by Tia Reed
“There’s a chance for you to escape with the beautiful princess,” Yazmine persisted.
It took a couple of breaths before the words sank into his sleepy brain. Then they sounded like a bad idea. He didn’t want to be hacked to pieces and fed to jabberweis. So he lay there stiff and sore, wondering if he ought to close his eyes and go back to sleep. That would be better than listening to hope. He didn’t want hope. Hope ended up slashed into pain. Besides, the monster was slumbering through drunken dreams. If Timak lay dead still, he might escape torture tonight.
The hazy light drifted closer. “If you don’t get up, I shall leave and never talk to you again.”
He blinked a tear out of his eye, and let it dribble down his cheek.
Yazmine’s voice grew quiet. “You have to help her. She doesn’t want to wed him and she can’t escape without you.”
A wife would spare him Ahkdul’s naked attentions night after night. He didn’t need to run and risk losing all his fingers and toes.
“Your father will never find you if you stay with the beast. He wanted you to escape.”
He turned his head, but that put his nose near the monster’s sweaty shoulder. The stink of it made his hot tears worse. He wasn’t ever going to polish his father’s sword or help bait a hook for sandfish again. Yazmine should have left his scabs alone. Now they were picked, he couldn’t keep the sob bottled up. The noise made Ahkdul roll. His large hand flopped onto Timak’s ribs. Timak held his breath, waiting for the wobble of the slack lips as Ahkdul breathed out. Then he slid himself from under the naked body and damp sheets, and crawled out of bed.
“Move your pillow beside him,” Yazmine said.
The feather stuffing was not as lumpy as a body, but it filled the dented space where he had lain.
“The chest,” Yazmine said as he threw on his shalvar and kurta and tiptoed away. “You need to bring them porrin.”
He was too sleepy to question her. Too scared to speak, too. He grappled with a chair, lifting its bulk against his hips so it wouldn’t drag and wake Ahkdul. The tap of the legs on the floor sounded loud in the night. He stared at his tormentor. Even his breath sounded harsh.
“Hurry!” Yazmine said.
Standing on the chair, he managed to scrape the top drawer open. He paused, but if the piggish snores didn’t cover his rummaging, nothing would. Rising onto tiptoes, he reached up and felt inside. His fingertips just managed to sift through the silks to the bottom of the drawer. He felt crisp parchment buried among them, worked it to the edge and up the side. Yazmine needed to stop pleading for him to hurry. It made him nervous, and he needed to slide the drawer shut, climb down, and pick up the chair nice and slow. He needed to put it back by the table so when monster woke, he wouldn’t think Timak had taken his porrin; he wouldn’t think Timak was trying to escape. At least not right away.
The monster groaned. Like he was waking up drunk. Timak froze. The chair sagged heavy in his arms. He dropped one side, and almost toppled after it. The clunk stopped the snores. Timak’s eyes went wide as Ahkdul woke and patted the pillow.
“Run!” Yazmine yelled.
He dashed for the door, the chair falling behind him. It flung open, and he was out in a flash, darting past a startled mahktashaan and one of Ahkdul’s own men, following Yazmine down a corridor lined with the marble heads of kings and queens. Behind him, he heard Kahlmed curse and give chase, his heavy boots thundering on the stones. A fragment of conversation between Ahkdul and the guard boomed over it.
“My lord, you must dress before you may roam the halls.” The mahktashaan was firm. And so he gained a minute on Ahkdul. Swinging around a corner, he followed Yazmine’s light.
“Keep going,” she said, before zipping over his head.
A mighty crash followed, then a yelp. He chanced a look back. Kahlmed was hopping through the fragments of a broken statue. Then Yazmine was back in front of him, leading him down some stairs and along more corridors, dark and deserted, the arms of the unlit candelabras threatening to snag him, until he turned one final time into a torch-lit hall where two black-robed mahktashaan stood guard outside a door. His abrupt skid drew their attention.
“Don’t hesitate,” Yazmine said, gliding past the guards. “Just get inside.”
