Chapter 7

“There.” Zafirah reined Simhana to a halt, pointing to a high ridgeline that rose above the plains ahead of them. “The camp of the Herak…the tribe of my mother.”

Wiping sweat from her eyes and squinting against the rising sun, Dae could make out a set of tribal banners planted atop the ridge, fluttering in the wind. The banners were dyed a faded yellow and crimson, marked with a sigil she couldn’t make out. She could also see small flocks of birds flittering about in the skies, a sign she had learned was clear indication of water or shelter nearby. Shifting in the saddle, stretching her aching legs against the stirrups, she breathed a quiet sigh of relief. “Finally.”

Their journey had taken six days, and the novelty of being out of the seraglio and in the desert wilds had worn off early on the first. Dae wasn’t yet confident on horseback and their caravan was burdened with supplies, so they’d kept to a slow and easy pace. Their company traveled from early evening until the sun gained the full sky, stopping to rest through the mid-day heat under the shelter of small and very basic tents. Twice they had been able to make camp in the shelter of caves carved into the rock formations, which were far cooler and more comfortable than the open plains. Zafirah had told her that a swift-rider—one of the messengers who typically carried news to and from the city—could make this journey in but two days and nights if pushed. Just the thought of such an exhaustive ride made her shudder.

The chill of the nights was bracing, the canopy of star-filled heavens even more awesome than it appeared in the city, and the mood among the soldiers traveling with them was light-hearted and filled with banter and jesting. Dae had even begun making a few friends among the spahi and scouts accompanying them, among them Bahira, Falak’s lover. Bahira had been the sole survivor of a group of scouts slaughtered by renegade tribes during the recent conflict, and Dae sensed she was using this outing to rebuild some of her wounded confidence. But still, the open desert was a far cry from the comforts of the palace, and saddle-sores and tired muscles had done little to lighten Dae’s mood. Truth be told, she would have much rather spent these last six nights in Zafirah’s—and now, she supposed, her own—bedchamber, enjoying some alone time with her new wife.

But with their destination at last in sight, Dae felt her spirits lift.

It took another hour for them to make it to the top of the ridgeline, and the blistering heat from the sun had quickly replaced the chill of night. As she crested the rise, Dae found herself looking down into a great circular depression carved into the desert plain. The shallow crater was perhaps a mile or two wide and forty feet deep, with cracked and broken ground giving way to rocky soil. All around she could see patches of tough tussock grasses and scraggly thorn-brush. A sparse forest of acacia trees, date palms and eucalyptus filled the basin, their spreading branches offering that most rare and valued luxury for any desert campsite: shade.

The camp itself was spread out below them, perhaps as many as seventy yurts of varying sizes, the largest and obviously more privileged of which had been erected under the shelter of the broadest trees. The birds she’d noticed earlier she now identified as tiny parrots; though each of them were only about the size of a mouse, there were hundreds of the things and they filled the air with their loud, raucous chatter. A herd of sheep and goats grazed peacefully on the grasses not far from the main camp, watched closely by several young men and women. There were a few camels corralled nearby, with fewer horses among them. Dae saw that their arrival had already been noticed, the calm flow of the nomad’s morning ritual changing to something more excited as the people gathered to welcome them.

“We should be in time to share their morning meal,” Zafirah smiled, and Dae couldn’t help but smile back. Zafirah was clearly excited, her expression bright and animated. It was obvious she was looking forward to introducing her new Consort to her mother. During the ride she had talked a great deal about the Herak, sharing more stories of her youth. Dae reminded herself that this would be her first opportunity to experience what life was really like for the Jaharri…away from the city, where most of the desert people still lived in their close-knit nomadic tribes. She knew that this time spent among the Herak would help her to better understand the people she had accepted as her own; this, in turn, would strengthen the bond she shared with Zafirah.

As they led the way down into the valley, a group of men and a single woman broke away from the rest of those gathered and approached on foot to meet them. Each of the nomads was dressed alike in flowing white cotton trousers, caftans, and leather boots. As they got closer, Dae saw the eldest of the men had a thick, wiry beard that was graying at the sides. The younger two were each strong and handsome, one clean-shaven (or possibly not yet old enough to grow a beard), the other sporting a mustache and goatee. Dae presumed them to be the tribal leader—the sheikh—and his sons. She turned to meet the eyes of the woman—eyes as blue as chips of sapphire—and knew without question that this was Rashida, Zafirah’s mother. Her gaze was strong and sure, curious even, and Dae nervously flicked a loose strand of hair back behind her ear. Those eyes were every bit as intense and powerful as Zafirah’s.

“Salaam alluikum, Jestart!” Zafirah touched her fingertips to her chest, her lips, and her forehead in the formal greeting of the Jaharri. “It is good to see you again.”

