kyrin wondered what troubled him. “It is like to the dagger of one I once knew.” He shrugged. “But this blade is of little worth.”
Ali chewed. He said, “A blade that resembles your traveler’s is a favored gift for one such as she.” He turned to snatch a sugary plum from Nimah before she removed the platter. Sirius measured him with a cool glance.
Kyrin let her eyes fall to her lap. Sirius did not like Ali. Join the household.
At last her master dismissed her. Kyrin rose and managed to touch Shema’s foot in thanks. Trying to hide her smile of relief, she made her way towards the curtains, past three endless tables of guests, askars, and many of Sirius’s retinue. They ate and laughed with many jokes. Ali had invited them to celebrate, and the young men serving table scurried among them.
Why had Tae not sat in honor at Ali’s table as her teacher? Was Ali making his displeasure known? Intent on ducking through the curtains, wrapped in thought, Kyrin stumbled over someone’s leg. She looked down to ask pardon.
Seliam sat bonelessly against the wall, not glancing up to protest. The young Arabs who had carried him away from the court flags rested on the other side of the doorway, carefully not looking at either of them. They did not dare soil themselves with Seliam’s presence.
Seliam’s face was haggard. His head must hurt. He should be resting. Probably Ali demanded he be here, though he huddled as close to the door as possible.
The curtain bulged, and a hand reached around it. A smaller boy with shaggy black hair looked around the blue silk. He had dared sit at Seliam’s feet. Eyeing her cautiously, he nudged Seliam with an elbow. After a moment Seliam raised his eyes to Kyrin, full of hate.
She struggled with a thick tongue. “I don’t hate you” seemed a wrong choice at the moment.
Someone touched her shoulder and she spun, off balance, her ankle twinging. Nimah steadied her and held out a sweet cake with a wide grin. Several of the women crowding behind her giggled, holding empty platters, cups, and jugs. Among a chorus of warm greetings, one of them said, “Was the askar hard to trip?” And tittered, high and shrill.
Kyrin’s ears heated. She could think of five ways to take Seliam down, but not five words to turn this moment. “Let’s go to the pool!” she blurted.
“Oh, yes! And you must tell us everything. . . . Give the dishes to Nara quickly, Nimah.” They grabbed leftover honey-cakes from a tray and hurried out.
Kyrin did not look at Seliam as she followed, favoring her leg; her face was a forge. For him or for herself? She did not know. Arabs did not regard mercy unless it served them.
The air was warm, light with the fragrance of flowers, and the stars were bright. Much splashing and laughter followed Kyrin’s skin-tingling plunge to join the others. She gasped when the water hit her scraped arm. Though it stung, it smelled of moss an
d life.
She swam to the edge of the pool and began to work the stiffness out of her legs with her hands, resting her ankle on the stone side above the water. She smiled at the women, adding an occasional splat to a water fight that erupted. There was more laughter than she had ever heard in Ali’s house, and Umar did not appear to quiet them. It was so good to laugh with them. Maybe they understood her a little now.
Nimah admired Kyrin’s hair-pins, and the other women looked over her shoulder with “oohs” and “ahhs.” Kyrin took them out and shook her hair loose, and Nimah handed the pins around. Tae would have many requests for more.
Kyrin gave brief answers to their curiosity about her fight with Seliam. She could not laugh at him. With one misstep she would have been him.
The night wore on and the women quieted, settling to wash each other’s backs and hair. Nimah rewound Kyrin’s hair. One by one the women left, walking by Kyrin to kiss her goodnight before they strolled toward their quarters. Alaina finished serving at Ali’s table and came out to bathe. Then she hugged Kyrin and went to her bed. She did not seem to want to speak.
Kyrin slipped deeper into the pool and lolled in the water, listening to the night, overlaid by the clatter of dishes in the kitchen and muffled voices. Nara was up late.
She fingered one of her pins loose again and regarded it. Huen must love Tae. A good man, and worthy of her. She had sworn to wait for him.
Kyrin sighed. As she must wait until he returned from his task in Baghdad. She would serve until she could be made free. When we leave this place, I hope Tae takes the doll to Huen, a sign of his faithfulness to stand in honor in their home.
Home. The whispering oaks and rustling beeches and Samson flying to her fist in a rush of wings. Did Father shoot his great bow with armsmaster Nith—and think of her? His brown face, his strong smile, his loving laughter. Kyrin gripped the pin and hugged her knees.
Falcon Heart: Chronicle I an epic young adult fantasy series set in medieval times Page 34