Tales of the Thasali Harem Box Set

by Danielle Summers

  “Agreed,” Chadan managed to choke out. He knew he was lying even as he spoke the single word.

  *~*~*

  Lord Garghas was not handsome, exactly, but he commanded any room he walked through with his height, broad shoulders, and military swagger. As breakfast was ending, he emerged from a private banquet hall with a number of royals and courtiers, strode through the banquet hall, and mounted the dais at the front of the hall along with them. Looking pleased, he seated himself on a cushioned bench and leaned back while servants brought him wine and pastries to snack on while a series of officials gave dreary, toadying speeches about his exemplary service to the princes in quelling a rebel uprising in the distant plains.

  Chadan felt fortunate that he was seated in the far corner with the other tutors, far enough away that no one would notice if they listened to the fulsome praise of Garghas. He had to do nothing more than applaud politely and tend to the last bits of his meal. He supposed it was a good thing that the speeches prevented much conversation at his table, which was populated by a number of junior masters.

  Elsewhere in the hall, the harem members had been assembled, including most of the novitiates. Thankfully, he did not see Azno. Could he dare to hope that Garghas had changed his mind? Perhaps some other harem youth had caught his fancy at the garden party the night before. He had almost managed to convince himself when, just as a particularly wearisome speech ended, Azno entered, wearing the richly colored robe Garghas had presented him with. A servant conveyed him to the front of the room as Prince Baboye himself rose to stand behind the podium. Worse still, Garghas went so far as to stand up from his place on the royal bench and moved to stand beside Baboye. He reached out to take Azno’s hand as Baboye announced his gift of a concubine to his loyal servant and most highly decorated general. The audience applauded as Garghas lifted his hand and ran it down over Azno’s hair and shoulder. Chadan tensed, expecting Garghas to plant an enthusiastic kiss on his lips, but fortunately he did not go so far. Instead the two stood side by side while Prince Baboye recounted some of Garghas’s military exploits and honors.

  “That young man will live a life the rest of us can only envy,” one of the younger masters—Rufon, of mathematics, Chadan recalled—at his table commented. “The tales I have heard about Garghas’s country estate almost defy credibility.”

  “Better than palace comforts? Surely not,” Varghos objected.

  “Perhaps not, in most ways,” Rufon conceded. “But here he will be one of many, sharing favors. How much better to be a harem of one. Garghas will spoil him shamelessly.”

  Chadan forced himself to speak. His throat felt dry and raspy despite the juice he had drunk with his morning meal. “You aren’t worried that a man of war will treat him cruelly?”

  “He may be rough around the edges.” Rufon waved a hand in dismissal. “Yet it has been my experience that the men who are toughest in public are often the most timorous in bed. Public and private image, you know.” He winked. “But perhaps the less said about that the better. Let me just say I come from a family that counts a number of military men.”

  “Rufon is probably right,” Vaghos said, directing his comment at Chadan. “Lord Garghas will likely treat him very well.” Another attempt to make him feel better, he supposed. It failed miserably.

  At the front of the room, the speeches were ending at last, as Garghas expressed his gratitude to the prince. His tone and attitude belied his obsequious words. To Chadan, he sounded as crass and arrogant as ever.

  They stood basking in applause for a few minutes. Then Garghas slid his arm around Azno and conveyed him away. The servant followed at a respectful distance. The princes vanished in a group through a curtain at the back of the hall.

  “Where are they going?” Chadan hadn’t realized he had spoken out loud until Rufon answered him.

  “Out to the courtyard, I should think. Didn’t you hear? There is dancing and music out there. I should probably get some of the students’ mathematics tests corrected before tomorrow, but I admit I’m curious. Would you care to walk out with me and take a look?”

  The last few bites of his meal forgotten, Chadan rose. He was aware of Vaghos watching him intently. He deliberately avoided his eyes. “Indeed. I am curious, now that you mention it.”

  He and Rufon followed the small crowd also heading through the open doors of the banquet hall and out onto the lawn, Varghos trailing after them. The morning was fragrant with blossoms and the sky overly bright with warm sun.