“And you, Scion.” Jestart returned the greeting, then extended his hand. Zafirah clasped it firmly. “Good, too, that your visit falls under happier circumstances than last time.”

“Indeed.”

Dae dismounted her horse with help from one of the spahi, her legs stiff and sore. She brushed the travel dust from her trousers and walked stiffly forward to stand beside Zafirah, offering a shy smile to the curious nomads.

Jestart returned her smile and bowed slightly. “This must be your new Consort. It is an honor to welcome you to the oasis of Murat Alqamar.”

Dae nodded. Her eyes returned to Rashida, who had stepped forward at a gesture from Zafirah.

“Mother,” the Scion took Dae’s hand in hers. Her tone was anxious and proud at the same time. “I would like you to meet Dae Al’Tahirah…my wife.”

Dae offered her hand in greeting. “Ahlan.”

Rashida studied her with frank and inquisitive eyes. After a moment of appraisal, she stepped forward with a broad grin and, ignoring the offered hand, enveloped Dae in a strong embrace. “No call for such formality, child. It is an honor to welcome you into our family.” Breaking the hug, she ran her fingers over Dae’s face, then through her hair. “My daughter told me of your beauty the last time she visited us. I confess, I thought her description must surely have been embellished by her love, but now I see she only spoke the truth. You are a vision.”

Dae’s cheeks grew warm. “Thank you.”

“We have brought supplies and food for the tribe,” Zafirah said, looking to the sheikh, “along with a few luxuries from El’Kasari.”

Jestart nodded his thanks. Dae had learned that such tribute was another tradition common among the Jaharri; a tribe needed to be careful with its supplies since the desert offered so little bounty, but the customs of hospitality were still held in high regard. Even a rival tribesperson would be made welcome in the camp, shown every respect and provided the best food and shelter available, so long as they came openly and without malicious intent. To do any less—to show distrust or rudeness—would shame the tribe as a whole, and in any future dealings the lack of hospitality would set them at a social disadvantage. Many blood-feuds had their roots planted in such simple soil, escalating over centuries into battles and wars over past injustices. Dae understood the nomads were a proud people; they did not forgive a slight easily. As guests of the Herak, Zafirah and her troops placed a great strain on the tribe’s resources. Their tribute served to repay what they took, and because the Herak rarely journeyed to the city, preferring to live as their ancestors had for centuries, the Scion’s gift would be doubly welcome.

Zafirah looked back to the troops behind her and gave a sharp gesture. “See to the horses and supplies. Jestart will distribute them among the tribe.”

The spahi and scouts moved quickly and efficiently to comply. The sheikh gave a nod to his eldest son, and the young man called for several of the watching nomads to assist them in their task.

“Come,” Rashida said, taking Dae by the arm and tugging her toward the main camp. “You and I have much to discuss. I wish to learn more of my new daughter.”

Dae glanced questioningly at Zafirah, who nodded for her to go.

*   *          *

Zafirah watched with Jestart as the tribesmen moved forward to greet their guests now that their leader had officially welcomed them. She was not surprised to see most of the attention was being directed to the spahi, not her Consort, as Rashida led her through the camp. It would be considered rude to approach someone of Dae’s stature uninvited, at least until formal introductions had been made. But still, most eyes turned to follow Dae as she passed by, and here and there Zafirah saw a few parents having to hold their curious children from rushing up to inspect their exotic guest.

“How long will you be with us?” Jestart inquired as they watched.

“A few weeks, I hope,” Zafirah replied. “It will serve Dae well to learn more of the nomad way of life. While she has already heard a great deal from others, it is one thing to listen to stories in the palace harem, and something very different to experience the tale firsthand.”

“I am only sorry you did not come to us after the spring rains. We could have shown her the true skill of our tribe. This time of year, with the waters drying up, there is little to do but survive.”

“Then Dae will have an honest experience of what life in the desert is like.”

“Come, then.” Jestart clapped Zafirah on the back. “Let us get your escort settled and find something to eat. Best we get back to your Consort quickly, before your mother whispers too many tales of your youth in her ear.”

Laughing, Zafirah waved her hand for him to lead the way.

*   *          *

Rashida showed Dae to one of the larger yurts in the camp, sheltered under the spreading branches of an acacia. “Here we are,” she said, pulling back the flap of sheepskin which served as a door and gesturing for her to enter. “It may not be as luxurious as you are accustomed to in the palace, but you should find it comfortable enough.”

