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An arrow flew past Tahir’s ear, past the princess’s swooping wing. “Puss and pox,” he cursed under his breath. The arrows were too close.
Why? he asked himself, wiping sweat out of his eyes. Why had he done this crazy thing? He could have served out his short time with the magician, saved his sister and the Land of the Sun. But no—he’d been unable to let Badr take the princess, not this princess.
Another arrow whizzed past them, this time just missing her hindquarters.
And had the magician allowed him to escape? That was the question. Near the Cavern of Sixty Thieves, he’d felt the magician lock part of his mind away from his control. Had Badr let him do this? Surely, Badr could’ve stopped him.
But he hadn’t.
Leaning forward, he kicked the princess’s sides again, squashing the guilt racing through his veins as she lurched forward. “Fly!” he urged again. “Faster!”
With a swoosh of wings the princess obeyed, but blood dripped from her mouth, splattering across her chest and his shins. He imagined it wrapping around the bit in her mouth and trickling onto the sand far below them.
He’d done that to her. He’d jerked the bridle and ripped her mouth. Beneath his thighs, her flanks were soaked, and white foam frothed in the crease where her wing joined her side. The princess needed to rest—especially if he was going to use her to save his sister.
Now that he’d broken his contract with Badr, he’d need all the help he could get.
“Do you smell water?” he asked as her wings beat downward. Her golden ear flicked back, so he knew she heard him. “An oasis nearby?”
Her barrel expanded beneath his legs, and Tahir guessed she was sniffing, searching for that water. She nickered, a short sound muffled by the whoosh of her wings.
“Good.” He loosened the reins and relaxed the grip on her sides. “Go there then,” he said. “And we’ll rest. You must be thirsty.”
As he tucked the magician’s cape firmly into his sack, she shifted her direction a little south. Taking her time, she shifted a little more. He welcomed the breeze on his face as he let her coast.
She banked a little toward the south again, and he eased with her, but then suddenly Tahir recognized a small crop of mountains shaped exactly like the silhouette of a shitani; he and the princess had flown over them when they’d left her home in the rain of arrows.
“You sneak,” he said, resisting the urge to jerk her mouth again. “You’ve doubled back home.”
A thought struck Tahir, right in the heart. She must really love the man she’d been about to wed. And if she loved her husband-to-be, she’d hate him—Tahir—for stealing her.
“You’re only making this more difficult for yourself.” He said the words for her, but he meant them for himself. Not jerking the reins but letting her know he held them, he added, “You can’t rest in the middle of the sands of this desert. We need water and shade—and we’re not going back to your palace for it.”
Her head hung low, humility pouring from her body language, but he’d seen the culture she’d come from—women knew how to appear yielding.
A resigned-sounding huff came from her nostrils, and with a powerful swoop of her wings, her body shifted beneath him. Her muscles slid so smoothly, so powerfully, that he needed to grab her mane to keep his seat, and wind from her wings ruffled his hair. She’d changed directions again, this time heading northeast.
By the time he could see the oasis, a puddle of green in a sea of tan, she was exhausted, but the grace with which her hooves touched the ground and the smoothness of her gallop as she slowed to a stop impressed him. She approached the edge of the oasis, wings tucked neatly against her flanks.
Looking at her still-heaving sides, he squashed that guilt again. He’d do whatever necessary to save his sister, his land. No regrets.
Knowing that hunger and thirst must be leaving her weak, Tahir led her to the lake, a gentle hand on her shoulder. He felt her flinch from his touch, but he ignored it, keeping his palm in place. She immediately drank, so thirsty that she submerged half her nostrils to better get the water.
Wanting to share the quiet of the moment, he leaned over the lake and drank himself, letting her stand over him, letting her dominate him—while he held her reins.
“I’m not going to hurt you,” he said slowly, wiping the cool water from his face. But then immediately he felt like a fool. He’d already hurt her. “I’m not going to hurt you more,” he amended.
She turned as far as she could, given her tether.
