trouble for us."
"Not with Cobra so close," Sahayl said. "Nor is Scorpion too far away, and they have no love for either Cat or Falcon, even if they do not call us friend."
Wafai only grunted and swung up onto his horse. "Why are you still playing in the sand? Let's go."
Sahayl didn't move, but continued to stare at the unconscious man, thinking it a pity he could not see the blue, blue eyes. He shook off the idle thought and ran a finger along the scar on the man's cheek, then reached up to touch the one on his own. "A pity," he said.
"What's a pity?" Wafai asked irritably, watching Sahayl as he finally mounted Bloodmoon.
"I'm not sure," Sahayl said with a pensive frown. "I just…" He shrugged. "I don't know."
Turning his horse, he spurred her into a gallop and the two men raced off across the sand, hiding themselves in the Desert before more Falcon arrived.
They reached camp three well after dark, when the air was cold enough their breath clouded in the air.
"Who goes?" A guard demanded.
"Amir Sahayl and Protector Wafai," Wafai answered.
"Sandstorm Amir," the guard greeted, relaxing, genuine pleasure in his voice. "Lady finds you well, this evening?"
"The Lady has permitted me to survive the day," Sahayl said. "I cannot ask more than that.
How does the wind blow?"
"A quiet breeze," the guard said. "Eerily quiet, after all that we have heard of the attack on six." His voice lost what happiness had been in it.
Sahayl dismounted and crossed over to the man, resting a hand on his shoulder. "The Lady will take care of them. Ghost will avenge them."
"Yes, Amir," the soldier said quietly. Then he laughed, a weak but genuine sound. "Speaking of Ladies, Sandstorm Amir, your lady wife has come to visit. Apparently she heard you would not be journeying to assure her you were safe, and came to see for herself."
"What!" Sahayl exclaimed. "Rafiqa is here? What is that woman doing in a war camp? I will kill her myself!" Storming off, Wafai on his heels, Sahayl blazed through the camp, headed for the tent set up on the chance that the Sheik or Amir might visit. "Rafiqa!" he snapped as he flew into the tent. "You had better not be here." He glared at the woman watching him tolerantly from the left side of the tent, where she sat a table set with a late - very late -
dinner.
"Very well, honored husband, I am not here. Your sand-addled brain must be imagining things."
Sahayl muttered underneath his breath and motioned for Wafai to close the tent, ensuring the three of them would not be disturbed.
Rafiqa poured them each a cup of Desert wine, which was dark, spicy, and strong. She was the very picture of what a woman of the Desert should be, especially as the Amira. Her hair was brown, so dark it looked black, pulled up high on her head and then tumbling down her back in thick, soft curls, with a few smaller strands brushing softly against her cheeks. Her lashes were long, thick, framing pale brown eyes. Her lips were pale, full, curved in a fond smile. Gold and jewels glimmered in her ears, at her throat, in the bands on her upper and lower arms. She wore a gown of pale green, the fabric winding around her throat before flowing down to mold to her body, spilling into a close skirt.
Setting the skin of wine aside, she leaned up and over to give Sahayl a soft, chaste kiss. "I am glad you're all right."
Sahayl grinned against her mouth. "You're just relieved you're cover is still alive, brat princess."
Rafiqa gouged him lightly with her gold-painted nails. "Do not speak so, honored husband. I would be sick at heart to hear of your death."
"I know, Rafi," Sahayl said, settling back and taking a deep swallow of his wine, motioning for her to pour more. "I was just trying to tease."
"Hmph," Rafiqa said, not mollified in the slightest. She poured him more wine and then settled back to lean against Wafai, who wrapped an arm around her waist and tugged her close for a kiss. "So why have you come here and not to see me?" she
"Not with Cobra so close," Sahayl said. "Nor is Scorpion too far away, and they have no love for either Cat or Falcon, even if they do not call us friend."
Wafai only grunted and swung up onto his horse. "Why are you still playing in the sand? Let's go."
Sahayl didn't move, but continued to stare at the unconscious man, thinking it a pity he could not see the blue, blue eyes. He shook off the idle thought and ran a finger along the scar on the man's cheek, then reached up to touch the one on his own. "A pity," he said.
"What's a pity?" Wafai asked irritably, watching Sahayl as he finally mounted Bloodmoon.
"I'm not sure," Sahayl said with a pensive frown. "I just…" He shrugged. "I don't know."
Turning his horse, he spurred her into a gallop and the two men raced off across the sand, hiding themselves in the Desert before more Falcon arrived.
They reached camp three well after dark, when the air was cold enough their breath clouded in the air.
"Who goes?" A guard demanded.
"Amir Sahayl and Protector Wafai," Wafai answered.
"Sandstorm Amir," the guard greeted, relaxing, genuine pleasure in his voice. "Lady finds you well, this evening?"
"The Lady has permitted me to survive the day," Sahayl said. "I cannot ask more than that.
How does the wind blow?"
"A quiet breeze," the guard said. "Eerily quiet, after all that we have heard of the attack on six." His voice lost what happiness had been in it.
Sahayl dismounted and crossed over to the man, resting a hand on his shoulder. "The Lady will take care of them. Ghost will avenge them."
"Yes, Amir," the soldier said quietly. Then he laughed, a weak but genuine sound. "Speaking of Ladies, Sandstorm Amir, your lady wife has come to visit. Apparently she heard you would not be journeying to assure her you were safe, and came to see for herself."
"What!" Sahayl exclaimed. "Rafiqa is here? What is that woman doing in a war camp? I will kill her myself!" Storming off, Wafai on his heels, Sahayl blazed through the camp, headed for the tent set up on the chance that the Sheik or Amir might visit. "Rafiqa!" he snapped as he flew into the tent. "You had better not be here." He glared at the woman watching him tolerantly from the left side of the tent, where she sat a table set with a late - very late -
dinner.
"Very well, honored husband, I am not here. Your sand-addled brain must be imagining things."
Sahayl muttered underneath his breath and motioned for Wafai to close the tent, ensuring the three of them would not be disturbed.
Rafiqa poured them each a cup of Desert wine, which was dark, spicy, and strong. She was the very picture of what a woman of the Desert should be, especially as the Amira. Her hair was brown, so dark it looked black, pulled up high on her head and then tumbling down her back in thick, soft curls, with a few smaller strands brushing softly against her cheeks. Her lashes were long, thick, framing pale brown eyes. Her lips were pale, full, curved in a fond smile. Gold and jewels glimmered in her ears, at her throat, in the bands on her upper and lower arms. She wore a gown of pale green, the fabric winding around her throat before flowing down to mold to her body, spilling into a close skirt.
Setting the skin of wine aside, she leaned up and over to give Sahayl a soft, chaste kiss. "I am glad you're all right."
Sahayl grinned against her mouth. "You're just relieved you're cover is still alive, brat princess."
Rafiqa gouged him lightly with her gold-painted nails. "Do not speak so, honored husband. I would be sick at heart to hear of your death."
"I know, Rafi," Sahayl said, settling back and taking a deep swallow of his wine, motioning for her to pour more. "I was just trying to tease."
"Hmph," Rafiqa said, not mollified in the slightest. She poured him more wine and then settled back to lean against Wafai, who wrapped an arm around her waist and tugged her close for a kiss. "So why have you come here and not to see me?" she
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