“It’s fine, really,” Dae assured her, not wanting to come across as spoilt. And indeed, the yurt did appear quite comfortable…spacious, airy and well-lit. The frame of the semi-permanent structure was made from stout bamboo poles bound together with hemp cord, its six walls forming a hexagonal circle. From the points of the walls, bent poles had been set to meet at a central hoop, again lashed together securely. Thick felt made from matted camel hair covered this skeleton inside and out, except for the hoop in the ceiling which was left open for ventilation. The hard ground had also been covered in layers of thick felt and elaborately designed rugs. In the center of the yurt stood a charcoal brazier, its embers dead in the heat of the day. The whole structure was slightly under seven feet high and perhaps thirty feet in diameter. A sleeping pallet lay against the wall opposite the entry, complete with silk pillows and sheets. There were a few small tables carved with the designs favored by the nomads scattered here and there, decorated with trinkets in brass and copper. It was surprisingly cool inside, the felt proving excellent insulation against the outside heat. Dae looked around and then smiled at Rashida. “Thank you for the hospitality.”

“Not at all.” Rashida returned the smile. “Please, will you sit with me? Zafirah will no doubt be busy for a while attending to her troops. Are you hungry? I could send for some food if you like.”

“No, thank you.” Dae sat gingerly on one of the cushions arranged around the brazier. “We ate before dawn…in the saddle, of course, but I’m fine. Honestly, it just feels good to be off the back of that horse.”

“Your legs are sore?”

Dae nodded, stretching herself out with a slight groan and giving her aching thighs a quick massage. “I’m afraid I’m still not used to riding,” she admitted. “I didn’t realize how stiff the long ride would make me.”

“Your muscles will adapt with time. Riding takes practice, but it is an invaluable skill to develop.” Rashida poured water from a ceramic jug into two tin cups and offered her one. “Here, you must at least be thirsty after your journey.”

“Thank you.” Dae accepted the cup and drank gratefully, while the older woman settled herself on the cushion across from her. A few moments passed in awkward silence, the two women studying one another across the brazier. Dae could feel her eyes wandering over her face and body, and she shifted nervously under their intensity.

At length Rashida laughed quietly, dissipating much of the tension, and reached out to pat Dae on her leg. “Forgive me, child, I do not mean to stare. But I had no idea quite what to expect from the woman who has managed to do what I had believed could never be done—tame my daughter’s wild heart with love. It is rare that outlanders journey through the lands of the Herak, and rarer still that they are made welcome in the camp.” Rashida raised a hand and ran callused fingers over the features of Dae’s face. “As Consort to Zafirah’s father, I am more familiar than most with those not born of the desert tribes, yet still…” She shook her head, her expression one of absolute wonder. “…I have never seen a woman quite like you before.”

Dae lowered her eyes and whispered, “Thank you.”

“Apologies, child, I did not intend to make you uncomfortable. I only mean to say that, to see Zafirah joined with you, to see her happy and committed in such a way…it is something I gave up hope of ever seeing a long time ago. Please forgive my absence at your joining; I would have attended, but the city…well, the city was always more my husband’s place than my own. El’Kasari is still haunted by many memories which I do not care to face. I truly cannot express just how honored I am to welcome a new daughter into my life.”

Dae returned Rashida’s warm smile and took a sip of water. “You’re really too kind,” she pleaded. “Zafirah and I…well, it wasn’t something I planned on happening, it just…it just did.”

“She said something similar when last she visited. I always feared that my daughter’s life would be ever ruled by her lusts; for battle, for sex.” Rashida laughed when Dae glanced away. “Oh child, you need not be modest about such things just because I am Zafirah’s mother. Believe me, her appetites are well known to me. It is a great joy to see that she has found a love that touches her soul and not just her body.”

“Well, there’s plenty of the latter kind of love between us.”

Rashida laughed again. “I do not doubt it.” A loud and raucous shout came from outside and Dae tensed reflexively. But the sound was followed by laughter and muffled conversation that faded as the men moved away from the yurt. Rashida offered a reassuring smile. “Have no fear,” she said. “The men are in high spirits thanks to your visit. At this time of year, when there is little cause for celebration, any distraction is welcomed. I understand this is your first time visiting a nomadic camp?”

Dae nodded. “It’s my first trip outside the city since Zafirah rescued me from the slavers,” she said, resettling herself and willing herself to relax. “I’d heard stories of the desert from my tutors and handmaidens all my life, but I never truly imagined such a hostile land before—the wind, the heat, no shelter or trees. I guess the desert still makes me a bit nervous.”

“It must have been a traumatic experience for you,” Rashida said. “I can assure you the camp is quite safe; the whole tribe is eager to meet you. I only wish you could have visited us after the spring rains, when the true work of the Herak begins.”

“I’ve heard a lot of the tribal histories and customs from the other girls in the harem,” Dae said, her tone brighter, “and the different skills they each master. Zafirah tells me the Herak are the finest weavers in all the desert.”

“Indeed, we are. Whether grasses or vines, leather or metal, there are none who can bind the materials of the Jaharri with the same artistry and skill as the Herak. Which reminds me…” Rashida reached over and took a cloth-wrapped bundle from the closest table, which she presented to Dae. “I have a gift for you. In honor of your joining with Zafirah, and to welcome you into my family.”