With deliberate slowness, he walked toward her, his palm down and toward her. She eyed him, nostrils flared, but he kept his step unhurried, his shoulders down. She didn’t step back, and he shortened the rein. Now she couldn’t bolt away from him without hurting herself. “Don’t be afraid,” he said in a low voice. “Not of me.”
When she allowed him into her space, he let his palm glide down her muscled neck, and he rested his hand on her shoulder, feeling the damp heat pouring from her.
“See?” he asked in the same low voice. “This isn’t so bad, is it?” Then, with the same deliberate slowness, he unbuckled the saddle and took it from her back. He quietly set it into the long shadow growing from the palm tree.
Sweat soaked her fur where the pack had been. “I’ve removed it now. Does that feel better?” he asked. “I can make it better yet.”
She stepped away from him, pulling the reins taut.
But Tahir was undaunted. Locking his gaze on her dark eyes, he took a silk handkerchief from his pocket. He dipped it into the cool water and, not looking away from her, he squeezed. The sound of the drops hitting the lake filled the quiet night.
This time when he stepped toward her, she remained still. Only the heavy breath from her dilated nostrils belied her nervousness.
Good, he thought, let her feel a little nervous. His gentleness would have more meaning this way. Taking his time, he ran the cool cloth around her ears and under her forelock. He wiped the lather from under her jaw, and when he came to the still-bleeding wounds where the steel bit met the corners of her lips, he said, “I’m sorry I hurt you.”
She pinned her ears back but didn’t move, not even when he wiped the blood clean and exposed the sore to the twilight air.
“Let me clean your wings,” he offered. “You’ll feel better.” He held out the cloth to show his intent, but she didn’t approach him.
But she didn’t step away either as he purposely walked toward her. He ran the cloth over the long line of her wing, and he felt the play of muscle beneath the stiff golden feathers. With a careful hand, he wiped the crease where feather met fur, inhaling the warm scent of her.
“I have to make something clear,” he said. “I didn’t change you into a pegaz. I cannot control this.”
She pinned her ears and swished her tail.
“I believe you’re going to change back to human form when the sun fully sinks below the horizon,” he said, wiping the sweat from the tendons of her forelegs. Did she appreciate the trust he laid before her as he prostrated himself at her feet? “And I have nothing to do with it. I can’t stop it. I can’t change it. When the sun comes up in the morning, you’ll change back into a pegaz.”
With swiveling ears, she looked at him. If he were her, he’d have many questions.
“When you touched the magician’s pegaz, you were trapped by a spell. You were cursed. You’ll change with the sun until the spell is broken.”
She looked west, no doubt inspecting the sun’s position. Half the red orb was already gone, but he kept washing the lather from her, cleaning her chest and the small spot between her forelegs. He dripped cool water over the sweat mark where her saddle had lain, and then he used his hand to wipe away the excess water and sweat.
She could have bitten him, lashed him with her hooves as he did this. She could have killed him—but she didn’t.
Tahir took that as a good sign.
“You’re probably hungry,�
�� he said. He let cool water drip down her flanks, then he wiped it away with the side of his hand. He had only moments before she transformed. “When you change, there’ll be dinner provided by the cloak—at least there was every time Badr opened it.”
The sun finally sank below the horizon, washing the sky in ambers and pinks. The beams bathed her, too, drawing long and strange shadows around her. Then he realized the strange planes weren’t some trick of light.
Amid silvery sunbeams, her forelegs shortened and hooves retracted. Her sand-colored mane gave way to a wealth of black hair plaited into complicated braids. The golden tips of the braids caught the setting sun and sent glittering confetti over the soft oasis grass. Her skin darkened from palomino horse-flesh to the color of the darkest honey. And her breasts…high and firm, curved through the purple silk.
The woman who appeared before him was a stunning beauty, something he hadn’t appreciated as he’d watched her from across the dune at her wedding. Her amber eyes nearly glowed in the fading light, and thick dark lashes fell over elegant cheekbones. Her lips were kissable, full, and her loose purple silk did little to hide the curves of her waist. His hands longed to caress those curves, memorize them and make them his own.
