Chapter 11

After returning to the Jaharri encampment and releasing Simhana back among the other horses, Zafirah made her way to her tent, body still awash with tingles after her meeting with Dae. In the desert, the spahi would normally allow their fires to die off during the night, but the woods were so rich with fuel that the night watch kept them burning through the hours of cold darkness. Zafirah saw several of her soldiers still awake and moving about the camp, tending to the flames. She felt pleasantly mellow and relaxed; just seeing her Consort after their long separation was enough to soothe all her tension and stress over how slowly the negotiations were proceeding. Even her arousal had waned. Right now, she wanted little more than to curl up with Nasheta and Inaya, and drift off to sleep in the warm comfort of their embrace.

When she reached her tent, however, her footsteps faltered when she made out two of her spahi standing with Lord Everdeen outside, waiting for her. Dae’s father saw her approach and stood a little straighter, his expression difficult to read in the scattered firelight.

“Lord Everdeen,” she greeted cordially. The two had exchanged barely a handful of words since he’d come into the camp, and she hoped he wasn’t about to tarnish the memory of her experience with Dae with any vitriolic arguments or demands. “What brings you to my tent at such a late hour?”

Richard eyed her shrewdly a moment, looking at her wet boots and the sword belted at her hip. “I had hoped we might speak in private,” he said gruffly, “though I wasn’t expecting to be kept waiting so long to see you. This seems an odd hour to be taking a stroll.”

Zafirah kept her expression carefully neutral. “A restless spirit possessed me; I felt the need to exhaust it before finding sleep.”

“If this isn’t a good time—”

“Not at all, your lordship. If you wish to talk, I am happy to accommodate your desire.” Stepping up to the entrance to the tent, Zafirah pulled the door flap aside and gestured inside. “Please…join me.”

Richard gave a stiff nod and preceded her into the dark interior. Following him, Zafirah quickly lit a few shamedan to give them light before removing the sheathed scimitar from her side. She set the weapon down on one of the small tables before turning back to her guest. Richard was looking around the sparse yet lavish furnishings of the tent. His eyes widened when they fell on the sleeping pallet, where Inaya and Nasheta lay in each other’s arms, deep in slumber. A blanket of animal pelts half-covered their otherwise naked bodies. Nasheta had thrown a bare leg over Inaya’s waist, and their limbs were so entwined that they provided a measure of modesty despite their lack of clothing.

Zafirah concealed a smirk at the color rising in Richard’s cheeks, amused by how hastily he averted his gaze from the two sleeping women. “Do not mind them,” she said, keeping her voice low. “We may speak candidly in their presence, even if they only feign sleep. Both are loyal and devoted servants.”

“Your commitment to my daughter is touching.”

Zafirah’s tone became a fraction colder. “Jaharri customs may seem scandalous to you, Lord Everdeen, but do not question the strength of my devotion to Dae. Our relationship is more than simply what we share with our bodies; it is a bond forged between our hearts and souls.” She raised an eyebrow at Richard when he looked back at her. “From what I have heard, my Consort is hardly adhering to the standards of physical fidelity you hold in such high esteem herself. She accepts and embraces the ways of desert passion wholeheartedly.”

Richard opened his mouth as though he intended to offer argument, but shut it after a moment. He cleared his throat of the unspoken—and likely hostile—words, before finding new ones to replace them. “In any event, I didn't come here to discuss your sleeping habits.”

“Very well. May I offer you something to drink? Tea, perhaps?”

He nodded. “Thank you.”

Zafirah watched him as she filled two tin cups with steaming water from an urn prepared in her absence, likely by her ever-attentive pleasure-servants. Richard’s body language was stiff and uncomfortable, but his jaw was set in a determined line. She added tea to the water, then stirred a spoonful of honey into both cups before handing one to Richard. She waved a hand to indicate the cushions arranged on either side of a small table in the center of the tent. “Will you sit with me?”