“Thank you.” Dae took the package in hand, feeling something soft and yielding inside. “What is it?”

“Open it.”

Unwrapping the folds of cloth with care, Dae was delighted by what was revealed. Inside were folded a pair of trousers, a top, and a belt, each crafted from thin strips of soft leather woven in the most intricate and beautiful patterns. The edges and seams were fringed and decorated with beads and feathers typical of Jaharri ornamentation, and the leather dyed in shifting shades of forest green and brown. “These are amazing!” Dae exclaimed, running her fingers in wonder over the top. “Did you make these?”

“For the most part, yes. I had only my daughter’s description to go by, so I had to guess at your measurements, but it can be adjusted to fit your frame. Now that you are Consort, I thought this might be more appropriate than the clothing of a pleasure-servant.”

Dae held the top against her chest, tracing her fingers over the lines of braided leather and fringing in wonder. “This must have taken weeks! It’s amazing.”

“Would you like to try them on?” Rashida gestured to a privacy screen set at the far end of the yurt. “You can change over there. I am curious to see how they look.”

Behind the screen Dae quickly shed her traveling clothes and dressed in her new wardrobe. The top fit over her chest snugly, pushing her breasts together slightly and enhancing her already impressive cleavage. Fixing the clasp, she winced at the slight sting in her still-sensitive left nipple. The top had been cut to leave her arms and belly exposed, and the fringing on the lower hem tickled her abdomen. Pulling on the trousers and cinching the belt around her waist, Dae flexed her legs up and down curiously. She’d grown accustomed to the gossamer materials of silk and gauzy fabrics typical of harem clothing, loose and free flowing, but she was pleased to find the new outfit was extremely comfortable. Indeed, the leather was so soft it fit against her like a second skin; it was a surprisingly sensuous feeling, almost like being naked.

“What type of leather is this?” she queried. “It feels like doe-skin yet breathes like cotton.”

“It is actually made from the skin of a cactus which grows on the western slopes of the hill range to the south. Once dried and cured it makes for a sturdy yet versatile material.”

Dae ran her hands up her thighs, impressed. “Leather from cactus? That’s different…but clever.” Stepping out from behind the privacy screen she turned a slow circle for Rashida’s inspection. “Well…what do you think?”

Rashida studied her critically for a moment before clapping her hands. “Perfect! Come, see for yourself.” She waved a hand to a gilt-edged sheet of brass which had been polished to a mirror finish.

Smoothing her palms over her hips, Dae studied her reflection, and for the first time since her joining with Zafirah, she saw herself as a true Consort of the desert nation. The colors of her new outfit complimented her skin-tone and hair splendidly. Straightening her back and squaring her shoulders, she watched her muscles flex visibly under the leather; Dae had never imagined she could look so sexy and powerful at the same time.

Rashida stepped up behind her, running her fingers over the seams of the top and the waist of the trousers, testing the fit. She gave a low hum of approval. “It fits you well…but goodness, look at all this hair! The wind will not be kind to you, child. Here, this might help.” With fingers more dexterous than any Dae had seen before, Rashida took hold of her hair and began braiding it skillfully into a long plait. “You might also be wise to avoid long periods outside in the mid-day heat; I do not imagine your skin favors the sunlight.”

“No, not really,” Dae agreed, still entranced by the sight of herself in her new outfit. “I usually sleep through high noon when the day is at its hottest.” Rashida finished tying her hair back, using a length of hemp cord strung with more feathers and beads to tie off the braid. “Thank you.”

“My pleasure. Your only trouble now will be ensuring Zafirah does not damage your new outfit in her haste to tear it off you.”

Dae laughed, but conceded the point; her new look was guaranteed to spark her mate's desire.

As though on cue the flap at the entrance to the yurt parted and Zafirah ducked inside, blinking her eyes to adjust to the change of lighting. “Dae? Are you—” She stopped, her jaw dropping when she caught sight of her. “Wha—”

Dae grinned, resting a hand on her hip and watching Zafirah’s gaze wander over her in obvious appreciation. “You like?”

“You…” Zafirah stared a long time before shaking herself from a momentary daze. She cleared her throat and looked from Dae to her mother. “You did this?” she asked, stepping closer.

Rashida nodded. “I wanted a gift suitable for my new daughter, and for the Consort of the Scion. What do you think?”

Zafirah ran her hands down the outfit, looking quite captivated; Dae had teased her about how disappointed she’d been to see the harem clothes put aside in favor of more concealing attire. “I think you have outdone yourself.” Zafirah gave her mother a grateful hug. “Thank you.”

