by Tia Reed
The sailor made the sign of warding. “Vae’omar raise the wind to carry us away.”
“Imbecile of a genie!” The deep male voice vibrated the thin planks. “Dimwit.” A nail popped loose and bounced across the floor. The sailor started. “Next time you fall into salt, I will leave you for the sawtooths.”
“Who is that?” Timak asked, staring into the glare.
“Have a care, lad.” The sailor gripped Timak by the arms and thrust his face within a hand of Timak’s nose. Timak went rigid, his eyes widening large as the sailor’s. Under the man’s chafed hands, his bruises stung. He couldn’t help his eyes watering, or the tremble in his lips. “Not even lust will see Lord Ahkdul keep yer if yer spook him good. If yer be playing a prank, it’ll see you thrust overboard to the sawtooths, and if yer not…” He trailed off, releasing Timak. “Ah, take heart laddie,” he said, shaking his head and looking at the feather pillow with its imprint of Ahkdul’s broad head, the knot in the wood above the coffer, the bolts on the slanting legs of the table. Looking everywhere but at Timak. “Your river ain’t leading to no fishing ground, but there’s plenty is worse off than you.”
When Timak didn’t move, the sailor stepped to the door.
“Do you have children?” Timak asked.
The sailor tensed. Timak turned his head a twitch, so the big man would know the question was for him and not some creepy ghost. “Aye,” the sailor answered.
“Will you bring your son on this boat? In place of me?”
His only answer was a footstep, followed by the click of the door. He closed his eyes and listened to the silence. A tear trickled down his cheek. “Yazmine?” Another tear fell into the lengthening hush. “Please don’t leave me alone…Yazmine?”
“YOU TOLD HIM YOUR NAME?!” The rage gusted through the cabin, rocking the bowl.
Timak cringed.
“Do you want to be hurled back to ground, to wallow in your miserable little existence for an eternity until the Court forgives you? If they ever forgive you!”
He heard Yazmine stifle a sob. It wasn’t right she fell prey to some brute. “Stop it,” he said. “You’re frightening her.” A gust whipped him up before he had finished speaking. He crashed against the wall and slid to the floor, bashing his arm against the coffer. Pain jolted through his elbow into his shoulder. He curled up, drawing his arm against his chest. It hurt so much it might have broken.
“You puny speck of creation. Do you DARE tell a DJINN what to do?”
He gritted his teeth, squeezing his eyes tight against the pain. “It’s your fault. You spoke her name. Yesterday, you called her.” He cowered into the corner. Wind moaned through the cracks in the planks and ruffled his hair.
“No, don’t!” Yazmine pleaded.
The wind died. The djinn clucked. Timak let out his breath.
“He can hear us,” the djinn said.
“Shouldn’t he?” Yazmine whispered. “I mean if he’s got a gift.”
“Mahktos grants no such gift.”
Timak risked a peep. The glare had gone, leaving the ocean to ripple until it met the hazy sky. “Maybe it was the porrin,” he said.
“The porrin has worn off, you miserable insect.
“It started with the porrin,” Yazmine said.
“And should have ended with it,” the djinn snarled. His glare burst into the cabin. “The Court must hear of this.”
A force tugged Timak to the tips of his toes. An icy breath slid across his face and down his body, chilling him to the bone. He shivered. For the first time in his ten years, he understood what a still wind meant. He wished he didn’t when his breath puffed through the glare, heating it so he could see a creature with a hint of red in his blazing eyes and a touch of indigo in his crystal joints. He sobbed as the djinn shook him until his teeth chattered.
“If you ever have the fortune to cower in our presence again, you will address us as Djinn and Genie. You will never call Yazmine by name again and you will never so much as breathe it to another living soul, whether it be one of your inconsequential kind, or an insignificant scumhopper. Squeal, and I will allow a thousand like Lord Ahkdul to take their pleasure with you in a single night, insect. I will hack off pieces of your flesh and feed them to jabberweis while you watch, cockroach. Do you understand?”
Mute with fear, Timak could only nod.