Richard accepted the cup and, somewhat awkwardly, settled himself into a kneeling position on the cushions. His eyes lingered on the pieces of parchment on the table—maps made by the spahi marking the layout of his estate and the position of his troops—and he glanced at Zafirah mildly. “Battle plans?”

Zafirah smiled lazily as she reclined comfortably on the cushions, taking a slow sip from her cup. “I would be a poor military commander if I did not consider all possible outcomes of our dispute. No doubt you have formulated your own strategies in the event we fail to reach a peaceful settlement.”

Richard grunted quietly and took a cautious sip of his tea. “Yes, well…that’s not what I came to discuss, either.” He met her gaze steadily, and Zafirah felt his eyes assess and appraise her. “I wanted to speak about the attempt on your life…and about our negotiations for Dae’s release.”

Zafirah felt a mild sense of hope fill her. “Go on.”

“I told you when you brought the assassin to me that he wasn’t one of my men,” Richard said slowly, choosing his words with obvious care. “I submitted myself to act as hostage in the hope that doing so would show you I spoke the truth.”

“An act I applaud and respect, your lordship.”

“And I think we can at least agree that a violent conflict between our armies would bring neither of us what we seek?”

Zafirah nodded her accord. “Indeed.”

“You're also clearly intelligent enough to realize that a man of my noble station has many enemies,” Richard continued, even this mild acknowledgment seeming to cost him dearly. “Your presence in these lands may have afforded one or more of those enemies a rare opportunity to move against me without incurring my wrath. I believe the assassin was sent in the hope that your death or injury would incite your army to seek vengeance.”

“A possibility I have considered…and one which makes far more sense than the alternative.”

Richard’s bushy eyebrows lowered over his brow. “Yet you demanded a hostage?”

“I could hardly allow the attack to pass unanswered. My people needed a demonstration of strength and resolve, and when you undertook the role yourself rather than allowing one of your men to act in your stead, they were well appeased. Had I failed to take such action, their tension toward you would likely have turned hostile.”

“Yet the true culprit remains free to try again,” Richard pointed out. “You’ve hardly made yourself a less tempting target.”

“Their plan can be thwarted with ease. All we need do is reach a settlement and formalize a treaty between us. Release my Consort back to me and my army and I shall depart these lands, no longer to act as pawns in your adversary’s plans.”

Richard stiffened slightly, regarding her with a calculating stare. “Convenient that the solution you’ve devised requires compliance on my part to all your demands.”

Zafirah was silent, considering the older man a long while across the table. “I would not say the attempt on my life was a convenience…but you must see by now that there can be only one outcome to our dispute; Dae must be returned.”

Richard looked away from her, his eyes drifting down to contemplate the etchings in the tin cup he held in his hands. When he spoke again, his voice was heavy with emotion. “I love my daughter very much.”

“And she loves you,” Zafirah concurred readily, pleased the conversation had not yet turned heated…that Richard appeared willing to discuss the matter calmly for the first time. “I am not unsympathetic of how difficult this is for you. Dae has told me a great deal about her life before she came to the desert, and it was a long time before her heartache and homesickness eased. But Dae is my wife, and she belongs in El’Kasari with me.”

“And I must see my only child—my only heir and the light of my life—lost to me again.”

“Not lost, Lord Everdeen…only returned to the life she has chosen. Do you not think I could have simply taken Dae back by now? I know where she is held, and it would require a minimum of bloodshed to dispatch the guards and see her returned to my side. But I am not a thief come to rob you in the night. I stay my hand because of the love and respect your daughter holds for you…and I have no wish to see her family slaughtered for the sake of their prejudice.”

“And again, you would have me agree to terms.”