He sprinted for the gap between the guards. At the other end of the hall, Yazmine’s light curled into rose-scented smoke. The guards shivered as the temperature dropped. They lifted their crystals, forest green and peach. Coloured light burst forth, but it couldn’t have held powerful magic, because it didn’t scare Yazmine away. She was solid now, a shimmering rose-pink genie, flying teasing loops down the hall. One mahktashaan ran in pursuit. The other turned to bar his way. Timak slowed to a walk. The soldier-magician had to be glaring something fierce beneath that shadowing hood. He pretended not to care, and stared after his friend, pretending the chase was the sole reason he was out of bed at night.
“Genie,” he whispered.
A giggle drifted down the corridor. Yazmine’s giggle. Raising a cautionary finger, the mahktashaan hurried after his partner. It was the worst luck of the night that, as Timak gripped the handle to the princess’s door he looked back. Timak shoved the door open just enough to squeeze inside. The beautiful princess was deep in conversation with her younger brother. They looked up at the interruption, their faces guilty, then surprised.
“Take me with you,” Timak said, the first words he had spoken to a human in days.
They stared at him. Then the prince yanked him into the room and slammed the door.
Nobody spoke for several heartbeats.
Yazmine appeared, an indistinct floating light nobody else could see. Having her there gave him the courage he needed. He held out the packet of porrin, held his breath and dared to hope.
Someone banged on the door, and they all jumped.
“He’s given us away,” the princess said.
The banging became louder. Vinsant pushed Timak into Kordahla’s sleeping chamber and growled at him to hide. There was nothing for it. With a deep breath and regal toss of her head, Kordahla opened the door. Outside, Lord Ahkdul, tousle-haired and hastily dressed in a flimsy, white open-necked kurta and black shalvar, glared at her.
“They told me this was your room,” he said. The backlight from the torches in the hall did nothing to romanticise his large nose.
“Father might be considering your proposal but this is improper. You will kindly leave.”
“You flatter yourself, princess. My page has run amok, damaging palace property and waking an entire wing in a foolish chase after what he claims is a djinn. It is him I have a desire to find.”
A malicious, perverted desire. She crossed her arms, and stepped into the harsh light of the moons. Their blessing washed through the arches of the windows and doors Vinsant had thrown open to the night. “Nevertheless, to appear before your betrothed in such scant attire with Daesoa and Dindarin risen is unseemly.”
Ahkdul thrust his hand flat onto the door, swinging it wide. “I demand my property.”
Somewhere in the gardens, an owl hooted. He stepped forward; she stepped back; her hands fell limp at her side. “I have nothing of yours.”
“You will give me the boy.”
“What makes you think he is here?
“The guard saw him enter.”
The man seemed strung on the verge of aggression, and for once, she was grateful for the mahktashaan outside. Weak in the knees, she stepped aside. “As you can see, he is not. My brother, however, is. It was he the guard saw enter.”
Vinsant was sitting on her daybed, watching the exchange like it were a fascinating piece of mummery. If Timak did not possess the wits to bury himself out of sight, her little brother had better come up with an ingenious excuse for his presence.
Ahkdul sneered. “Then you will not mind if I have my man search these rooms. The boy is expert at hiding and I would not have him compromise your considerable modesty by revealing himself at an inopportun
e time.” He walked past her, onto the rug. She flinched as a brawny man followed and leered. He was a common mercenary, his face creased by jagged scars. Would the balcony arch not curve so elegant and the stars not shine so pretty as they framed the beasts.
“I do mind. I mind very much,” she said as Vinsant stood, wary now. Were the breeze billowing the curtains not hot and stale, she might never have addressed the mahktashaan standing hesitant in her doorway after their noisy chase. “Please escort Lord Ahkdul and his man back to their rooms.”
Her hooded guards flanked her unwanted guests. Her stomach lurched at the curl of Ahkdul’s lip, the fisting of his hands. Her indrawn breath convinced one mahktashaan to lift a handspan of his sword from its scabbard. Providence saw Dindarin’s thin green beam polish its edge to a sheen. Thank Vae’oeldin the precariousness of his situation dawned when Ahkdul rested narrowing eyes on the weapon. He dipped his shoulders, a mockery of a bow if ever there was one. He was a fool to take no heed of the way the darkening pile of the rug muted his brute strength, and a swine to stop before her and drop his mouth to her ear.