But that was never going to happen, he could clearly see. She was as angry as a shitani trapped for eternity in a bottle.
“Do not touch me,” she said, her eyes flashing but not quite meeting his. “Ever.”
Tahir took a step back, raising his hands. The damp cloth he’d been using fell to the sand with a quiet plop. “I’m sorry,” he said, trying to meet her gaze.
“I don’t know what edicts the klerin have against men touching pure women when the women are in animal form, and I don’t care to find out.”
“And if I tell you I don’t understand to what you’re referring?”
“You only need to understand one thing,” she said, putting her hands on her hips, making the purple silk ripple over her lush curves. “You are not to touch me. Your head and mine may very well end up separated from our bodies and decorating Pike Wall if you do. The rules of my land do not permit it—in fact, my cousin was recently beheaded for just this transgression. She permitted a soldier to touch her. I will not be that foolish.”
He took another step back, giving her as much space as she needed. “I won’t touch you.” Here he paused, unwilling to start their relationship with a lie. “Except to ride you.” Hearing those words, he almost choked. “In pegaz form only, of course.”
Her eyes flashed in anger, but when he tried to meet her gaze, let her see his lack of evil intent, she wouldn’t look at him. Then he remembered her wedding party, the separate role women played from men. No woman made eye contact with men.
“You are not to speak to me either,” she said, her tone as imperious as any queen’s. But…did she sound afraid? “No man may speak to me save my male relatives—which you are not.”
“I have food,” he said, still trying to gain some goodwill. “At least I believe I do. And if I’m wrong…” he inspected a towering date palm, ripe with fruit. “I’ll climb the tree.”
But she turned her back to him, ignoring his words.
“Look,” he said. “We’re stuck here in the middle of an oasis. We need to help each other. That generally requires communication.”
But she kept her back to him, implacable.
“Princess, listen.” Tahir looked at the elegant lines of her shoulder blades as the purple silk rippled over them in the fading light. “No one will know we’ve spoken. There’re no humans around for leagues and leagues.”
“Please!” she said, walking toward the sandy shore of the small lake. “No man may speak to me. You must stop. My father will have your head—and mine. My cousin—” But she broke off, saying no more.
Tahir ran his fingers through his hair, at a loss. She must be hungry, and he had to convince her to help him. How could he convince her if he couldn’t talk to her? He opened his mouth to speak again, but she was writing something in the damp sand.
How is this enchantment broken? she wrote. My marriage to the Raj must take place, and he cannot wed a horse. She’d underlined the word must several times.
He erased her words and took the stick. Eat first, he wrote in the sand. Then he added, Can I talk aloud to myself?
She hesitated for a moment, then shrugged, still refusing to meet his gaze.
“As sure as my name is Prince Tahir of House Kulwanti in the Land of the Sun, I can’t remember the last time I was this hungry.” He directed the words to the date palm trees, away from the princess.
She didn’t respond. “I wonder if I can get this cape to create dinner for us?” As he said this, he retrieved the black cloth. If he’d observed Badr correctly, it was all in the fingers. “If I cross these first two fingers together…” He crossed his fingers in example. “And shake…” He shook the cape. “A meal should appear.”
And it did. The meal appeared on a blanket before them—figs and dates, honeyed loaves of bread, pomegranates, and wine. A small lantern sat on the corner, their only protection against the coming dark.
He looked at the luxurious meal, appreciating how nice it would be if he could sit next to this beautiful woman and share the food with her. But he guessed that wouldn’t happen. If she couldn’t look at, touch, or speak with a man, he doubted she could eat with one.
“I think I’ll walk over to the other side of the oasis,” Tahir said—to himself. “I’ll make sure there’s no one here. No lions.”
Ignoring his hunger, he began to walk away from the meal. But warm sand hit the back of his knee and trickled to his ankle. She’d thrown sand at him.
