3
Three days later, the numbness from it all finally started to ease.
The whole affair still seemed like the sort of sad farce that belonged in a play, or someone else's life, but as he was summoned to answer questions, give statements, and more, the numbness slowly gave way to resignation.
This debacle was his life, and that life was a lie.
He'd likely never know the family he was taken from, if they'd lost him, sold him, or something else entirely.
Did he have parents out there who might have loved him? What would he be now? A shopkeeper? A farmer? Was he some lost child of the Sands who should be covered in tattoos and fighting rival tribes?
Nadir laughed, because if there was one thing he was certain of, it was that he was not from the Sands.
He was pure soft, spoiled Tavamaran.
He sat in the public orchid gardens, enjoying a break for lunch with some solitude and quiet that was hard to come by at the moment.
He had not realized that siding against his parents in this matter would require so much talking.
So much paperwork.
So much saying the same things over and over, until he and probably everyone else in the room were sick of the words.
Since the encounter where his mother had slapped him, he'd not seen any of his family, not even his sisters.
Given they were still quite young, and Nadir was hardly in any condition to take care of them full time himself, they'd been placed with another family until the matter was over and permanent arrangements could be made.
Part of that matter of course entailed finding out where he and his sisters came from.
From what little had been told to him of the matter, his sisters' true families would not be hard to trace.
His sisters were only a couple years apart—just shy of that, actually—and looking back on all of it now, Nadir felt stupid that he'd never put the pieces together.
His mother always going away when she was 'pregnant' and not returning for nearly a year. So many other details that he couldn't stomach going over for the thousandth time.
He sipped at his wine, Afternoon Heat, and tried not to think at all, to give his poor mind a break.
Unfortunately, just as he'd nearly achieved that, a soft cough came from just behind and beside him.
He opened his eyes and mustered a smile for the servant awaiting his attention.
"Hello, Veler.
What can I do for you?"
"A bundle of personal belongings was just delivered, including a bunch of papers, from letters to scraps, and the king's man seemed to think you'd want to know immediately."
"Papers?" He had all the papers he needed for the next few meetings and interviews.
What would—
Realization crashed over him.
Gods, he must be more exhausted than he thought.
"Thank you, I did want to know."
"My pleasure, my lord." Veler faded off, and Nadir took his wine with him back to his room, where sure enough, all the papers his mother had confiscated—and more—had been delivered.
They'd been neatly organized, smoothed out where she'd crumpled them, even properly bundled into sets where suited.
He couldn't remember the last time even a single person had gone to so much effort for him, let alone one of the eternally-busy clerks of the royal office.
Sitting at the desk, he took a fortifying sip of wine and then went through it all.
Schoolwork, which frankly he simply did not care about right now.
He'd been given a reprieve the rest of the year, at His Majesty's 'request,' to deal with family matters.
Nadir had no intention of resuming those studies.
Not after all his parents had done. Even if he wanted to, his reputation had been ruined before he could build it.
What he'd do now, he had not the faintest idea, but that was a problem for much later.
For now, he was being cared for at the indulgence of His Majesty, and too busy and heartsick to worry about the dark void his future had become.
Tucking the schoolwork away in a drawer of the chest beside his desk, he turned his attention to the remaining papers.
Some of it was simple bills and such that his parents had not yet paid, miscellaneous letters regarding his sisters, tutors and schooling for them.
Other bits and pieces of the ordinary life that now seemed so far away.
All his parents' funds had been confiscated, but he'd been granted a living allotment by the court until everything was concluded and he had obtained employment and housing of his own.
Given it was late in the afternoon, and he'd be in meetings again shortly until well into dinner time, no point in tackling any of that at present.
He sorted all of it into paper racks on his desk, and at last settled on the final stack of papers.
His poetry.
He'd not expected to see any of it again.
He always dated everything he did, even if just a hasty jot in the corner of a scrap of paper, as he liked to be able to accurately look back and see how far he'd come.
Well, that was the hope.
Someone had thoughtfully sorted it all by date, most recent on top.
He cringed inwardly that people had been reading his poetry, but given what the royal clerks faced on a daily basis—all they must be reading through pertaining to his parents' crimes—bad poetry was anything from forgettable to a nice reprieve.
Some of the sheets and scraps went back months.
His mother had taken it, and somehow it had simply gotten lost in the piles on her desk instead of destroyed or carried off.
There was even the one—
That wasn't his handwriting.
Nadir stared a moment, then shuffled through all his poems, and realized that several of them had new handwriting on them.
Replies.
Someone had responded to his poetry with poetry.
His heart drummed in his ears.
The replies were written in beautiful red ink that seemed to change shades from dark to light as the paper moved and had a faint iridescent shimmer.
That was obscenely expensive ink.
Who would waste—
He jumped, barely biting back a cry, as a knock came at his door.
He gave the poems one last, frustrated, longing look, curiosity clawing at him, then went to answer the door.
"Lord Nadir, I am sorry to disturb," the woman on the other side replied as he opened it.
"His Majesty has had a shift in his schedule, and would like to conduct this evening's inquiry now, if you are amenable."
"Of course.
I'll come at once."
The woman nodded and slipped away.
Nadir spared a moment to make sure he was all tidied up for the inquiry—not because Shafiq would be at this meeting—and headed off through the halls as quickly as decorum permitted.
He was so lost in his thoughts, all of them on the mysterious respondent to his poetry, he didn't realize the problem in front of him until his mother bellowed his name.
Nadir's head jerked up, just in time for him to come to a halt and stumble backwards as she charged him.
One of the guards in the hall moved to stand in front of him and caught her up right as two other guards moved to do the same.