“Welcome. And now, I believe she is ready to meet the rest of the tribe. What say you, Dae? Visitors are rare for the Herak, and everyone has been eagerly awaiting the chance to offer their blessings on your union with my daughter.”

Dae held out her hand and slipped it comfortingly into Zafirah’s before giving a nod. “I’m ready.” With a quick glance up into her partner’s eyes, she followed Rashida out into the bright sunlight, grateful for the strength she felt in the fingers wrapped around her own.

*   *          *

Though initially nervous, it didn’t take long for Dae to relax around the men and women of the Herak. They welcomed her with enthusiasm, calling to mind the first time she’d been introduced to the other pleasure-servants in the harem. Once again Dae accepted the curious touches and stares as calmly as she could, somewhat more accustomed to them now than she had been previously. The people all exclaimed over her exotic beauty, complimenting her on her new attire and seeming to take a large measure of pride in how well the Herak-designed outfit suited her looks.

Dae was determined to make a good impression on the tribespeople; she knew how vital the nomads were in the Jaharri, and this was her first time acting in the role of Zafirah’s Consort. Although as Scion, Zafirah was considered the suzerain of the Jaharri and thus could not be claimed as a member of any one tribe, these were still her mother’s people. Dae wanted her first encounter with them to be a positive one.

After the initial introductions had been made, Zafirah spent most of the day overseeing her troops—helping them set up their own tents, tending to the weary horses, and clearing a sparring circle for them to train in. Dae knew her partner was keeping half an eye on her, but she appreciated that she wasn’t hovering over her while Jestart showed her about the camp and explained a little about their lives.

“The Murat Alqamar oasis has served the Herak as our winter camp for centuries. In the Common tongue it is called the Mirror of the Moon; legend says that it was formed by the hand of Badriya, Goddess of Tranquility, who wished to admire her reflection upon the desert wastes. When the storms come next season, the rains shall fill the basin with water that can linger for many hours before the ground consumes it. If the winds are still, the surface reflects the sky like polished silver glass.”

Looking around at the scrub bushes and sparse forest of trees, Dae grew puzzled. “I’ve only seen the Kah-hari oasis before, but this looks very different. Where are the waters?”

“Beneath our feet, Consort, where the sun cannot touch them.” Jestart laughed at her confused expression. “The bedrock here is hard granite, but the surface layers are porous, forming a precious aquifer. In ages past we had to carve deep bore wells to access it, but more than a century ago we allowed for certain…modernizations. See?” He indicated an area near the animal pens where a large trough had been carved into the ground. At its center Dae saw an object she recognized from her homeland—a large hand pump, made from rusted iron, which must have been attached to a pipe sunk deep into the earth. “The Herak have always clung to the old ways of our people, and many elders protested the introduction of such technology to our lands. It took some time, but even they came to see the value of more easily bringing the waters to the surface.”

“It’s certainly more hospitable here than out on the sands and plains. If there’s so much water here, I can’t imagine why you’d ever want to leave.”

“Well, the whole of our tribe is more than just those you see here. We have herds scattered throughout the valleys to the south, guarded by small groups of our people. They must roam far and wide to find food to sustain themselves. When spring comes, we shall make our way to join them so our animals can breed and their young can feed on the bounty brought by the rains. Besides, the oasis is vital to other tribes besides our own. The Dashik and Herana are splinter tribes formed when the Herak broke over the centuries; when we leave, they will come to the Murat Alqamar and take our place.”

Dae had heard of tribes ‘breaking’ from her fellows in the harem; it referred to instances when a tribe prospered and its numbers grew too great to sustain. A number of their people would leave to form splinter—or sister—tribes of their own.

The children of the Herak seemed particularly excited to meet her, and Dae was charmed by their exuberance. It was obvious none of them had ever seen an outlander up close before, and throughout the day as she was shown about the camp a swarm of smaller bodies followed after her, constantly reaching out to touch her hair and hold her hands, bombarding her with questions about her homeland and pleading with her to join their games or inspect their toys. They presented her with numerous small trinkets and tokens…a tradition of gift-giving she was familiar with by now. By the time the sun was lowering on the horizon, Dae’s arms and neck were heavily adorned with braided twine bracelets and necklaces in a rainbow of colors.

But there was one encounter in particular which Dae treasured above any other. Jestart introduced her to his two sons; Achmed, the elder of the brothers and Calif of the tribe, and Kalid, who was a year younger than Dae and possessed a quiet and introspective nature she found quite pleasing. It was Kalid who offered to show her his specialty, leading her to his yurt at the edge of the camp. Outside on a frame made from gnarled eucalyptus branches perched the most magnificent bird Dae had ever seen—a large falcon, with tan and brown feathers, and black markings around its face.

“Oh! He’s just gorgeous!” Dae exclaimed, utterly captivated by the bird.