  As if by magic, the royal garden had been transformed into a vast carnival of entertainments. Drink flowed freely, with urns and goblets carried about by servants, and delectable fruit, berries and nuts covered small tables that had been carried outside. Under a shady tree, a trio of court musicians played a lively tune while a group of dancers—professionals, not harem boys—whirled in a circle, their diaphanous costumes flying out like wings in the warm breeze. Exaggerated face paint obscured their identities beneath glistening green, red, and black stripes.

  “I suppose they considered my pupils too amateurish to dance for their fine guest,” Vaghos grumbled beside him. “It seems I have been rehearsing to the point of exhaustion with them for no reason. These came from the marketplace. I have seen them there myself.”

  Chadan squinted and saw that they were the same troupe he had watched perform the day before. Thankfully, the eunuchs with the collection baskets had not been invited with them.

  “They probably didn’t want to tire your boys before the recital,” Rufon soothed. “They could hardly take a chance on one of them twisting an ankle, after all.”

  Vaghos sniffed, unconvinced.

  “Look at it this way,” Chadan said, feeling he should participate in the conversation. “If this group makes mistakes in their performance, no one can blame you. And your own dancers will look even better in comparison.”

  “Well, that’s just it. They don’t make mistakes—unlike mine. Look at them! They sway like flowers in the breeze. Graceful without the slightest effort.”

  “I’m sure yours will learn to do as well,” Rufon comforted him. While Varghos went on complaining, Chadan discreetly surveyed the yard for Garghas and Azno. He saw no sign of them. A terrible thought made his stomach clench. Surely Garghas hadn’t taken Azno to his suite of rooms for a more private performance? That was impossible—Azno had not completed his sex training yet. Oraj, the harem overlord, would never allow such a breach of etiquette and tradition. But then, with Garghas as an honored guest, and Azno fated to leave the harem before he even began to serve as a full member, perhaps the princes had convinced—or even ordered—Oraj to make an exception?

  Then, just like that, they appeared in front of him. Garghas was walking with one arm around Azno’s waist, while his free hand crammed a handful of berries into his own mouth. Azno was eating nothing and was perfectly behaved; his face betrayed nothing but pleasant admiration for his suitor. He had been well trained after all, even if his lessons had been cut short.

  To Chadan’s horror, Garghas turned his head and stared right at him. Chadan stood, frozen. Vaghos fell silent, while Rufon simply gazed around at the dancers, either oblivious or pretending to be. His lips contorting in a snarl, Garghas took Azno’s hand and tugged him forward. A moment later they were standing in front of the three masters.

  Garghas’s fierce gaze swept over the three of them as if he were surveying a row of captured enemy soldiers on the battlefield.

  “My lord Garghas,” Vaghos said at once, bowing. “How honored we are to welcome you to the palace. We enjoyed hearing of your triumphs this morning in the prince’s speech as well.”

  Garghas ignored the flattery.

  “This lad tells me you are his tutors,” Garghas said. His tone sounded almost mocking.

  “That is correct, my lord,” Vaghos said. “Azno is a most adept scholar. We have all enjoyed teaching him. I feel confident that I can speak for all of us, and his other tutors besides.”

/>   “I suppose none of you are sex trainers?” Garghas fixed Chadan with a stare so direct he could not mistake the challenge in it.

  “Indeed not!” Rufon blushed and uttered a nervous laugh. “We confine our studies to scrolls and styluses. I have the pleasure of instructing the young man in mathematics; Master Vaghos is his dancing master, and Master Chadan specializes in poetry.”

  Garghas make a snorting sound. “I have lived my life as a soldier. Compared to the bloodied field, such soft pursuits seem a fleeting fancy indeed. I suppose the best that can be said of such subjects is that they—and those who teach them to others—are able to cause little trouble.”

  Chadan felt his mouth twist in disgust when he saw Azno shrink in embarrassment from Garghas’s words.

  “Do not be too sure, my lord,” Chadan shot back. “Thanks to simple words, great empires have grown, and the mightiest men have fallen.”

