“Lift the curse from her?” Apparently, her words infuriated the Sultan, although she hadn’t meant them to do so. Her faltering control on even her speech indicated how quickly her power was fading.
“Don’t pretend to be naïve, man—woman—whatever you are.” The Sultan eyed her, caution in his gaze. “Princess Shahrazad is heading to the Flower Taker,” he said. “And when she is finished with that step of the marriage to the Raj, she will visit you.”
“Visit me?” Badra asked.
“You’ve made it clear I should fear you,” the Sultan said, “and I do. But there is that I fear more—the demise of my land. I will not permit you to sow our ruin. This marriage will take place, whether you will it or not.”
Was there hope for this man still? He’d make a magnificent magician. “What would happen if you took my place and ruled the shitani?”
“I do not trust you,” the Sultan snarled. “You contradict the augury, and the augury never fails.” He spat on the ground in disgust. “You, on the other hand, steal. You take false forms. You manipulate.”
“I will ask your daughter then,” Badra said, losing her patience. “She may rule in my stead.”
“You will not.” Again the Sultan spat. “You will lift that curse from her or I’ll hang you from these very rafters from your absurdly stupid mustache.”
Badra curbed a chuckle. “What makes you think you can compel me to obey?” she asked.
But the Sultan had no answer for that. “Guards,” he said as he left. “Double the number of soldiers by this cell. He is not to leave. Not under any circumstances. Not unless I myself command it.”
For a moment, the magician concentrated her prana. She would have to get to the Princess Shahrazad before the Sultan did. Badra herself would need to find the Flower Taker’s chambers.
And for that, she needed magic.
7
For a moment, the Flower Taker’s beauty left Shahrazad unable to speak, and she must permit this woman to touch her, to take her virginity. Was she truly prepared to take this step toward irrevocable adulthood?
“Congratulations,” the Flower Taker said to her. The woman lay in the oversized bed with all the confidence of a desert cat. A fitted top of ruby beads held her breasts, pushed them high and offered them like succulent fruit. Shahrazad wasn’t at all certain she was ready to accept this gift.
“Thank you,” she said finally.
“Are you prepared to change your view of the world?”
The question was appropriate, but it held a threat. The view from the Pike Wall was different. “I’m prepared,” she lied.
“You will be a delight between the sheets.”
“Thank you,” she said again, years of court training taking over where courage might falter. “The marriage is a well-planned alliance. The Raj and his army will help us defeat the shitani.”
The Flower Taker laughed, a rich and delightful sound that seemed to ring with approval. “Congratulations for that, too, but it is not what I meant, little hawk.”
“What did you mean, then?” For a wild moment, she thought the other woman congratulated her on surviving her night in the desert and fighting demons in the morning.
“I’m simply congratulating you on your courage and quick mind.”
Shahrazad swallowed. What did this woman know—and how did she know it?
“Don’t look so nervous, little hawk,” the woman laughed. “Some of my clients stand at that hall door for ages, afraid to take the initiative, afraid to knock or open it.” The Flower Taker rolled to her stomach and stood. Her luscious gold hair fell past her shoulders in graceful waves.
“Oh.” Of course, this woman wasn’t talking about her night with Prince Tahir.
“And the women who get that far generally choose the lighted hallway over the dark one,” the Flower Taker added.
“And where does the lighted hall take them?”
“Not to me,” the woman said with a lazy smile. The Flower Taker ran a long fingertip over the top of her breast, her eyes locked on Shahrazad’s, challenging her to accept her sexuality.
“Their loss.”
The Flower Taker laughed again. “Your husband-to-be will be a lucky man.”
And Prince Tahir, Shahrazad wondered to herself. Who would make him a lucky man? She pushed the thought away. “Will you make me a lucky woman?”
The Flower Taker’s laugh rewarded her, and Shahrazad wondered if she’d spent too much of her life being polite. “You are a delightful girl,” the woman said. “And I will help you become an even more delightful woman.”
A huqqa stood on a side table, smoke coiling from the topmost dish. The Flower Taker strode over like a tiger and placed green herbs in the huqqa’s marble top. Then she added a burning ember. Soon the unfamiliar scent she’d noticed in the entryway filled the room.