“She,” Kalid corrected softly, pulling on a thick leather gauntlet and allowing the falcon to leap from the perch onto his forearm. He held the bird out for her to get a closer look. “Balakav was my father’s gift to me when I came of age two years ago. Last spring she had her first chick.” He pointed out a second falcon, smaller and with slightly different markings, resting on another perch nearby. “She is still young, though, and possesses a headstrong nature. I have only recently begun her training, and it will take time for me to gain her trust and form a true bond with her.”

Reaching out, Dae ran her fingers tentatively over the falcon’s back and wings. Balakav suffered the petting with an air of dignified resignation, watching her with sharp eyes. Dae had never been so close to such a creature before. Birds of prey were highly revered in the Heartland, particularly the great eagles who ruled the skies like soaring shadows. It was strictly against the law to hunt them, and the estates where they made their nests were considered blessed with good fortune. The crest of King Gerald, the ruler of the Heartland, was a golden eagle clasping a sword in its talons. “What kind of training?” she asked.

“Like many of the southern tribes, the Herak have used falcons for centuries to aid us in our hunting. It is an ancient and honored tradition.” He lowered his eyes modestly. “I am learning the art from the tribal elders. It is my hope to continue the craft and one day pass the knowledge to my own children.”

“Hunting?” Dae gave the young man a quizzical look. “I thought your people hunted with bows and spears.”

“Indeed we do, but the animals of the desert are often cunning and difficult to detect. A falcon can scout prey from a far greater distance than human eyes allow…can fly swifter than the fastest horse can ride. Balakav has already proven an excellent hunter of many creatures; rabbits, other birds, sand mice. When she is older and her training complete, she will be able to bring down larger and faster prey, like gazelle, by striking their eyes and blinding them. The hunters on horseback can then move in and make the kill quickly. Do the people of your homeland not use animals in their own hunting?”

“Well…” Dae thought about it a moment, and realized they did. “My father had a pack of dogs he took during the spring hunt. I never thought too much about how they were used, but it’s probably much the same.”

“Such hounds are used by tribes in the eastern regions of the Jaharri. They are called saluka,” Kalid said, his tone indicating disapproval and a slightly mocking contempt. “Falcons are far superior, at least in the territory of the Herak. They require less sustenance, less water, and the lack of cover does not hinder them when moving on their prey.”

Dae regarded the falcon with new respect, then she knit her brows in confusion. “But surely there can’t be that many animals out in the desert to hunt.”

“With respect, Consort, most outlanders never see more in the desert than what they expect to find—desolate wastes and barren dunes. But every year there comes rebirth with the rains of spring, and there is more life out here than you might think, Consort…if one can be patient and learn how to look for it.”

Dae spent hours with Kalid and the two falcons, particularly the unnamed younger female who seemed to take quite a shine to her. Obviously flattered by her interest, Kalid happily demonstrated some of the basic techniques of falconry, showing Dae how he was able to command the bird in flight using a tin whistle which could produce an astonishing variety of high-pitched sounds. The bond between man and bird fascinated Dae, and she eagerly observed Kalid’s interactions with Balakav. Privately, she wondered what it might take to acquire a falcon of her own and gain the skills needed to train it. She promised herself she would broach the subject with Zafirah later.

As the afternoon deepened into evening, scattered clouds formed on the horizon and eventually swept overhead. The temperature dropped dramatically, and despite their protests that a Consort need not burden herself with such a menial task, Dae joined the tribesmen in collecting and preparing wood for their campfires. Though she’d rarely ever had to perform manual labor before, Dae was not physically weak, and the branches they were gathering from dead or fallen trees were not overly heavy. A group of children accompanied her in the task, chattering away merrily and showing her how to inspect each piece of wood for spiders, scorpions, or other nasty critters before she picked it up. Dae was beginning to realize the desert wasn't the lifeless, barren wasteland she had thought it to be; finding a large sinister-looking scorpion on one branch, she recoiled with a squeak of surprise and fright. The children all seemed to take great delight in her horror and immediately began recounting stories of other desert fauna they apparently felt might be of interest to her; asps and vipers, solitary hunting cats and scrawny jackals. Dae just grit her teeth and reminded herself this had been her choice.

From watching Zafirah interact with the common people of the city, Dae knew that she was adored by the citizens of El’Kasari, and understood that a contributing factor to this was how she related to them as equals. Zafirah worked hard to be a good leader of her people, training daily with her troops and taking an interest in the lives of her people. Dae was determined to mirror that behavior now, knowing it would help to endear her with the tribe and set the right tone for the image she wanted to create. From the looks of mild surprise and appreciation on their rugged features, she guessed it was working.