Sit! she wrote in the sand. The letters were hard and deep. Perhaps she was as exasperated as he was. Eat. The princess herself sat with a pointed deliberateness—and grace. Her legs were curled neatly around each other, and her braided hair fell to her shoulders.
If the fraudulent Lady Casmiri had had this much beauty, he doubted he could’ve resisted her. But then he realized: it wasn’t beauty that Lady Casmiri had lacked. She’d had plenty of that. But this silent, stubborn princess had something else…. Her spirit, her very essence called to him. He could do no less than obey her.
He sat.
With her mustache fluttering in the hot breeze, the magician watched her pegaz fly off toward the Amr Mountains. Her teeth were clenched in something that might have resembled rage if she hadn’t had four hundred years to master such a basic emotion.
The prince wasn’t supposed to have gone with the princess, and he wasn’t supposed to have taken her cape. Not that she needed the cape, but she wanted the Sultan to think her powers came from an external object rather than her herself—and without the cape…
Well, she hadn’t been magician for the last half a millennium without learning anything. If the Sultan thought she lacked power without the cape, she’d take advantage of that misconception. She had her ways.
The fact that her true powers were slipping was something no one needed to know.
Especially her minions.
As if prompted, one of her minions spoke to her. The Sultan, one of the shitani called in her mind. Had it known she was thinking of them? They didn’t used to read her mind. They didn’t used to have that ability. He could rule us, the shitani said. Inspect him, too. He can replace you.
She bristled at the command—she was supposed to give them the orders. She turned away from the receding pegaz in a cold fury.
Several steps to her left, the Sultan’s guards gave her an apprehensive look. The hot scent of urine filled the air, and she knew one of them had wet his pants, probably when she’d turned the arrows into asps. No one liked the idea of asps slithering around their ankles, not even mighty soldiers.
Well, they’d do more than wet their pants if she convinced the Sultan to replace her as the magician.
Scanning the wary crowd, she found the commander, the man with the undeniable aura of authority. She l
ooked him in the eye.
Arrest me, she told him silently. Without a strong link between them, without physical contact, he’d think the idea originated in his own mind. Arrest me now, she commanded, trying to keep all doubt at bay.
Thankfully, this power still worked.
“Come with us, mighty magician,” the commander of the Sultan’s guard said. He grabbed her arm firmly, giving no indication of the fear she knew he must feel. “You are under arrest.”
The soldier marched her past the Sultan, and she met the ruler’s placid eyes. His lack of fear wasn’t feigned. No tightened shoulder muscles, no shifty expression, no scent of nervous fear existed in him.
Perhaps the shitani were correct, she thought reluctantly. Perhaps this Sultan would make a good replacement. In him she recognized a man who’d met adversity and survived it.
But he’d never met her before today. He’d never met the shitani. She’d see what he was capable of surviving.
Interrogate me, she thought at the Sultan, her gaze locked on his regal eyes. The compulsion would fall on him and stick like a spider web—at least that would be true if her powers remained in place. In my cell, she added. Interrogate me.
Her successor might have to come to her willingly, but willingness could be…encouraged. And the blank glare the Sultan sent her gave her no encouragement. He didn’t appear to be a man interested in interrogating anyone, much less Badr the Bad—who could change arrows to asps.
The oblivious commander opened a cell door for her and locked her inside the iron bars, and for a moment, panic raced through her heart. Orchestrating these various scenarios didn’t used to be so difficult. She wanted a successor. To achieve this goal, she needed control. Did she have it?
She sat on the floor, set her palms on her crossed legs, and closed her eyes. Badra rubbed her thumbs over her third finger, and she chanted the sound of creation almost under her breath. The earth’s strength began to pour through her, and her extremities trembled.
Three millennium ago, the first magician, Faruq the Great, had harnessed magic to control the dark shitani power. Before Faruq’s mighty works, the shitani burst from their caves and plagued the land like locusts. Badra had inherited that mantle from the fifth magician in his line—but that was so long ago she could barely remember being human.
Running Wild Page 5