  “Luckily, such matters no longer concern me. My time in the service of their majesties is over, and I look forward to a quiet life with my concubine.” Garghas drew a startled Azno closer to his side. “This lad pleases me in every way. My old friend Prince Baboye knows me and my tastes better than I suspected. And I should not object to a bit of poetry by the fireside now and then. It will assist in lulling me to sleep. I daresay it will take me some time to adjust to a sedentary lifestyle such as you enjoy. Nonetheless, I shall learn to enjoy lying in bed. Of that I have no doubt.”

  He laughed and the two moved on. Just before they faded into the crowd, Azno glanced over his shoulder and met Chadan’s eyes. Chadan felt his blood flame.

  “The man is a brute,” he snarled, his hands snapping into fists. “He will waste Azno’s gifts. All his promise, his poetry—all will come to nothing as he serves that beast’s crude demands.”

  “You cannot know that,” Vaghos hissed. “In any case, it is not our place to interfere. Their highnesses decide which concubine will be given to which courtier. It is not for us to judge or object.”

  “It is a tragedy,” Chadan went on, as though Vaghos hadn’t spoken. Rufon stared, bewildered.

  “Master Chadan needs something to drink,” Vaghos told him. “The sun is too strong for him. Would you be kind enough to fetch him some pagvee brandy?”

  “Yes, an excellent idea,” Rufon stammered with obvious relief. “I was just thinking I should like some myself.”

  When Rufon was gone, Vaghos took Chadan by both arms and shook him.

  “Chadan, you are dancing in a flame here! I am trying to protect you, but if you cannot hold your tongue—”

  “Is all well, Master Vaghos? Master Chadan?”

  The last voice—save one—Chadan wanted to hear floated over the crowd. Vaghos dropped his hands and the two of them turned to see Prince Baboye himself.

  Chapter Five

  Resplendent in his banqueting robes, his hair freshly styled and perfumed, with an ornate cloak hanging off his broad shoulders, Baboye was breathtaking and fearsome all at once, and he got straight to the point. “What was Lord Garghas asking you about?”

  “He stopped to ask how we were enjoying the festivities,” Vaghos said. “He was most generous with his praise for our success educating Azno. Apparently, he is as impressed with Azno’s talents as we are.”

  “He has said as much to me,” the prince said. Chadan struggled to wipe the angry scowl from his face, but he knew he was not succeeding very well. “He is quite smitten with Azno. I knew I had chosen well the first time I observed them together.”

  “Is this not premature? Azno has not completed his training yet,” Chadan blurted. He heard Vaghos’s small gasp of horror but pushed on. “It would seem a shame to lose so promising a scholar before it is absolutely necessary…your Highness.”

  “I can understand your concern. It is all too rare we have a special student like Azno. However, we all must make some sacrifices in the name of statecraft. My old friend Garghas has served me well during this distressing time of insurrection. I am eager to reward him. He would never say so, but this last skirmish took more out of him than he cares to acknowledge even to himself. I am hopeful that some time in the country with a more domestic agenda will heal him in body and mind alike. It is as if the fates sent Azno to us at this time for just that purpose.”

  He paused, tilting his head as if waiting for the tutors—Chadan in particular—to disagree with him. Chadan remained sullen and silent. Vaghos hurried to fill the silence.

  “How fortunate. We also admired Azno’s beautiful robe. A gift from his lordship, he said.”

  “Yes. As I am generous to Lord Garghas, he is generous to his dependents as well. He will buy Azno many fine gifts, I expect. You need have no worries that he will not be kept in great style.”

  “Indeed not. Thank you for setting our minds at ease, your Highness.”

  “Not at all. I am gratified that you care about your students.” The prince’s striking eyes hardened. “I see nothing amiss in that, as long as it is all kept in the proper perspective.”

  Baboye moved on, and Vaghos visibly sagged in relief. He turned on Chadan just as Rufin reappeared with three goblets of pagvee brandy.

  “You will have us all sanctioned, if not beheaded outright,” he hissed. Rufon, in the process of handing each of them a goblet, blanched. “I beg you, Master Chadan, draw your internal threads together and knot them well. You cannot afford to unravel in the presence of their Highnesses. Think of the recital coming up. You must be above reproach in every way and not disgrace us.”

