Fadhil spent what remained of the night elsewhere.
At dawn, Azzad was twining a lock of Leyliah’s hair around one finger, the other hand tickling her breasts with the fringed ends of the scarf. “You still haven’t told me why.”
“Your health, of course.”
“That’s not what I meant,” he said, trying to be severe—difficult, when she stretched languidly and looked up at him through thick black lashes. “Why you?”
“You would prefer someone else?”
Realizing the implied insult, he quickly—and sincerely—said, “No! But you’re to be married—”
“Yet you will have noticed I am not a maiden.”
He had. “I don’t understand.”
“I do as I like, when a man pleases me.”
“But—” But it left a sour taste in his mouth, for he was reminded of Sheyqa Nizzira’s appetites. Why equivalent behavior should be different for a woman than for a man, he was not entirely sure—had never been entirely sure, in fact, although he trotted out the explanation his mother had given. “When a woman has charge and control of a family’s business and fortunes, she owes it to her own honor to be sure her children are her husband’s. Also—”
“Do you think me such an idiot that I do not know when I am fertile?”
“Also,” he repeated, “it doesn’t do, does it, for a woman to admit she made a mistake in her marriage? That she chose the wrong man?” A thing his mother had not done—and was too proud ever to admit if she had. His parents had genuinely loved each other and had been happy. He was certain that Leyliah and Fadhil—
“I have chosen
“I meant no disrespect or disparagement,” he said hastily. “I only meant—” He paused. “I’m not sure what I meant. Leyliah, I’m gratified and I’m honored, but I’m also confused. Why me?”
“Very few have pleased me,” she continued. “You, one or two others—”
“Fadhil?”
“He was my first and most cherished—as I was his. You don’t know our ways, Azzad. Perhaps one day you will, but for now—”
“Why don’t you marry him? You love each other.”
“Of course we do.”
“Then—”
“Fadhil, Fadhil!” she exclaimed. “Would you rather talk or have love with me again?”
“Both,” he said frankly. “But if you’re giving me a choice—” And she smiled as he lay beside her again.
All the next day he could barely look at Fadhil.
Waking without a headache, even after the quantities of wine he’d imbibed the night before, Azzad presented himself at Abb Shagara’s tent. Fadhil was already there. Together the three young men inspected Khamsin’s Shagara foals, a colt and two fillies, all healthy and finely grown. A wallad izzahn came along to record Azzad’s advice; full of importance at the privilege, the boy obviously saw himself as the future man-in-charge. Azzad went into great detail for his benefit, quickly boring Abb Shagara.
“But when can I ride one?” he demanded.
“Another year, perhaps a little less. Tomorrow I’ll teach you how—on Khamsin.”
Fadhil grinned. “My thanks for the warning, Azzad. I’ll spend this evening steeping poultices.”
Azzad fought a blush. Was this Fadhil’s way of telling him he would not be in his own tent, so Leyliah could come in again if she wished?
“Ayia,” said Abb Shagara, “if the price of riding is a sore behind, I’ll gladly pay.”
Azzad clapped him on the shoulder. “You’ll be sore in places you never suspected
After the noon meal, Azzad had a chat with Khamsin about Abb Shagara’s lesson on the morrow. “No tricks, no whims, no wiles, and especially no gait faster than a sedate walk. Disobey me,” Azzad told the stallion, looking into one black eye, “and I’ll not only tie your tail in knots, I’ll think seriously about having you gelded.”
Khamsin snorted.
That night, after a dinner with his new student spent discussing the basics of riding, Azzad returned to Fadhil’s tent and paced, waiting for Leyliah. She never came.
Instead, Meryem entered, carrying a clay pot of qawah and two silver cups. She sat on a pile of carpets, poured for herself and Azzad, and said pleasantly, “If tomorrow this riding foolishness ends up killing my son, I’ll have your tongue, your teeth, your toes, your fingers, and your balls gilded and hung from my tent as wind chimes.”
He didn’t doubt her for an instant. “I’ve already discussed it with Khamsin,” he assured her. “You have my word that no harm will befall Abb Shagara.”
She raised her cup, and he raised his, and they drank to it. The qawah was hot and thick and bitter, with a hint of cinnamon—precisely the way he liked it. He had just taken a large mouthful when Meryem spoke again.
“Do you ever wonder why no more Geysh Dushann have come after you?”
Azzad choked, coughed, and wiped tears from his eyes. He had forgotten them. Truly, he had. He’d been so busy—his days were so full—his nights were spent in exhausted sleep—he had the horses to worry about and so much else besides—
“I see they have escaped your thoughts, much as you have escaped their traps,” she went on. “Ayia, you foolish boy—didn’t you know?”
Numb, he shook his head.
“We have hosted emissaries from the Ammarad in these last two years. They have been perfectly polite, properly respectful, and preposterously eager to agree that if any harm comes to you, they will forfeit Shagara medicine forever.” She paused for a sip of qawah. “Of course, we don’t believe them.”
“But no Geysh Dushann have attempted my life—”
“—that you know of,” she finished for him, nodding to the necklace at his chest. “They’ve given up the use of knives, axes, poison, and the like in favor of creating circumstances that appear accidental. Have you experienced anything interesting since you went to Sihabbah?”
Acuyib help him, was
She had been watching his face, and now smiled shrewdly. “Doubtless you thought them lucky escapes from random occurrences.”
That was precisely what he had thought. “But they were intentional?”
“Of course. The Geysh Dushann accepted Sheyqa Nizzira’s commission. Acceptance is never canceled. Never. How it must pain them to have failed so often—like bedding down in nettles.” Meyrem’s lips twitched at one corner. “Stop looking as if you believe yourself a walking dead man. You’ve survived thus far, have you not?”
“Yes, but—”
“But nothing. Acuyib has some purpose for you, Azzad—though what it might be I’m sure I can’t imagine! He will protect you—with a little help from the Shagara.” She paused to pour more qawah. “You are too polite to ask me why Leyliah came to your bed last night.”
This time, astonishment nearly made Azzad drop his cup—along with his jaw.
“It is a mystery only to those not Shagara. You are counted a brother, so I will tell you why. It is true she will marry Razhid Harirri of the silken beard and many goats—and the very subtle eyes,” she added with a faint smile. “Of all the young men who came to the Zoqalo Tzawaq last year to find wives, he was the best. She has chosen well. But you know she has always had an eye to you, Azzad.”
He actually felt himself blush. “I am honored.”
“And yet confused. Here is further bewilderment for you. A Shagara woman does not wed until she has proved herself fertile. Yes, Leyliah has a son. A very sweet little boy of four, who has shown himself very bright and clever. He may even become Abb Shagara someday.”
“Does—does Harirri know?”
“Of course. When a man weds a Shagara woman, he knows he will become a father.” She paused to drink, then said, “It is strange to you, I appreciate this. But you must understand how it is with us.”
“Lady,” he said carefully, “I don’t understand the first thing about the Shagara. But if these are your ways, I