“You had better,” the voice said. The invisible djinn released him. Timak collapsed against the table. The bowl rattled, releasing the smell of onion and fish. He waited but the voices were silent. His stomach grumbled. He didn’t think he was hungry, but Ahkdul and djinn had dug a big hole inside him. He slid onto the bolted chair and pecked at the cold meal to try and fill the emptiness.
The shadows in the cabin lengthened. The hull groaned. His tormentor scuffed the door open. Ahkdul breathed deep as his sight roved where it shouldn’t. Timak slipped out of the chair, his eyes flicking to the frayed rope in the corner. He needn’t have worried. Ahkdul had eyes for him alone. The monstrous lord stepped forward. Timak backed up, right into the narrow bunk. The contact forced him to sit.
“Shall we begin?” his tormentor asked.
A deep breath gave Timak the courage he needed to ask, “Please, may I take some porrin?” Papa would have flushed red to hear him ask. There was never a day they walked passed a wasted, rocking addict when Papa did not warn of its dangers. Only the down and out, the rebellious or the foolish sample its delights, the finest, fittest soldier in all addicted Verdaan would warn. Right here, right now, Timak was all three. If a life of torture lay before him, he would exchange his mind for numb release from his captor’s filthy touch.
“Timak. Timak.” Lord Ahkdul sat next to him, and placed a hand on his knee. “It is so much more enjoyable for me if you don’t.”
That was when he realised how truly evil Lord Ahkdul was.
Escape if you can, his father had said. He would, even if it were into the jaws of a sawtooth. Lord Ahkdul must have guessed why he eyed the portal. The monster retrieved the rope, bound Timak by the ankle and secured the other end to the table. The leash permitted him the bunk but strained short of the deck.
“Now,” Lord Ahkdul said, “be a good boy, although I shan’t really mind if you kick and scream.”
The torture began, and with it a sweet lullaby that carried him away from this cruel world to the dream of Vae’oenka’s comforting embrace.
Chapter Eight
The second knock was urgent. Kordahla stuffed the books under the pillows while Vinsant, looking guilty enough to give their deceit away, dallied about answering. There was a short exchange, too low for her to hear. Then he admitted a black-robed figure. He faced her, unfathomable with his features obscured, deferential in holding his gaze lower than hers, in standing at the edge of her rug.
“I came to enquire after your health, Princess.” When the white puffs of his breath dispersed, Arun slid back his hood. It was not often the mahktashaan deigned to unrobe outside Counsel. His golden-brown hair and goatee were longer than she remembered but his face was, as on every occasion he had chosen to reveal himself, open and honest.
“I am fully recovered,” she said, a trace of annoyance in her voice. The mahktashaan had no business seeking admittance to her rooms. This one, though, she was not at liberty to order out. The Minoria was not just the superior officer of the guards outside her door, but also one of her father’s most trusted advisers. If she were honest, she would add he was Arun for, whatever his rank, she would not have tolerated his spooky superior in her chambers for the sole reason of asking after her wellbeing.
“Do you still wish instruction in the magical arts, Princess?” His eyes gently teased before sliding around the room.
He was a beast to remind her. “Does it please you to mock me?” Despite the sting in her voice, her humiliation forced her to look away from those striking cerulean eyes.
He glided across the rug, the thick pile barely denting beneath his feet, and placed an em
bossed, faded leather-bound book on the table. Tales of the Djinn. The title made her shudder. Arun squeezed her arm, at which she looked up, not entirely aggrieved by his liberty, not completely comfortable either.
“On the contrary, Princess. It is my sworn duty to protect this family. In fact, I am amazed you remember.”
She remembered all right. Every single embarrassing moment, thanks to Levi. No doubt she would bear the brunt of Mariano’s teasing for long years to come. If she were not peddled to Verdaan before Dindarin was full. She looked away, which caused him to release her arm. She immediately folded it across her chest to stave off the cold.
“It is chilly in here,” Arun said, a deep furrow on his brow as he noted her goosebumps. He picked up the cashmere blanket she had left crumpled at the edge of the rug, and handed it to her with a bow. She draped it around her shoulders, comforted by the softness of the fibres.