“Your visit to Verdaan will be a pleasure to savour. There, a woman never outranks a man.”
This hideous man, the neckline of his kurta wet with sweat, the hairs on his chest dusty with the day’s distress, would not mar her dignity. She thrust up her chin and spoke so all could hear. “I would have you remember my older brother holds blood honour for me. The Shah will enforce it, no matter who brings disgrace.” Then she dropped her voice to pay him back in kind. “And these are his guards, not mine. He will hear of this come the morrow, if not this very night.” A most unfortunate truth. She needed to think on it, to consider how to return the child so he suffered no harm from the swine. Ahkdul would most like prowl the corridors in wait. As if evading the guards was not hard enough! And when the entire palace was abroad, roused from slumber on this of all nights, by the very man she wished to elude!
“Princess, I must check the rooms for djinn,” the mahktashaan with the green crystal said.
She forced a smile. “It is not necessary. There has been no still wind.”
“Nonetheless, your safety is my concern.” He lifted the crystal from his chest and swept the room. If the hand she placed on her bosom betrayed her nerves, he gave no sign.
“Your Highness,” he said when he had poked into every nook, “could you request your maids to don suitable attire.”
“Karie and Samille are farewelling their families tonight.”
The mahktashaan entered her bedchamber. Vinsant followed, mimicking his actions with his own piece of quartz. Kordahla closed her eyes and felt herself sway. Could it be the mahktashaan would not discover a taint of the indigo djinn, the stolen crystal, or the runaway child?
“Highness, do you ail?”
She snapped her eyes open and took a fumbling step back lest he attempt to lay a hand on her. “No!” Her heel caught on a corner of the rug. Taking a deep breath, she forced herself to a calmer voice. “It has been a trying day. I wish only to salvage what I may by sharing news with my brother.”
“Highness, your rooms are free of djinn. I bid you and all other occupants a safe night.”
Vae’oenka help her, but her face must have revealed her guilt. To her intense relief, he bowed and exited. With the door safely shut, she wandered into the bedroom. “Timak. Timak? He’s gone. You can come out now.”
The poor child remained hidden. Chuckling, Vinsant checked under her canopied bed, then plunged between the elaborate gowns in her wardrobe before starting a more frantic search in hidey-holes which could only have hidden a mouse.
“Maybe the djinn…”
“Nonsense,” she said, throwing the pillows from her bed. Djinn did not steal children.
“But the tales…”
“The tales speak of foolish wish-seekers making barter with their infants. They do not tell of the creatures kidnapping an innocent.” She patted the empty bed.
“He might have made a deal,” Vinsant said, returning to the wardrobe and climbing inside.
“Perhaps,” she whispered, though she hoped it was not so. Vae help her but her impending marriage might tempt her into a ruinous pact. She picked up a candle from the sill. With care, she could light the recesses behind her most voluminous skirts. As she turned, she spied five little bumps along the edge of the shutter. She leaned out, and found the terrified child on the ledge, pressing back against the wall, his fingers gripping the frame, his toes wriggling over air. She grabbed his arm, and pulled him onto the sill. He tumbled off, landing in a heap at her feet.
“What now?” Vinsant asked.
She wanted to weep. Ahkdul’s beating had left Timak’s face an angry, red mess. She shook her head. “The entire palace is awake.”
Her little brother’s jaw dropped. “You can’t just give up. Mariano said Ahkdul behaved like a pig this afternoon.
“It’s over Vinsant.”
“So you’re just going to send this page back to him?”
She sighed. Vae’oenka help her, but there was no way she could. “We need help.”
Her relief was another of the day’s mysteries, but relief it was when Arun arrived, hooded and cloaked and with the cerulean crystal of his office around his neck.
“How may I assist you, Princess?” he asked. She might have imagined the warmth.