There was, however, one exception to the generally positive reception she received, though it wasn’t one she paid much attention to until after dusk had descended. Dae had been greeted by most of the Herak enthusiastically, yet it dawned on her that very few of the young women among the tribe had introduced themselves. But they were watching her. Wherever she went on her tour of the camp, a gathering of these women followed at a distance, observing her with stealthy interest and whispering among themselves. Distracted by her fascination in Kalid’s falcons, she didn’t initially think their behavior excessively strange.

It wasn’t until the tribe gathered in the evening to share their dinner around the fires that Dae paid the matter more attention. Several small fires had been arranged around a larger, central blaze, and the evening meal was a boisterous, lively affair. At sunset the children all gathered around Achmed who, as part of his duty as Calif of the Herak, related several stories involving some of the tribe’s most celebrated heroes. Such nightly storytelling’s were common in the seraglio, and Dae didn’t protest much at the children’s insistence that she join them. Some of the tales she’d heard before, but many were new to her, and Achmed was a gifted orator. She wasn’t the only adult who joined the youngsters, though the novelty of her appearance meant the children spent almost as much time toying with her hair and studying her pale skin as they did listening to the Calif. After the storytelling was over, the children retired to their parent’s yurts for the night while Dae rejoined Zafirah at the main campfire. She accepted a plate of rice and stew from her partner, and when Zafirah was called over to speak with Jestart, Dae finally took notice of the giggling from nearby.

Eating her food slowly, thoughtfully, Dae studied the circle of women gathered around the next fire over. She could feel their furtive glances, could hear their muffled giggles and whispered conversation, and for the first time sensed a slightly hostile air to their perusal. Had she done something to upset them, she wondered. Or was she just being overly sensitive?

Her contemplation of the matter was interrupted by a familiar voice. “That look in your eyes suggests your thoughts have drifted into deep waters. I hope I am not disturbing you.”

Dae looked up to find Rashida regarding her with a friendly expression. “I’m sorry?”

“May I keep you company, at least until Zafirah returns?”

“Oh…um, of course.”

Rashida settled herself on the log beside Dae, who continued watching the other young women with hurt confusion. “Please do not take offense at their behavior,” she said after a moment, tossing a cynical glance at the gaggle of young women. “You have done nothing to deserve their enmity.”

Dae looked to Rashida, then back at the girls. “Then I’m not being paranoid? They’re avoiding me, aren’t they?”

“It would seem so. I had hoped they would adopt a more mature attitude once you arrived and they had a chance to get to know you, but it seems my hope was in vain.”

“But why?”

Rashida raised an eyebrow, considering her shrewdly. “Well, why do you think they are behaving as they are?”

Dae shrugged. “I don’t know. I can’t think of anything I’ve said or done. I’ve barely even spoken a word to any of them.” She pouted slightly. “Not that they’ve given me many chances.”

“Hmm.” Rashida studied Dae’s face closely. “Well, perhaps you might ask yourself how those women would be behaving if Zafirah were visiting us under more ordinary circumstances…and consider why they are not interacting with her as they otherwise might.”

Dae’s eyes narrowed in thought, then widened as the answer suddenly occurred to her. She was so accustomed to seeing other women flirt with Zafirah that she hadn’t noticed the absence of any attempts at seduction from the nomads. Though the nomads were playing music and singing songs, none of the young women were dancing, trying to catch the Scion’s eye. There was only one cause she could think of—herself. She looked from the women to Rashida in surprise. “They’re jealous?”

Rashida’s lips pursed, and she shrugged. “That may be a part of it…but I suspect it is a touch more complicated than that.”

“Complicated how?”

“You have been living in the palace harem since you came to the desert, Dae, among women who possess rather unique attributes. There is a reason why the role of pleasure-servant is held in high regard in Jaharri culture. Inaya and the others you have spent so much of your time with have fully embraced their own beauty and sexuality to an extent that it has become the central focus of their entire lives. They are so confident of themselves, so self-assured of their own sexuality, that jealousy is completely foreign to them. When you were brought into the harem they regarded you as a new companion, not as competition for the Scion’s attention. They have also had the opportunity to watch you and Zafirah as your relationship developed; as I understand it, they were even able to help nurture your love with their guidance and support. Not everyone has been so fortunate.

“On her last visit to the tribe, it was obvious to me that Zafirah had lost her heart to you. Others sensed the change in her, too…yet the news that the Scion was to be joined with a young outlander girl took most people by surprise. It was a topic which generated much discussion…particularly among some of the young women. Although they took care never to discuss the subject in my presence, my ears are everywhere in this camp. I fear there were some rather cutting remarks made in reference to you and your developing relationship with my daughter.”

“What have they been saying?” Rashida hesitated for a long moment and Dae’s expression hardened. “I’d like to know.”

“You need to understand, Dae, Zafirah’s talents as a lover are as famed as her prowess in battle, but her responsibilities as Scion demand much of her time. The result is that she does not often have the opportunity to visit with the tribe. When she does, it is a rare chance for those women who are so inclined to test the truth of her legend.”