Zafirah sighed, her expression softening with compassion. “I would have my Consort returned to me with your blessing,” she said quietly. “I would see you accept me as your daughter, just as my own mother accepted Dae. And I would claim you in turn as father…as family…and move beyond our petty differences to forge a true union of mutual benefit. But mostly I would see my Consort smile again when she thinks of you.” She could see the look of surprise in Richard’s expression at her words, and pressed on. “If we can be allies, you and I, then your daughter will never be lost to you. She will only love you more for accepting her as the woman she has become…and you would be most welcome in El’Kasari any time you wish to visit her.”

Richard set his cup aside. “You know,” he said slowly, regarding her with a curious look, “Dae’s faith that you would come for her never wavered. It seemed like such a childish hope…one I believed would pass with time. But here you are, just as she promised.” A slightly amazed smile tugged at his lips, the expression almost lost in his thick beard. “I’ll admit, you aren’t the ignorant savage I had thought you would be.”

“Do you truly believe Dae would have given herself to me if I were no more than a barbaric fool? She is not so careless with her affections as you think.”

“No…I’ve watched you in the camp now long enough to see you aren’t the beast I had believed you must be. Had you only been born a man, perhaps we could have reached an agreement with greater ease.”

Zafirah gave him a slinky smile. “Your daughter does not find the issue of my gender such a displeasing aspect.”

Richard shook his head, his gaze drifting once more to the two women entwined on Zafirah’s bed. “Nor, it seems, in any woman.”

“It was not always so. Indeed, when we first exchanged words, Dae insisted she would never warm my bed so long as the choice remained her own. It took her a long time to accept the things we felt for one another…and though I desired her greatly, I never pressed her for more than she was willing to give.” Zafirah paused, then added. “Dae is not the only one who has changed much since we met. I had never suspected my heart could be stirred by such love as we share…and I will do whatever I must to see my Consort back by my side.”

“Edmund has already explained the terms proposed in your advisor's treaty; they’re generous enough that he’s becoming more and more insistent I accept them before you change your mind.”

“Your lands are rich with natural resources that are scarce in the Jaharri desert—timbers my people need to build our ships, grains we need to feed our animals. Alliance with El’Kasari would be profitable to both of us; the value of such materials is greater in the desert than it is here, where the trees are so plentiful.”

“I don’t deny the benefits, Scion, only that my daughter must be the price. In truth, I’m surprised you haven’t demanded weapons in any of your proposals…guns and black powder to strengthen your armies.”

Zafirah gave a quiet bark of laughter, her expression instantly turning contemptuous. “I have seen what such devices can do, and they do not impress me. A true warrior does not sacrifice his honor just to simplify the act of killing. We Jaharri are more than capable of defending our lands without resorting to the use of infernal technology.”

“King Gerald would never have allowed me to make such a trade, in any event. Our treaty with the Tasurik Empire in the west strictly forbids allowing your people access to firearms.”

“A blessing not understood by some of the tribes opposing my rule.” For a moment Zafirah wondered again how the renegades had acquired the guns they used to slaughter a party of her elite scouts, and later to march against her spahi…to an ultimately disastrous end. Richard’s words at least clarified why Shakir had failed to press his advantage by swelling his ranks of riflemen. “In any event, I did not come all this way to empower my military. I came only to retrieve my rightful mate.”

“I still cannot condone the, uh…intimacies…you share with my daughter,” Richard said slowly, after a long moment of quiet, “but for her sake, it seems I must at least be willing to accept them. I've only ever tried to do what I felt was in Dae’s best interests…have done all I can to protect her from the evils of the world…but I will not allow my own feelings to stand in the way of her happiness. If a union to another woman is truly what she wants, then I suppose I could do far worse than the ruler of the Jaharri nation.”

Zafirah flashed him a joyous grin and held out her hand. “Then we have an accord?”