“I hoped…” The nightingale was trilling again. She took a deep breath. Wondered at how Vinsant and silent Timak had convinced her to salvage their plan. The nerves were setting her heart racing – by Vae’oenka she was scarcely able to credit what she was about to do – but they were less for Arun’s presence. He had asked for her trust, and trust him she did, though why was beyond fathoming. Perhaps that was the strangest of all the day’s occurrences. It saddened her that she must sorely test that trust but, of all the mahktashaan, Arun might understand. Just might, if their plan failed, show leniency.
“Please do not be afraid to ask,” he said, misinterpreting her hesitation.
She saw Vinsant smirk, and pushed the why of that to the back of her mind. “I hoped you might heal Timak,” she said, beckoning the boy from inside her sleeping chamber. He stopped in the doorway, his eyes devoid of that fleeting spark of hope.
Arun removed his hood, a kindness really. “Allumnos.” The whispered word created a ball of light above their heads. The carpet beneath his boots sweetened to the colour of a red rose. “It was done at the docks, Princess. I would not leave a child to suffer under Ahkdul’s hand if I can offer ease.”
“His face…” she protested to the man who, through his disrobing, had made it clear she might speak to him as a friend.
“Ahkdul will be inclined to punish the child if there is no trace of his earlier beating. The bruises will colour and fade.” He turned to the child. Timak’s eyes widened to see Arun’s startling cerulean ones. Mahktashaan eyes never failed to disconcert. Perhaps that was why they chose to wear the hood. “Do you hurt, Timak?” Arun asked.
The boy managed a barely perceptible shake of his head.
“That is true of your face, at least,” Arun said.
A gust banged the shutter above the daybed, and toppled the pillows propped against the wall. Kordahla jumped, a hand flying to her throat. The nightingale broke off his serenade. Not even Vinsant’s whistle could entice it to resume. Looking down, she took a deep breath. She had chosen her outfit with care, a calf-length, full skirted kameez, shalvar and veil that would make travel easy. She had given no thought to the colour that was almost a match for Arun’s eyes. Karie would have called it fate. Vinsant branded it perfect planning. Kordahla could only resent it. Black, a colour unsuitable for an unwed princess, would have better assisted her to hide on a moonlit night.
The moment of decision had arrived. One request and she would be committed to her folly. For five heartbeats, she struggled with the words. In the end, Arun beat her to speech.
“You seem troubled, Princess.” He was clo
se enough she could feel his warmth, inhale the cedar scent he wore.
The shame of the afternoon was still fresh in her mind. She had trouble lifting her eyes to his. “May we take a walk outside?” she said, and by doing so chose her path.
They walked the dim, arched halls of the palace without speaking. The soft night-time sounds fell muted on the stone: the mahktashaan guard changing; servants walking to and fro; a courtier on one knee begging admission to a lady’s chamber, a minor disagreement between maids. The bickering echoed, and made her palms clammy. In a household this large, was there ever a quiet moment to steal for illicit acts?
On the ground floor, Vinsant pulled Timak away with an excuse about visiting the kitchen. He was young enough that the cook tolerated his midnight raids, indulged them even, but it was not where he headed tonight. She let her gaze linger on his back.
“He is growing up,” Arun said.
“He is,” she admitted, allowing the Minoria to escort her down the main steps.
The blooming garden was refreshing, the heat of day having dissipated into the starry sky. As Arun turned towards the path that led to the greater part of the enclosed lake she hesitated. “Let us go this way first. I yearn for a long stroll,” she said, indicating the southern walk. Her heart was hammering, and she had no appetite for words as they wandered the line of pink oleander framing the palace and the neat squares of herbs across the main path until, as they approached the lake, Arun led her into conversation.
“Princess, I am forever honoured to serve, but many mahktashaan and certainly your guards are skilled in basic healing.”
“I…” She faltered. The truth required trust of a depth she did not have for any mahktashaan. And this one, who had a measure of hers, was about to find his betrayed. “I have need of a friend,” she said. It was not an untruth.
“And something more, I think.” His gentleness held an invitation to confide.
The breeze gusted, and the rippling water warned of a current beneath the calm. “Can you always sense djinn?”