by Tia Reed
“I am sorry I disappoint,” she said with no hint of an apology, “but Terlaan is moving forward. You will find our women more forthright than your own. I hope your stay here will reveal the merits of equality among the sexes.”
Ahkdul’s face clouded. “I am given to understand equality does not yet exist. Indeed, Shah Wilshem seemed cautious of Myklaani ideals when we spoke. I will wager your happiness that you capitulate on this when you accompany me to Pengari.”
“I am afraid I must decline your generous offer, most especially since my happiness is at stake.”
“Most women would express joy at what I offer.”
“I am not most women. I am a princess of Terlaan. Speak as you would in the company of my brother, or speak to me not at all.”
“I will do better. I will speak my intentions in the presence of your father. In fact, I have done so. It is a pity you lack the influence of a mother. A demure nature is as tantalising as beauty in a woman. Without one the other is not complete.”
“Then my beauty cannot be as celebrated as you claim.”
For Kordahla, the journey to the dry docks passed in an agony of Ahkdul hinting at their betrothal. The one comfort was Arun, standing back and watching for any sign of impropriety on the part of her despicable companion, his black robe a stark contrast to the horse tails drifting across the sky. Strange how she valued the Minoria’s presence more than her brother’s in this. Arun’s gravity matched her mood more closely than Mariano’s inclination to jest at her expense. It was a match as perfect as his cerulean crystal to the heavens.
On her feet before the boatman had secured the boat, she disembarked after the first mahktashaan ashore had nodded his permission. The area was a hive of carpentry and rigging, shipwrights shouting and banging upon the magnificent, masted vessel Lord Hudassan had commissioned. The workers downed tools as they noticed the royal party. Many flocked to the gunwale to cheer. How typical of the brute that Ahkdul basked in the attention. Taking Timak’s limp hand, Kordahla signalled to one of the mahktashaan. A walk along the lake would get them both out of range of Ahkdul’s tongue. It was a pity the docks had marred the wildflower beauty of this stretch of bank. The men would need to take their time inspecting the ship for her to move far enough from the bustle to appreciate the wooded surrounds. If only a lewd wolf whistle weren’t cutting through the air. She stiffened as she turned, tossing her walnut locks behind her shoulder with a shake of her head and determined to lash out with her tongue. Every man in sight was staring at her, tools loose in hand. Cheeks colouring, she wished again, very much in spite of herself, she had donned a veil.
Of a sudden, she shivered. High on deck, indigo flashed behind the shipwrights. Her intended rebuke caught in her throat. Her feet refused to budge. Dream-distant, she heard Mariano order the mahktashaan to seek out the culprit. He was pointing at a red-headed man who straddled the gunwale. Staring at her like he was granted a vision, the carpenter did not notice two mahktashaan gliding up the gangplank towards him. Swords glinting at their sides, their intentions were clear. She ran to her brother, not caring she acted like a child, like an uneducated girl from the farms instead of one versed in palace etiquette.
“Stop them,” she said, taking his arm and refusing to acknowledge his look of disapproval. “It wasn’t him.”
“Enough Kordahla. He looks at you like he dreams of defiling your body. That alone is enough for me to demand justice.”
A cold anger took hold of her. She let go Mariano’s arm and faced him like an equal, which, if she was truthful, as a woman she was not. “It wasn’t him, I tell you,” she said, not recognising her steady voice. “And he acts like one who would serve, which is more than I can say for some you would have me associate with.” It took all her will to avoid throwing a look of contempt Ahkdul’s way.
Mariano swept his eyes over every man on the ship. When he looked back at her, she saw nothing but resolution on his face. No dishonour could come to the Princess of Terlaan, not while her brother held blood oath for her. “Is this another of your ploys to avoid our justice? This is your land, sister, your birthright. It is your laws we mete out to preserve your honour so that you might honour us in turn.”
The mahktashaan had drawn their swords, were standing back, awaiting orders. The poor soul astride the gunwale stared at her, unaware of his precarious situation.