Richard clasped her hand firmly in his own and shook it. “It would seem so. I'll send for Edmund in the morning and we can begin laying out a formal treaty. Until it is resolved, however, Dae must remain in the monastery.” Zafirah’s happy expression slipped slightly from her face, but before she could protest Richard continued. “There is still an enemy out there we have not identified, and it will take time to confirm the details of our new alliance. I’ll also need to speak with my wife about the matter…ease her grief as best I can. Dae is safer where she is than here in the camp, and you must realize how tempting a target she would make for anyone seeking to upset our peace.”

Zafirah considered this, reminding herself how close her attacker had managed to get to her before he was stopped, and gave a reluctant nod. She was willing to wait now that a settlement seemed at hand. “Very well, but my own scouts will begin patrolling the forests around the hill to ensure there are no surprises. I will not take a chance that whoever opposes our unification will take a desperate chance to harm her.”

“Agreed.”

Zafirah's eyes narrowed with mild suspicion. “If I may say, Lord Everdeen, your change of heart is somewhat surprising. I had half expected you to drag these negotiations out all through this accursed winter and long into the spring. May I ask what prompted such a transformation?”

Richard shrugged slightly and looked at the two sleeping pleasure-servants. “I spoke with your girl—Nasheta, I believe her name is—regarding the bond you share with my daughter. She is as wise as she is charming, and I couldn't deny the value of her council.” He glanced back at Zafirah and added, “It seems you choose your bedmates well.”

“She is a pleasure-servant, Lord Everdeen. Though you may dismiss her role as no more than that of a whore, she is a valued friend and confidant, advisor and supporter.”

“I know many of my soldiers will be disheartened to see her go,” Richard said quietly. “She has charmed them all quite thoroughly…though I doubt any of them suspect her true nature.”

“She means no offense with her flirtations. Nasheta is far from home, and merely keeping herself amused by playing her teasing game.”

“No offense has been taken. In fact, her efforts have only helped to keep the peace between us…as I’m sure you’re aware.” He glanced at Zafirah and allowed himself a half-smile. “You possess a stronger grasp of subtlety than I had been led to believe Jaharri were capable of.”

Zafirah set her cup on the table and got to her feet. “I am charged with keeping peace between forty-seven tribes, your Lordship, all eager to fight for their personal glory or to repay an ancient slight; I have learned when force will help a situation, and more importantly, when other tactics are likely to prove superior.”

Seeing her rise, Lord Everdeen did the same, clearing his throat gruffly and considering her with a good deal less malice than before. “Well…the hour is late, and I should leave you to your rest.” He glanced again to Inaya and Nasheta, not entirely approvingly, but followed Zafirah back outside to where his escort were patiently waiting. “Send for your advisor in the morning and I shall instruct Edmund to begin drafting the final proposal for our treaty. A peace should be formalized before the end of the week.”

Zafirah offered the slightest of bows. “Many thanks, your lordship. Time will reveal the wisdom of your decision.”

Richard nodded, then turned away and strode off into the darkness with his guard falling into step behind him.

Just as Zafirah was turning back into her tent, she caught a glimpse of suspicious movement out of the corner of her eyes. A figure, cloaked and hooded, stood lurking in the shadows of a tent perhaps thirty paces away. Zafirah paused, thinking it odd that one of her warriors would be lingering in the chilly shadows instead of seeking a warmer, drier place by the watch fires. She took a few steps closer to him (though it was only an assumption that the figure was male), sensing a threat. As Richard and his escort moved off into the darkness, the hooded figure took a knee and raised an object—was it a rifle?—to his shoulder.

As the figure took aim, both the silhouette of the weapon and his intended target became clear, and Zafirah recognized the nature of the threat: a crossbow, pointed straight at Lord Everdeen’s back. She drew the dagger at her side but realized instantly that she was too far away from the assassin to engage him with the blade. She had but a fraction of a second to act.

“Rafir! Sadiq! Take cover!”

Even as she shouted the warning and the two spahi moved to defend Lord Everdeen, Zafirah adjusted her stance, cocked her arm, and took aim with the dagger. She didn’t have time to properly gauge the distance to her target, but launched the blade through the air with as much force as she could muster.