Gawking at the pair of them, Vinsant scampered to the window and threw open the shutters. “Um, closed the window so Kordahla wasn’t upset by you-know-what.”
“Vinsant, if you are to join the mahktashaan, you must not lie to either Levi or me, though with the unranked you may take your chances. This chill is not natural. A still wind blows in this room.”
Kordahla forced her shoulders back as he held his crystal to the corners. Deep within, it glowed the colour of his eyes. “If he joins the mahktashaan, I shall hold you personally responsible for his wellbeing, his upbringing and his safety.” Her heart thumped faster, willing him to follow the conversation onto firmer ground.
He let the crystal settle back on his chest. “Vinsant will be under my tutelage, and that of Majoria Levi. I assure you Princess, though Levi inspires dread, we are not the brutes you think us. Thanks to you, Prince Vinsant is intelligent and principled enough to make his own way without much further direction, and I shall be honoured to ensure he remains so.”
The flattery worked on Vinsant, who stopped imitating Arun with the ruby he had plucked from her silver filigree jewellery box and stood tall. That alone told her Arun was premature in his judgement. She struggled to find good reason why he should delay his training. “The apprentices,” she began, allowing the blanket to fall from her shoulders onto the daybed. “They are older.” She paused. The sun was streaming false cheer through the window.
“Princess Kordahla,” the Minoria interrupted. “May we revert to our previous topic? What business had a djinn within this room?”
The mahktashaan served Shah and Majoria without question: such was their code. Yet Arun was so calm and undemanding, she was in danger of believing him trustworthy. She swallowed. “I cannot say. We saw no djinn.” Vinsant might be prohibited from lying but she was certainly under no such obligation, not to a soldier and certainly not when her happiness was at stake.
The Minoria glanced at Vinsant, who hastily reopened her jewellery box and nestled the ruby inside with exaggerated care. Arun bowed his head. “So be it. I hope you will not do anything rash. Perhaps you will consider the nature of the higher world as you enjoy those tales.”
Her eyes fell to the book on the table. The title was legendary. She had read to Vinsant from it when he was a child. What she had not remembered was the subtitle: duplicity and deception. Kordahla took a deep breath. Arun knew something. Something she did not. Else why would he bring that particular book? As always, Vinsant was quicker than her.
“Why did you bring Kordahla a book?”
“For much the same reason you do, my Prince.”
Startled, Kordahla’s eyes flicked between the two of them. Vinsant’s face was pulling through comical expressions as he struggled to come to grips with discovery.
“Have no fear,” Arun said, with a half-smile and a slight raise of his eyebrow that suggested to Kordahla he used the last word in jest. “Your discretion, Vinsant, has been commendable. Neither the Majoria nor the Shah are aware the Princess is well-read, but then neither spends as much time in the libraries as I.”
“But why that book?” Vinsant persisted.
“My answer remains the same. But tell me, Princess, have you retrieved your veil?”
Her mother’s veil, cherished and worn more than any other. Her guilt must have shown. Worse, there was a gravity about the question that turned the casual enquiry into one of great import. She had to wonder if Arun suspected in whose possession it had landed.
Kordahla shook her head. “I have not. Nor do I wish it, sullied as it is.” The lie cut her so deep, she almost missed the fleeting fear which passed across the Minoria’s face. He concealed it well as he turned to her brother.
“The Majoria is about to examine the grapper. Would you care to watch, young man?”
“You bet!” Vinsant fairly jumped in his excitement. She couldn’t help but smile.
“Then we must take our leave, Princess. While I am bound by the oaths of my calling, I hope you will consider me a friend, and call upon me should the need arise.”
“I thank you for your kindness, Minoria,” she replied formally. His warning about his loyalty, to Father, to Levi, did more to earn her trust than his gift.
He bowed, drew up his hood, and left her staring at the book until her chatty handmaids returned with bunches of frangipani they arranged in vases around the room. Enamoured of tales of love and betrayal, Karie and Samille had kept her secret through the years, begging her of an evening to read to them until the words swam in front of her watering eyes. With a sigh, she picked up the volume and began a story, her mind drifting over their squeals of delight and horror onto her own adventure of escape.