“When you say he’s lucky, you’re not referring to the benefits of our alliance with the Raj, are you?” Shahrazad asked.
“I’m not speaking of politics. I’m speaking of flesh.” The Flower Taker slid a mouthpiece onto the huqqa’s long, silk-covered tube. “He’s lucky because you’re a bold woman, and you have a quick wit. That cannot be trained or untrained in a bed partner—only embraced.”
“Or rejected.”
“Only a fool rejects a quick wit.”
“The world is filled with fools.” She couldn’t imagine her father seeing the value of a witty woman, for example.
“I don’t believe your husband-to-be is one of those.”
Did the Flower Taker know this, or was she trying to placate a nervous client? “What makes you say so?”
“I have many clients, little hawk.”
“You…know the Raj ir Adham?”
The Flower Taker chuckled. “I’ve known many people in my life.”
“And you think he might allow a wife to be more than a mother?”
“I think he’d be very happy to have a clever wife.”
“In what sort of capacity would he value me?”
“That is too political of a thought for this evening.” The woman inhaled from the tube and the sound of bubbling water filled the room. “Let us discuss flesh instead.” She grinned. “Then we shall do more than discuss.”
“Perhaps I’m not ready.”
“Trust me,” the Flower Taker said. “You’re ready. You just haven’t realized it quite yet.” She let her fingers drift seductively across her midriff, just above her pubic triangle. “You’re a succulent peach begging to be picked.”
Shahrazad looked at the woman’s midriff. With surprise, she realized that the Flower Taker’s flesh tempted her. Her time with Prince Tahir must have opened something in her, made her crave things she’d never craved. “As you wish, Flower Taker,” she said, her compliant words masking a burgeoning desire.
“It will be as you wish, too,” the Flower Taker said with a wicked grin. She stepped toward Shahrazad and caressed her breasts.
With sharp intake of breath, Shahrazad stepped back, but the Flower Taker closed the distance between them. “I will pluck these peaches,” she said, fingertips dancing under the brassiere’s seam. “I will pluck them and suck them and taste them until you can think of nothing but satisfaction.”
Shahrazad blushed, knowing it made her look as naïve as a child but unable to stop.
“Your oraz is lovely,” the Flower Taker said, ignoring her embarrasment “The color brings out the warmth of your skin.”
“Thank you,” Shahrazad said, her voice thick. “But I hear a ‘however’ in your tone.”
“You are very direct for a princess.”
“Directness is not the point,” she said. The Flower Taker’s bold words, her touch, left her preoccupied. To her left, the air stirred, and she caught that gardenia scent. That wasn’t Prince Tahir, was it? Surely he wouldn’t have come to her Flower Taking. He didn’t need to guard her here—a safer place didn’t exist in the entire palace.
At least as far as Shahra
zad knew.
The woman held up her elegant hand. “My point is this only, I would like you to wear a bedlah.”
“For dancing?” Shahrazad recognized the stupidity of her words, but her thoughts seemed…abstracted. Visions of curves and breasts and lips haunted her mind.
“Yes. I have one for you.” The woman’s long fingers gestured toward a neatly folded pile of silk sitting on the table opposite of the huqqa.
Shahrazad touched the plum-colored mound. “It’s lovely.”
“You may change behind that screen,” the Flower Taker instructed, indicating a latticed structure. A lantern had been lit behind the filmy parchment, and it flickered invitingly.
Shahrazad looked at it, observing the backlighting and its implication. “You plan to watch me, don’t you?”
“I’ll watch your shadow,” the woman corrected. “And your husband will always watch you. With a beauty like yours, he’ll be unable to help himself.” The Flower Taker ran a warm palm over her arm. “Let me show you how much fun can be had between the sheets. You must leave modesty behind with your maidenhead.”
Her mouth suddenly dry with nervous anticipation, Shahrazad stepped behind the parchment and paused, frozen with anxiety.
“You do want to please your husband, don’t you?” The tone was gentle.