The spinning blade struck the figure squarely at shoulder level. Though its tip failed to land a solid hit, it served its purpose, throwing off his concentration in the critical moment.

Zafirah heard the twang! of the bowstring snapping and a grunt of surprise from the assassin almost simultaneously. The bolt whispered through the air in a flash of movement too swift to follow, but Zafirah was already rushing toward the cloaked assailant. She registered the sound of a pained cry behind her; the assassin’s shot had found its target, but she couldn’t spare the time to go to Richard’s aid right now. She was too caught up in the rush of adrenalin and outrage at this incursion into her camp. “Stay with Lord Everdeen!” she called to the two spahi. “I shall deal with this cur!”

Zafirah reached for her sword before realizing she’d left it in her tent, cursing as her quarry retreated around the cover of the tent and out of sight. Fortunately, the Jaharri camp was abundantly stocked with weapons prepared in anticipation of an attack. As she sprinted after the fleeing figure, Zafirah spared a moment to grab a javelin from a rack outside one of the tents.

The cover of night may have worked in the assassin’s favor, but with most of her warriors either sleeping in their tents or gathered around the watchfires, it benefited Zafirah just as much. The fleeing assassin moved with catlike grace from tent to tent through the darkness, but without any other people bustling about she had little trouble tracking him. He was headed into the north-eastern part of the camp, where the tents were sheltered beneath the thin tree line of the forest; Zafirah knew if he got beyond the perimeter of the shield-walls, he could disappear quickly into the woods. She closed the distance between them cautiously, uncertain whether he’d managed to reload his crossbow but well aware the slender javelin she carried would offer little defense if he had.

With a hunter’s patience, Zafirah waited to time her strike perfectly; as the assassin darted between two rows of tents, she stepped forward, balancing the javelin in the palm of her hand as she drew her arm back, leading her target. Silent and swift, she launched the missile through the air and watched it fly in a perfect, low arc. It intercepted the fleeing assassin just before he made it behind the cover of a pine tree’s bole, bringing him to the ground with a quiet oomph! of pain and surprise.

Zafirah cautiously approached the spot where the crumpled figure lay, wary of his weapon and feeling naked without her scimitar. But she spotted the crossbow lying in the mud several paces from his outstretched hand, and moved closer. His hood was down and she confirmed he was indeed a man, with a gaunt, pock-marked face and lank, greasy-looking hair. The javelin had taken him in the chest, a few inches to the right of his sternum and with sufficient force to fully pierce his body. He was struggling to breathe, and by the blood leaking from his mouth with every gurgling gasp, she recognized his lung was punctured.

Crouching down beside the fallen assassin, Zafirah took hold of him by his collar and pulled him up to face her. “The wound is mortal, yet your last breathes need not be wasted. Tell me who sent you, and I shall see your death avenged.”

Her demand seemed to amuse the dying assassin. His blood-flecked lips twisted into an ugly grimace, revealing yellowed, rotting teeth. “Not one fer spillin’ secrets, me,” he managed to croak, every breathe coming shallower and more labored than the last. “Reckon ye’ll find out soon, though…when he comes to finish you sand-rats off. That’ll be vengeance enough fer me.”

“He must have paid you well to buy such loyalty.”

A grotesque sounding chuckle gurgled from the assassin’s throat, bringing up more blood. Zafirah hardly flinched when he tried to spit it at her. “‘Loyalty?’ No such thing fer a fella like me, chief. Gold buys service and silence…and there’s always gonna be another blade out there ready to sell bloodshed fer good pay.”

Another fit of coughing seized him, twisting his features into a grimace of agony. His chest finally shuddered, grew still, and Zafirah saw his eyes grow fixed and unfocused. She uttered a frustrated curse and released her hold on the dead man’s collar. “Stupid, mule-headed outlanders!”