“Will you stand like a powerless git while the princess is insulted?” Ahkdul asked. He was red in the face, as full of rage as if his honour had been sullied. “Or is Terlaan so loose with its womenfolk any may voice their crude desires?”
When Mariano clenched his jaw, she closed her eyes. It was impossible to ignore Ahkdul’s disdain. Mariano could not leave the slight unpunished if he, if she, if the whole chauvinistic kingdom was to retain its esteem in the eyes of Verdaan. She had no sway in the matter, could only protest again that Terlaan should see justice, not vengeance, done.
Help came from an unexpected quarter. “Princess Kordahla is right, Your Highness,” Arun said. His cerulean crystal was glowing softly at his chest. “A still wind blows. I saw your sister shudder as the culprit whistled. There is a deed unnatural afoot.”
Mariano studied the gawking men. “The innocent will not be punished,” he said.
Some trick of the air and the ill-timed hush of aggrieved murmurs carried his words. Misfortune had them misconstrued. Shouts sounded as men protested their innocence, heckling those they did not trust as they sought to bully others into an admission of guilt which would spare them royal justice.
“Let the guilty one admit to his offence,” Mariano called loud and clear.
Mouths clamped shut. Aboard the vessel, the mahktashaan swung their swords through air thick with apprehension. The blameless carpenter must have heard the whistle of the blades. Turning, he caught fright. A hand flew to his chest as his mouth contorted in agony. A few seconds later, he thudded from the rail to the ground below, a leg bent in an unnatural way beneath him. Kordahla flew to his side, dodging the slower mahktashaan. Her knee sank into a puddle as she took his calloused hand. The mahktashaan approached, and anxiety joined pain in the poor man’s eyes. She used her own to plead with Arun.
“No,” the carpenter groaned at her hooded guard. He tightened his grip on her hand as sunlight glinted along the length of a sword.
“He will ease your pain,” she said, fidgeting with nerves.
Oblivious to the dirt, the Minoria knelt beside her, laid gentle hands on the man’s leg, and whispered archaic words. The glow from his crystal bathed the tension out of the carpenter’s face. The strapping hand clutching hers relaxed.
“He will need a physic to set that leg. And porrin for the pain,” Arun said.
Ahkdul looked down at her with disgust. “You will get up,” he said.
She did so, aware her hem was mud-stained, her hands dirty, her face ashen.
“Is this how you conduct yourself in public?” Ahkdul asked, sneering.
“That I show compassion for the people who serve my realm? It is indeed.” She prided herself on being stubborn, but this man was wearing her down. Whatever the cost, she could not let him fashion her into the ornament he sought to wear at his side. “Would you have Physic Nocrates attend him?” she asked Arun.
“The workers will remember the princess for her generosity,” the Minoria replied.
“I shall take a walk while you conduct your business,” she said to Ahkdul, noticing Timak, deathly still, was staring at the ship.
“I had hoped for a woman’s opinion on furnishings for the cabin,” Ahkdul said.
There was no easy way to decline the request of a guest, however loathsome. As she opened her mouth to frame a reply, she wondered how rude the refusal would emerge.
“With a djinn about, I ask you to stay close, Princess,” Arun said, breaking off his instruction to the two nearest mahktashaan in order to settle the matter.
She walked the sagging gangplank onto the ship with misgiv
ings, but the labourers bowed respectfully and averted their eyes. The overseer directed those who could to continue their work. Hammers echoed on nails and saws scratched at wood, but with mahktashaan surrounding her, there was little chance of harm from either man or djinn. She entered a cabin, spacious but bare, careful to remain by the door. Deflecting Ahkdul’s attempts to seek her advice, she walked back on the deck. The industry around her was fascinating in its unfamiliarity. High above, a rope and pulley was lowering a crate. The breeze, while fresh on her skin, seemed too faint to cause it to swing as it did. Rubbing her arms, she watched its precarious descent.
“The air chills.” Arun had followed her out, had noticed her draw her arms close.
“It is simply the open air after the closeness of the cabin,” she replied, wrinkling her nose against the stench of rotting fish.
In mockery of her words, one of the ropes around the crate snapped. She stepped back from the precarious tilt of the box.