“Of course.”
“Perhaps you’d rather please Prince Tahir?”
At first she thought the huqqa smoke had gone to her head. She couldn’t have heard those words correctly. “What did you say?”
“I’ve heard you were alone with the handsome prince. Did you like him? Did you like the freedom?”
“Freedom of the sort I believe you’re suggesting does not exist.” Haughtily, Shahrazad stretched her arms over her head, and turned, knowing the movement would accentuate the long line of her torso and then the curve of her breast. Slowly she extended her fingertips and bent her wrist. Her dance instructor would have been pleased.
“Even the illusion of freedom can tantalize,” the Flower Taker observed in her husky voice.
“That may be,” she answered the woman who must be her father’s spy. “But the land must come first.”
“I believe you’ll come first,” the Flower Taker chuckled. “Do not stop undressing. I’m very much enjoying my view.”
“And if I’ve lost that desire?”
The Flower Taker chuckled, but it wasn’t a derisive sound. “You’re angry with me because I’ve touched you where you’re the most vulnerable. But you mustn’t be that way.”
“Why not?” She stood still frozen in place.
“Because to truly enjoy the pleasures of the flesh you must make yourself vulnerable. You feel insecure. You wonder how much I know about you and the prince. You wonder how much I know about your secret fears and desires. And yet you crave me. Don’t you see? No one can resist such a duality between the sheets. Flames and ice. Truth and lies. Virgin and whore.”
“As the virgin, my vulnerability is clear,” Shahrazad said. “But what have you done to make yourself vulnerable?”
The Flower Taker laughed aloud then, no sultry chuckling now. “Why, you are a true delight!” she said.
“But you’ve not answered me.”
“Perhaps I need no vulnerability,” she said, and Shahrazad heard hedging. “I am to teach you.”
“Then teach by example. Tell me something that makes you vulnerable to me. Open yourself. Expose yourself.”
“You challenge me, then.”
“I suppose I do.”
“Continue to remove that oraz, and I will consider.”
She inexorably turned, twining her wrists…crossing her elbows. In one succinct movement, she shed her oraz and stood naked. “Have you thought of something?”
“I have a secret, which you might guess if you are clever enough.”
“If you do not distract me with pleasure enough.”
“I shall endeavor to distract you beyond all thoughts and words,” the Flower Taker promised. “But still…if you are clever, you might discover something that would bring my downfall.”
Had the woman discovered Shahrazad’s secret? Did she know that the magician had marked her? Did she know she secretly craved Prince Tahir?
“Then I shall endeavor to ascertain your secret while enjoying my time in your hands.” She put more confidence in her words than she truly felt.
“Your nerves do not show, little hawk.”
Shahrazad struggled to keep the lines of her arms long and elegant while slipping into the plum-colored brassiere. As her fingers and hands trembled, she knew the Flower Taker lied herself. “I am nervous,” she said. “I’m sure you know that.”
“I have the solution, and so will your husband-to-be.”
“What is that?” Shahrazad asked, looking down at her new clothing. The skirt fitted perfectly, low and snug on her hips. The triangle formed by the gold beads fit right over her pubic mound. What would Prince Tahir have thought of this?
“Quit hiding behind that screen, and I’ll show you.”
With a deep breath, Shahrazad stepped out. The place where the magician had touched her back stung, exposed by the low-slung skirt and her bared midriff. Surely, the Flower Taker would notice. Would she recognize it? Would she negate the marriage after all this effort?
“I had this made just for you, in anticipation of this night,” the Flower Taker said. With heavy-lidded eyes, the woman drew another deep breath through the stiff tube of the huqqa. Her pupils were huge. With neat efficiency, she passed Shahrazad a small box wrapped in bright green silk. “I hope you like it.”
Careful to keep her back away from the woman, Shahrazad took the box and unwrapped it, letting the silk covering flutter to her feet. Inside she found a mouthpiece for the huqqa. It was an adult’s gift, and Shahrazad admired the intricately carved pattern of diamond shapes and curlicues. “It’s lovely. Does it have anything to do with your darkest secret?”