“I understand that,” Dae said, “but why would that be reason for them to shun me?”

“Because now Zafirah is joined with you. And now, here you are…and I doubt they know quite what to make of you. Not one of them has ever laid eyes on an outlander woman before, let alone one possessed of such extraordinary grace and beauty as you. I am sure many of them feel curious about you, but it is a curiosity poisoned by jealousy. The depth of Zafirah’s feelings for you is obvious.” Rashida drew Dae’s attention to where her daughter was conversing with Jestart; every few moments her gaze would wander back to where Dae was sitting, and the look of affection that flashed across her features was readable even in the low light of the fire. “What chance do they have now of catching her fancy?”

“And what have they been saying?” Dae repeated.

“Well…there have been some rather snide comments questioning that an outlander woman from the east could ever satisfy so ravenous an appetite as Zafirah’s. I believe that is what all the giggling is about.”

Whatever insecurities Dae may have had regarding her own sexual prowess, the blood that rushed to her cheeks was driven there by anger, not embarrassment. “You’re saying they think I can’t please Zafirah?”

Rashida seemed to approve of her indignant response, but she shook her head. “I am saying they fear your bond has eclipsed any opportunity they might have had to win their way into Zafirah’s bed, and they are dealing with their jealousy of you in a rather immature fashion.”

“But that’s not true!” Dae protested. “When I accepted my feelings for Zafirah, a part of that was accepting that our relationship would be…open.” She looked away from Rashida’s frank appraisal of her, feeling awkward discussing this subject with her lover’s mother. “Just because Zafirah and I are joined, that doesn’t mean she won’t take pleasure with others. I thought…well, I thought that was a common practice among the Jaharri.”

“For many, yes, this is true. Oftentimes even women who are joined with men will seek the company of their own gender from time to time…and the men have their own ‘bonding’ rituals and intimate time together. But you were not born of the desert, Dae. The tribes may be isolated from your native culture, but most Jaharri have heard it said that in your homeland such liaisons outside of a bonded relationship are strictly forbidden.”

“Yes, that’s true, but I'd never try to force Zafirah to conform to the customs of my homeland. The Jaharri is my home now! Surely they understand that?”

“I fear that until the people of the tribes have had an opportunity to meet you, to get to know you in person and see for themselves the bond you share with my daughter, ingrained prejudices may lead many to the same conclusion.”

A fresh fit of giggling erupted, and Dae threw the neighboring group a look of irritation…but now she recognized the cause of their acidic mirth was based on a misconception. Taking a deep, calming breath, she set aside any hurt feelings in favor of finding a solution. In a way she could actually understand where the other women were coming from, could appreciate their position and why they were reacting to her presence so poorly. And in pondering a way to overcome their assumptions about her, a plan suddenly crystallized in her mind. There was, after all, a very easy way she could make them understand…a simple solution that would let these women see how fully she had embraced the desert culture.

When she was growing up, Dae’s father had been fond of the expression, ‘Actions speak louder than words.’ Inaya had taught her the Jaharri equivalent to this philosophy; ‘It is better to see the truth than to imagine it.’ Perhaps this was another opportunity to put that idea to the test.

“I shall speak with them in the morning,” Rashida said firmly. “I will make them understand that their behavior shames the tribe, and it must stop—”

“No,” Dae interrupted. “No, don’t. I have a better idea.”

Rashida gave her an inquiring look. “Are you certain? There is no reason you should be troubled because of their foolishness.”

“I’m certain. And,” she added in a low voice when she saw Zafirah making her way back over to her, “please don’t say anything to Zafirah. I’ll handle it.”

Rashida shrugged, obviously uncertain how she was planning to deal with other girls but respecting her desire to face the challenge on her own. “As you wish.”

“Thank you.” Dae shifted over to make room for her partner’s return. Zafirah sat beside her, wrapped an arm about her waist and gave Rashida a playful grin.

“I trust my mother has filled your ears with enough embarrassing tales of my youthful misadventures?”

“Oh, I have barely scratched the surface of your history, my child,” Rashida laughed. “For example, there was the time old Maajid caught you mid-dalliance with that poor girl and chased you around the camp, naked and pleading for mercy, after he learned you and your friends had been using his favorite bow as a fire poker. I still recall the welts he raised on your backside!” She leaned closer to Dae and gleefully added, “She could not sit without wincing for a week, and the girl was so mortified she never gave her a chance to finish what they’d started.”

Dae laughed as Zafirah stammered for a dignified defense…but her thoughts were distracted with putting the final touches on her plan. Relaxing against her partner, Dae studied the gathering of nomad women out of the corner of her eye, and a smile played across her lips.

Continued

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