Realizing there was nothing more to be gained here, Zafirah got to her feet and, after pulling the man’s cloak over his frozen features, hurried back to the site of the attack.

She found Lord Everdeen lying in the muddy ground, his upper body cradled by Sadiq who was kneeling beside him. He was stubbornly trying to get his feet under him, but between the pain of his injury and the steady hands restraining him, his efforts were feeble.

“Lord Everdeen!” Zafirah crouched beside Dae’s father, her eyes fearful. “You are wounded! Let me see.”

Richard grunted and tried to wave her off. “A scratch,” he said, hissing in pain as she bent to inspect the wound, probing with gentle fingers. “No more than a scratch, I assure you.”

“Lie still,” she insisted, studying the point where the bolt had hit with a critical eye in the meager light. Beneath his tunic Lord Everdeen wore a vest of light leather armor, but it had proven no defense at all against the powerful crossbow. The quarrel had punctured clean through like it was gossamer and buried itself deeply into his side, just above his hip. She touched her fingers gently to the wound, ignoring Richard’s grunt of pain as she inspected the angle at which the bolt had penetrated. “More than a scratch, I fear, but you are fortunate. His shot was fouled and appears to have struck nothing more vital than muscle.”

Richard winced, trying again without success to get to his feet; Zafirah held him down. “I’m fine,” he scowled. “Just pull the damned thing out and sent someone for my wife. She can wake my physician and bring him to treat me.”

“That would be ill-advised, your lordship; the tip is still inside you and will surely be barbed. If I try to pull it free it will tear your flesh out with it.” She looked to one of the spahi guards standing over them. “Rafiq, go and fetch Hidabi. Tell no-one of what has transpired, just bring him here.”

The guard nodded and hurried off into the darkness.

Richard eyed her warily. “Why—”

“With respect, the fewer who learn of this attack the better. Hidabi is a gifted healer, well-versed in tending to battlefield injuries such as this. He will be able to draw the bolt without inflicting further damage and stitch the wound as well as your own healer.” She pressed her palm firmly against the wound to staunch the flow of blood and gave Richard a serious look. “If word reaches your men that you were attacked inside the camp, it will only play into our enemy’s plans and increase hostility between us. We must keep this quiet…let whoever sent this assassin wonder what went wrong. They will be less likely to make another attempt if they are uncertain how their last effort was thwarted.”

Richard seemed to consider her words a little suspiciously for a moment, but then he grunted and lay still. “Very well.”

Zafirah hesitated a long moment, considering the man carefully. “Do you have a plan to learn who masterminded these attacks?”

“There are many likely candidates,” said Richard, shaking his head. “Trading rivals and lesser lords who might seek to advance their station. I couldn’t guess with any degree of accuracy who is the most likely to take such bold steps to see me deposed.” He winced as her palm pressed into his wound. “I take it the assassin offered no clues as to who hired him?”

“He chose to remain loyal to his master. Still…it is not in Jaharri custom to dessert an ally under threat. If we truly can reach a settlement, then I would honor it by seeing your adversary discovered and confronted before departing these lands.”

Richard stared at her in skeptical surprise. “You don’t need to do that—”

“I do,” she insisted. “If I leave without ensuring your continued safety, other enemies may see it as a weakness and move to strike against you. We must make a clear and decisive demonstration of solidarity, show that we are united…or this will never end.”

Richard sat up a little straighter, considering Zafirah in the dim light. “You continue to surprise me, Scion,” he said quietly, and this time the respect in his voice seemed quite genuine. “I hadn’t expected to find such a sense of honor in a Jaharri.”

Zafirah flashed him a charming smile, her eyes brightening a fraction. “Perhaps you should not form your opinion of others until you are better acquainted with them,” she suggested light-heartedly. “Or perhaps you should simply listen with more willing ears to the counsel of your daughter.” She moved aside when she saw that Rafiq had returned with Hidabi, allowing the healer to kneel down and inspect the wound.

Continued

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