“Highness, take care,” a voice called from the shore. Kordahla looked down to see a bearded worker wave a warning.
“Princess, he is right. We should leave,” Arun said.
The Minoria’s crystal flashed. In a crack of thunder, the indigo djinn appeared atop the crate. For a split second, he transformed into a shimmering, indigo image of her, lying on her back, legs splayed, bodice ripped from her heaving bosom. Her cry caught in her throat as her chest tightened. She couldn’t breathe. Then, moulding into his disgusting, vermillion-eyed self once more, the djinn clapped his hands high over his head and laughed, a spine-chilling sound of derision which knocked the wispy clouds into a rumble. The next instant he was gone.
The crate was plummeting to the deck. Throwing an arm around her, Arun dived towards the bulwark. They hit hard, Kordahla springing back against the Minoria. The crate banged to the deck. Timbers cracked beneath it, and it continued its fall into the hold. Wrapped in the surprising softness of Arun’s cloak, ensconced in his strong arms, she sobbed for breath. She felt giddy, from shock, and from his scent, cedar and spice, mingling with the sweetness of the new-sawn timbers. He helped her rise, his hand firm on her elbow even through the fabric of her kameez. He said something, she could not understand what, but when he entrusted her to the distant care of a strange mahktashaan so he might approach the jagged hole, it left her bereft.
“Sister, are you hurt?” Mariano had come running from the cabin and took her by the arms.
The concern in his eyes undid her. Tears welled even as she shook her head. Her cheeks burned, but she risked a look at Ahkdul. He was standing on the other side of the hole, enthralled. The swine did not even glance her way. Sick with shame, she crept after Mariano to stand at the edge of the hole. The crate had landed on its end. As if possessed, it rocked and banged over. When the puff of sawdust settled, her gasp was the only sound that rose above the echo. There in the wood, a message smouldered.
Princess beware the swine.
A shaking hand over her mouth, she returned to the bulwark. On the muddy bank, Timak stood muttering to himself, unmindful of the commotion. His ignorance would be bliss. What right did the djinn have to toy with her like this? Her life was miserable enough without his interference.
“Princess, do you know what it might mean?” Arun asked.
“How would I know,” she snapped, allowing Mariano to draw her close and comfort her. Truly, he looked as troubled as she felt.
“These men must be punished. This goes beyond jest,” Ahkdul said.
“This is the work of djinn. You cannot have missed how bright my crystal flared.”
“Its blaze brought us out, even before the crash,” Mariano replied, holding her close.
She tipped her head against his shoulder and breathed a sigh of relief. If Ahkdul had witnessed her humiliation, she would have died.
The odious man looked at her through narrowed eyes. “What significance has the swine in Terlaani lore?”
“The swine is but a farm animal. It is the boar which has some import as a harbinger of strife. Under the circumstances, we might ask the same of Verdaan,” Mariano said.
“It figures in no tale,” Ahkdul said, so quick Arun made a slight turn of his hooded head. She pressed closer to Mariano. When they returned to the palace, she would ask Vinsant to ferret out the veracity of that claim.
“Don’t go,” Timak’s thin voice carried up on the breeze.
“If there is a djinn about, that brat is involved.” Ahkdul strode down the plank, grabbed the child by the arm and dealt him a backhand swipe. The boy yelped. Ahkdul hit again and again. Kordahla rushed to the ground, heedless of the bend of the plank beneath her beaded shoes. She had to lean back to avoid his fist as he raised his arm for another slap. A step behind her, Arun seized the child, spinning him out of harm’s way. Ahkdul’s fist swept through the air, right past Arun, who stood tall and still, waiting for Ahkdul to face him. The Verdaani lord had a murderous look, and she could not help but step back.
“The child is innocent,” Arun said.
Timak was sitting in the dirt, rocking, his face buried in his knees. Kordahla went to him. Kneeling, she placed an arm around his shoulders. Ahkdul would have to get past her before he laid another hand on the boy, and to do that he would have Arun and Mariano to contend with.
“That innocent speaks to djinn,” Ahkdul said. “If he was party to this havoc, he has dishonoured the Princess.”