“No.” Shaking her head with an enigmatic smile, the Flower Taker gestured to a second silk-covered tube attached to the huqqa. “But you may thank me by trying it.”
Shahrazad walked over to the huqqa, careful to turn her body so the burning flesh from the magician’s touch wouldn’t show. She slid the mouthpiece onto the tube. “The herb smells intoxicating.”
“It should. It’s khansari, the herb of seduction from the land of the most sensual people in all nine Lands.” The Flower Taker gently passed the smoking tube in her direction.
“I’d wager you were Khansari,” Shahrazad teased. Inhaling deeply, she let the smoke fill her lungs, and she held it there for a moment. She slowly let the smoke drift, then said, “I didn’t realize there was a drug of seduction.”
“There’s much you don’t know, little hawk.”
“And you will teach me.”
“Another inhalation?” The Flower Taker pointed at the huqqa. Her tapered fingernails glowed in the candlelight. Shahrazad wondered in a lazy way if the Flower Taker were Khansari. Perhaps that was her secret. But how did that make her vulnerable?
“I will,” Shahrazad said, struck by the woman’s voice. It wasn’t the tenor of her words…it was her pronunciation that struck a chord. The Flower Taker spoke with a slight lilt, something she’d heard recently. One of the Raj’s relatives? Not Prince Tahir. But the smoke in her thoughts impeded her rational self, and the identity escaped her.
As she inhaled, an odd somnolence filled her. She watched the Flower Taker wrap her ruby lips around the tube and suck in a deep breath. What else might those lips caress? And where was Prince Tahir? He should be seeking the magician, but the sexual part of her wanted him here. He’d said he wouldn’t leave her side. Maybe he was here…
“I’ve heard…” Shahrazad tried to remember, but the thought that’d been so clear just heartbeats before flipped away like a fish in a pond. Then her eyes caught the glittering of the woman’s lips. “I’ve heard you have penis-shaped toys.” The words came from her
lips with a surprising slowness, as if the herb had somehow wrapped around the sands of time and choked them until they flowed at a mere trickle.
“Ah.” The woman shifted her shoulder so her hair fell straight down her back in a sunshine-colored sheath. “I have such delightful toys, and we’ll play with them.”
The Flower Taker walked over to a screened panel, her hips undulating in a way Shahrazad had seen only in professional dancers.
But they weren’t as beautiful as the one small spot she’d seen of Prince Tahir’s back. She realized that her thighs ached for him. She turned her head and inhaled deeply, trying to catch his scent. But she detected only khansari. Of course she couldn’t smell him. Accompanying her here would be more than a venial transgression.
“Little hawk,” the woman said, her voice shimmering through the air as if conducted by magic. Shahrazad embraced the sultriness of her voice, letting it wash over her like cool water squeezed from a sponge. Rich colors—oranges, reds, and purples—danced behind her closed eyes.
“Little hawk, are you listening to me?”
“Yes.” The word fell so slowly from her lips.
“I won’t hurt you.”
She’d heard those words before—from her prince.
Cool lips grazed her forehead. Prince Tahir! Shahrazad opened her eyes aching for him to appear before her. But she met only velvety black pupils nearly obscuring the woman’s irises, which were a shocking violet. Not Tahir. Of course, not Tahir. Just the khansari smoke twisting around her thoughts.
“Your eyes are beautiful,” Shahrazad said. “Like jewels. Amethysts. Tanzanite.”
“And yours are the color of amber, gold as honey, so beautiful against your skin.”
The Flower Taker sat next to Shahrazad’s head and slowly wrapped a braid around her index finger as seductive drumbeats filled the chamber. Enraptured with the colors, the textures, Shahrazad watched the black braid coil around the pale finger until only the gold bead and red fingernail showed.
“I understand you dance well, little hawk.” As slowly as the dawn sun creeping over the sands, the Flower Taker stood from the bed. And it was as if the drumbeats were somehow tied to her hips. With each accented beat, the woman’s hip undulated, her red-beaded belt glittering in the dim candlelight. Her breasts and torso remained still as her hips invited, beckoned.
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