man of my heart. That you would permit such a thing is a great blessing."
Sahayl waved her words away. "Saa, I want everyone to be happy."
"What would make you happy, honored husband?" Rafiqa asked softly, coming back to the tub and once more stroking his hair, urging him to sit up that so she could scrub his shoulders and back, wash his hair with a soap that smelled faintly of cloves.
"Peace and quiet," Sahayl said. "Which just goes to show how much sand has gotten into my head, that I think such a thing is possible." With a sigh he climbed from the tub and shrugged into the loose robe she had laid out, belting it with a black and silver sash. Instead of his bed, he fell into a long seat, reclining against the curving back. "What news have you to tell me of the other camps?"
Rafiqa fetched a comb from a small chest and began the laborious task of unknotting his thick curls, ignoring his question in favor of humming a slow, soft tune. She pressed a finger to her lips when Wafai returned several minutes later, his own hair still damp from a bath, and motioned to Sahayl, who had fallen asleep. She motioned him to the table, where they quietly ate the sweets that had been brought for the Amir to enjoy after his bath, talking quietly and enjoying the little time they had together, all the while watching over their Sandstorm Amir.
Five
"Ah, Ikram. I hope you come with good news."
"Majesty," Ikram said dryly, "if my job included giving you good news, someone else might actually want it, which would allow me to retire."
The King chuckled. "We certainly cannot have that. I would be lost without you, Ikram." He flicked his fingers, dismissing the servants and guards in the room. In seconds, no one remained in the courtroom save Ikram, the King and a man sitting motionlessly on a pillow beside the throne. "Give me the bad news then."
Ikram sighed. "My reports are that things progress, but not quickly. Shihab," he could not help the way his voice tightened as he said the name. "Shihab works diligently. To date he remains free. A few more months, he says, and he will return highly successful. But, of course, the danger grows."
"Well that is not bad news, per se, though of course I wish Shihab was already home," the King said. His eyes were darker than was usual, and he reached out to sink one hand into the hair of the man beside him, as if seeking comfort. "I did not want to send him out there."
The man on the pillow gave a soft, indelicate snort.
Ikram could not help a chuckle. "You are right of course," he said to the man on the pillow.
"He would have gone anyway. The father leaves the desert and of course his son runs straight back to it…." He shook his head.
The King laughed. "Some days, Ikram, it is hard to tell you did not sire him. If I did not know better, it would be hard to tell - skin or no. Certainly he gets his stubbornness from you."
Ikram rolled his eyes. "Stubbornness is required when dealing with Kings who are fond of stirring up as much trouble as can be fit into a day. It is only natural he would acquire that trait. But if he got his stubbornness from me, Majesty, he got his penchant for mischief from trailing after a certain troublesome prince."
"I have no idea what you're talking about," the King said lazily. "All my time was spent studying."
"Yes," Ikram responded dryly, "but one wonders what you were studying."
The King threw his head back and laughed, and even the quiet man beside him could not resist chuckling. "All the right things, obviously."
"Indeed," Ikram said. He sobered suddenly. "I hope what has worked for you works for my son."
The King's face tightened. "I regard Shihab as dearly as my own children, Ikram. If there had been anyone else to send…"
"I know, Majesty," Ikram said quietly. "As previously stated, he would have gone anyway.
Shihab knows better than to die on me. I will have to trust that the Lady knows better than to let him die."
"Even I will not cross you, Ikram.
Sahayl waved her words away. "Saa, I want everyone to be happy."
"What would make you happy, honored husband?" Rafiqa asked softly, coming back to the tub and once more stroking his hair, urging him to sit up that so she could scrub his shoulders and back, wash his hair with a soap that smelled faintly of cloves.
"Peace and quiet," Sahayl said. "Which just goes to show how much sand has gotten into my head, that I think such a thing is possible." With a sigh he climbed from the tub and shrugged into the loose robe she had laid out, belting it with a black and silver sash. Instead of his bed, he fell into a long seat, reclining against the curving back. "What news have you to tell me of the other camps?"
Rafiqa fetched a comb from a small chest and began the laborious task of unknotting his thick curls, ignoring his question in favor of humming a slow, soft tune. She pressed a finger to her lips when Wafai returned several minutes later, his own hair still damp from a bath, and motioned to Sahayl, who had fallen asleep. She motioned him to the table, where they quietly ate the sweets that had been brought for the Amir to enjoy after his bath, talking quietly and enjoying the little time they had together, all the while watching over their Sandstorm Amir.
Five
"Ah, Ikram. I hope you come with good news."
"Majesty," Ikram said dryly, "if my job included giving you good news, someone else might actually want it, which would allow me to retire."
The King chuckled. "We certainly cannot have that. I would be lost without you, Ikram." He flicked his fingers, dismissing the servants and guards in the room. In seconds, no one remained in the courtroom save Ikram, the King and a man sitting motionlessly on a pillow beside the throne. "Give me the bad news then."
Ikram sighed. "My reports are that things progress, but not quickly. Shihab," he could not help the way his voice tightened as he said the name. "Shihab works diligently. To date he remains free. A few more months, he says, and he will return highly successful. But, of course, the danger grows."
"Well that is not bad news, per se, though of course I wish Shihab was already home," the King said. His eyes were darker than was usual, and he reached out to sink one hand into the hair of the man beside him, as if seeking comfort. "I did not want to send him out there."
The man on the pillow gave a soft, indelicate snort.
Ikram could not help a chuckle. "You are right of course," he said to the man on the pillow.
"He would have gone anyway. The father leaves the desert and of course his son runs straight back to it…." He shook his head.
The King laughed. "Some days, Ikram, it is hard to tell you did not sire him. If I did not know better, it would be hard to tell - skin or no. Certainly he gets his stubbornness from you."
Ikram rolled his eyes. "Stubbornness is required when dealing with Kings who are fond of stirring up as much trouble as can be fit into a day. It is only natural he would acquire that trait. But if he got his stubbornness from me, Majesty, he got his penchant for mischief from trailing after a certain troublesome prince."
"I have no idea what you're talking about," the King said lazily. "All my time was spent studying."
"Yes," Ikram responded dryly, "but one wonders what you were studying."
The King threw his head back and laughed, and even the quiet man beside him could not resist chuckling. "All the right things, obviously."
"Indeed," Ikram said. He sobered suddenly. "I hope what has worked for you works for my son."
The King's face tightened. "I regard Shihab as dearly as my own children, Ikram. If there had been anyone else to send…"
"I know, Majesty," Ikram said quietly. "As previously stated, he would have gone anyway.
Shihab knows better than to die on me. I will have to trust that the Lady knows better than to let him die."
"Even I will not cross you, Ikram.
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