Chapter Nine
Captain Edard deq Lungo really ought to know better than to propose that Lady Jordayne del Giordano not abase herself by entering the gentleman’s establishment. Really, did he think she was about to miss out on all the fun? When the ingenious scheme was her idea too! There was no limit to the cheek of these men. One would think their fathers raised them in patriarchal Verdaan instead of Myklaan.
“But dear Captain,” she said, placing a manicured hand on the brass latch. “It cannot be that bad. I do believe there are a host of other women inside.” And with that she pushed open the freshly painted door and entered into a haze of smoke and billowing silks, setting a dozen bells jingling in the process. Inside, elaborate settees piled with plump cushions of exotic design lined the walls, a delightful place to wait for the attentions of the escorts if one could reach them without becoming entangled in the swags.
“There is, I suppose, no dissuading you?” Matisse said, trying, but not too hard, to prevent a smile breaking across his face. She would bet her entire forearm of gold bangles his tanned complexion and fair hair attracted the first seductress out of the internal door.
“None, dearest,” she replied, patting his arm. “So you had best see to my reputation before Captain deq Lungo feels compelled to defend my honour.”
“This can only enhance your reputation, Jordayne,” Matisse said, with a throaty laugh, “though I’m not sure our uncle will feel mine is unsullied.”
“Big sister will own up to it being all her idea. But do see to the Captain, there’s a good boy. He’s going to give the game away before it’s even afoot.”
The Captain’s scandalised expression, accentuated by the hard, angular lines of his cheek and jaw, was intensifying by the second. Surprising really, given he sported the odd grey hair. His men, Vae’oenka bless them, supposedly the finest in the palace guard, looked like children in a candy store who faced a spanking if they touched. And not a female yet in sight, herself excluded. That did rather need to be remedied. They could not expect their quarry to walk in on a room full of guards, who despite their neat civilian clothing looked every bit the trained soldier, and take the bait.
Jordayne took the bell on the dainty desk at the back of the room and, reclining on the blue brocade of the nearest settee, waved it above her head. Its tinkle drew the men’s heads her way. Decked in gold, wearing a scanty beaded choli abo
ut her bust, and a chiffon skirt that exposed her toned midriff and revealed more than a hint of shapely leg, she delighted in their lusty grins. Cultivated them, in fact. When the solid, reinforced inner door opened, she affected a yawn. The summons had taken minutes, not a timeframe to which an establishment of good repute aspired if it hoped to attract a better sort of clientele. She wondered where the spy-holes were and how long it had taken the proprietor to appraise her unusual guests.
A trim, eastern-looking lady, white hair swept into a high bun bowed their way. “I sorry. Our rooms full,” she said in a singsong voice that hinted of the eastern lands. Her slanty, dark brown eyes were a picture of nervousness, roving between Jordayne, the Captain and Matisse.
“Oh dear. I had heard this was the place to come for a romp. My brother and I did so want to try a room.” She saw a spark of colour in Matisse’s cheeks. He was never as much fun as she hoped. “Not the same room, of course,” she clarified. It would not do to take things too far. Yet.
“Sorry, Lady. All full. This place not for you. You go West End.”
“This early in the afternoon? These men are not after liquor, madam.”
“What you want? What palace guards and shah heir and lady want?”
Oh dear. Were they really that obvious? Well she was, and Matisse was getting to be, but the guards?
“We want admittance,” Matisse said, taking charge. He dropped a bag of gold on the desk. “We want anonymity.” His sky-blue eyes grew hard. “And we want your complete cooperation or we will shut this porrin den down and raze it to the ground before tossing you in the dungeons.”
The woman bowed three times in rapid succession. “You come. Come. Many exquisite girls waiting. What you like? Blonde, brunette? Even redhead here. What you like?”
“You wouldn’t happen to have a dark-skinned gladiator by any chance,” Jordayne said, delighting in the madam’s blink. Her grey shalvar kameez, tailored to the eastern style and embroidered in the same shade, only served to accentuate her elegance, something the years of her profession had failed to dull. “Never mind,” Jordayne said, taking the woman by the arm. “This is what we want.”