Thoughtful, Arun turned to where he held Timak.
“Then it is our laws that will deal with him,” Mariano said. He positioned himself so close he must have felt Timak tremble. “Is this true boy? Did you consort with the djinn involved?”
Disgusted, Kordahla lifted the boy to his feet. Only men would expect a child this abused to speak under threat. “He was looking away. If he was not muttering to himself, he was talking to someone in the other direction.”
“Permit me.” Arun squatted before the child. Holding his crystal to Timak’s bruised cheek, he chanted his mahktashaan magic. The boy continued to stare into the distance, a single blink the only indication he was aware.
“What say you?” Mariano asked, a grim frown on his face. She knew him well enough to know as distasteful as the act may be, he would not hesitate to put an afflicted child to the sword. Her honour-bound brother made no distinction where the law was concerned.
“I sense no evil in this child. If he consorts with djinn then we have a duty to see he does not fall prey to their schemes,” Arun answered.
“Your discipline will suffice,” Mariano said to Ahkdul. He walked along the side of the ship to the bow. It was a fine vessel of good proportions, every care taken to demonstrate how skilled the Terlaani were, not just in craftsmanship, but also in aesthetics. She hoped the repairs would delay its maiden voyage long enough to convince Ahkdul to leave.
“Have you thought about a name for this beauty?” Mariano asked Ahkdul, examining the hull. “Djinn’s havoc or Djinn’s warning perhaps?”
“Such liberties would court trouble. No, this ship will be called Kordahla.”
“That is a high honour,” Mariano said, looking at her. Until she caught the quick lift of his eyebrow, she thought him oblivious to the irony. “I shall leave you alone to thank our guest. You have had precious little time together, and he has yet to learn how effusively you accept gifts.”
And with that she knew she had Mariano’s permission to behave with less than the decorum expected of a princess. This commoner who pretended to a throne would learn the respect he claimed their citizens lacked.
“You do me no honour,” she said before Mariano was out of earshot.
Ahkdul flashed a vicious smile. “Flatter yourself not, Princess. None is intended. I would have you remember when this ship sails with you on it what havoc your immodesty caused. You will recall this incident if ever you deign to appear in public without your veil.”
“This ship will be out of my sight before long. A name is all you will have of me.”<
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“Where is that consideration you claim you show your people? Will you not aid them by becoming my wife? There are certain concessions Verdaan will make to ease the heartache porrin brings.”
“I do not wish to be a slave to your conceptions of morality, nor to your whims. I am a Terlaani princess, not a Verdaani commoner.”
“Whose duty is to the Crown. And will soon be to me.”
Chapter Twenty-four
Shah Wilshem requested Kordahla attend his private chambers not long after they had returned from the docks. That alone boded ill. More worrying was Ahkdul’s smug expression as he emerged from his second audience of the day. She halted at the end of the hall, holding her breath and willing him to the turn the other way. He did not, so she picked up the full cherry red skirt of her kameez, and hastened on, giving him no opportunity to speak as she passed. After a polite knock, she entered Father’s chambers without invitation, just to evade the uncouth stare the swine threw over his shoulder as he made his loathsome way. Even worse, was Father’s dismissal of the two servants polishing the oak dining table in the large reception room. Together, the signs sent her into a state of defensiveness that on previous occasions had seen her tongue fly loose enough to land her in considerable trouble.
Her answers to Father’s queries about the outing were brief. Neither of them mentioned their uncouth guest, and she wondered when he would get to the point. When Father bade her sit on one of the cushioned, highbacked armchairs arranged around the unlit hearth, she perched on the edge. Father took the chair opposite her, rested his elbows on the armrests and pressed the tips of his fingers together, his index fingers tapping away as he contemplated her. Neither one of them touched the pot of steaming cardamom tea on the low, round table between them. Kordahla smoothed her kameez over her knees. When she was small, the mythical creatures carved on the table skirting had made her jittery. Today, it was Father’s eyes.
“I understand your choice to go bareheaded has for the second time borne unfortunate consequences,” he said at last.