  Chadan took the pagvee brandy and gulped down a mouthful. It was strong and bitter. He didn’t like it. But he felt the rush in his head and welcomed it. Enough pagvee brandy brought oblivion, people said. At the moment, nothing sounded more tempting.

  “Is everything….?” Rufin trailed off, wide-eyed and clearly nervous.

  “Yes,” Vaghos said. “Let us keep Master Chadan company for a bit and see that he enjoys himself. I fear the strain of too many rehearsals has left his nerves in a frazzled state.”

  Chadan allowed them to lead him around the festival for a while, while he tried to enjoy himself. He found himself guzzling one goblet of pagvee brandy after another as the hours dragged on. People walked around them, and the dancers whirled. At one point he spotted Mekko groping one of the hired dancers. He saw no further sign of Garghas, Azno, or any of the princes. Vaghos and Rufin talked with their heads bent together, ignoring him. He didn’t bother to listen in. At one point, he did hear Rufin ask, “Is someone really going to be beheaded?”

  “It was only a figure of speech,” Vaghos assured him.

  Finally, Chadan stood up, wobbly on his feet. “I want to go inside now,” he announced in a loud voice.

  “An excellent idea,” Vaghos said. He motioned to Rufin. “Take his other arm.”

  “Leave me,” Chadan said, pulling both arms away roughly. He almost fell but managed to right himself just in time. “I am capable of walking on my own.”

  They looked skeptical but did not argue. Perhaps they felt that with him being so obviously drunk, no one would dare stop and speak to him—and if they happened to overhear him muttering, they would not take anything he said seriously anyway. Chadan suspected they were eager to be away from him.

  Chadan started across the courtyard and found a doorway normally used by the servants, though none were about just now. As soon as he stepped inside, he had to grip the palace wall to right himself.

  He started when he felt a warm hand on his. He looked up and gaped in shock.

  “Are you well, Master Chadan?” Azno whispered.

  Surely, he was dreaming. “You are not real. You are with Garghas.”

  “No. I purposely spilled some wine on my robe. I told him I had to step away for a moment to get a servant to clean it.”

  “A momentary escape. You will share his bed later.”

  Azno blushed. “Not tonight.” He straightened himself and then looked around as if to make sure no one was w
atching them. “I will slip away and go into the marketplace tomorrow right after the morning meal. Will you meet me there?”

  “What? What do you mean? Impossible. You cannot simply leave the harem at whim.”

  “I know exactly how to manage it. I won’t explain now.” Again, Azno checked to make sure no one was nearby. He lowered his voice to a whisper. “Plan to go to the marketplace during your mid-morning break. I promise I will find you there. Don’t forget.”

  “This is a dream,” Chadan marveled.

  “It is not, Master Chadan. Please come tomorrow.”

  Then Azno bent forward and quickly touched his lips to Chadan’s. Chadan closed his eyes, leaning in to savor the kiss he had longed for. When he opened them, he was alone.

  A dream. Had to be.

  He stumbled on.

  *~*~*

  The next day, as he struggled through his morning lessons with his head pounding and his eyes burning in the harshness of daylight, Chadan tried to figure out whether he had dreamed his conversation with Azno or not. Certainly, he’d consumed enough of the pagvee brandy to trigger hallucinations. The entire interlude had a hazy quality in his mind, as though he had been watching the situation unfold through a gauzy curtain strung across a doorway.

  On the other hand, he clearly recalled Azno’s voice whispering encouragement. He even remembered the warm press of those perfect lips. That part had not felt like a dream. When he tried to call up further details, though, sweat beaded on his forehead, his hands began to shake, and all coherent thought fled. One thing was certain—he was not a man who should indulge in drink too frequently, if at all.

  He recalled another detail more clearly. On his way back to his rooms, he had glanced into a doorway and seen Eru and Pikor leaning against a wall, their arms around each other. They weren’t kissing or groping one another the way Mekko and the dancer had been cavorting. Instead, they remained almost completely still, their lips close but not touching as they whispered endearments to one another. Chadan couldn’t hear them, but he could easily imagine the words.