Further down the hall, his father was also being detained, a look on his face that Nadir had always hated.
That expression said he took one look at Nadir and saw only that everything was lacking.
More and more, though, Nadir was appreciating that they did not regard him as a failed son, but as a bad purchase.
He still did not know why, with as hard as he worked and as good as he tried to be, but he accepted it.
Whatever they'd wanted when they'd bought him years ago, they had not gotten it.
Or maybe they'd simply known he was the flaw in their armor, and that this day would always come.
Whatever the case, he wasn't sorry they were suffering, and he most definitely wasn't sorry he had contributed to that suffering.
He'd do whatever was necessary to see to it they paid for their crimes.
"You are a terrible son," his mother hissed.
"How could you side against your own family?"
Though Nadir would have loved to snark at her, say several choice, cutting things about how apparently she wasn't his family, he'd been advised not to talk to them, even in public settings.
So he simply ignored them, and allowed yet another guard to escort him to the room where the inquiry was to be held.
He'd known they'd be present at this one, had been braced for it, but still, seeing them after all these weeks was a blow.
Inside, the guard escorted him to his seat and bowed with the faintest of comforting smiles before fading off in that way that seemed to be trained into guards and palace staff.
Nadir was fairly certain even assassins were not as quiet and unobtrusive as them.
At the head of the table, several seats down, Shafiq smiled.
"Good afternoon, Lord Nadir.
I am sorry we had to move this meeting up.
What was all that noise in the hall?"
"My mother," Nadir said.
"It's my honor to serve at your pleasure."
Shafiq's eyes glittered again, like something Nadir had said struck him, but Nadir had no idea what.
Or if he was just imagining things.
Likely that.
"Did you receive the papers that were meant to be returned to you?"
"Yes, Your Majesty.
Thank you for sending them, and my thanks to whoever organized them so nicely for me."
"Of course." Shafiq seemed to hesitate for a moment, which was wholly unlike him, and then asked, "I trust then that everything was in order?"
Why would Shafiq care about the condition of bills, schoolwork, and…
Nadir's heart thudded in his chest.
There was no way.
That was impossible.
"Um. All seemed to be, Your Majesty, but I'm afraid I was interrupted for this meeting before I could finish going through everything. I was hoping to finish once we were done here."
"I see." If he didn't know any better, he would swear Shafiq looked relieved, even hopeful.
His heart drummed in his ears, but sadly he could say nothing further as more people trickled into the room and the inquiry began.
His mother interrupted the matter with screaming fits twice, and only stopped because Shafiq threatened to put her in jail if she did it again, and it wouldn't be solitary.
That was just short of a death sentence, given how his mother had treated prisoners and guards her entire career.
Of course, given the severity of her crimes, a death penalty was unlikely but not impossible.
Previous monarchs might have chosen such, but Shafiq preferred not to go that route unless he felt there was simply no other choice.
By the time the inquiry ended, it took everything Nadir had not to bolt from the room and run through the halls back to his room.
He plastered a smile on his face and made all the usual platitudes, working his way through the room of people wanting to thank him and say they were sorry and cast him pitying looks when they thought he wasn't looking.
It was true he had never wanted the future his parents had arranged for him, but he hadn't wanted to be left with nothing either.
He should have been more careful with his wishes.
Disappointingly, Shafiq was swept away to another meeting before Nadir could bid him farewell.
Finally slipping away, mercifully without having to endure his mother's theatrics as she was all but dragged away by guards, Nadir returned to his room quickly, eschewing decorum entirely when he chanced upon empty halls.
Back in his room, he closed the door and for a second, simply leaned against it, getting his breath back and trying to convince his heart to slow down.
When that proved a futile effort, he pushed away from the door and returned to his desk, draining two cups of wine from the carafe he hadn't finished earlier.
As braced as he would ever be, he drew the stack of poems close and looked them over again.
That beautiful iridescent red ink called to him, and he touched one of the replies gently before finally reading it.
His poem had been about always feeling alone.
It was silly, cliché, about a fine pet forever on a leash or in a cage, but it was a good exercise.
Shafiq, if he really was the one behind these replies, had penned a beautiful response that commiserated with the feeling, always feeling caged and watched and performing tricks, even as everyone was scared of him.
Hands shaking slightly, Nadir went on to the next.
These were the improv cubes he'd done the other day, and each one had some sort of response: a poem that reacted to or extended his, compliments on his word choice, and one that simply said I'm especially fond of this one.
Nadir couldn't breathe .
Why would Shafiq do this?
He set aside the cube exercises and…
Oh, gods.
His poem about Shafiq.
About his stupid, hopeless infatuation with Shafiq.
There was a reply.
Nadir had more wine, then picked up the paper to hold it closer to the light.
Shafiq had matched him line for line.
Look for look.
Wish for wish.
This couldn't mean what he thought.
Did Shafiq truly… truly want him? Shafiq? Him?
What about him could possibly catch the eye of someone like Shafiq? His wife had been of incomparable beauty and fire.
What did Nadir have that made him remarkable? A tendency to not watch where he was going? Parents who trafficked children? Bad poetry?
Except Shafiq had replied to all that bad poetry—had thought it worth the replies, all of them thoughtful and just as honest.
That was a lot of trust to be granted to a nobody.
His heart was going to pop from the tumult rushing through him, but as long as it waited just a little while longer, Nadir didn't care.
Pulling out paper and the finest ink he had, which was still no comparison to the beautiful red ink Shafiq had used, he stared for several minutes before slowly, carefully, writing out a poem that answered—he hoped—everything Shafiq had given and asked in his own replies.
When it was finished, and the ink well-dried, he folded and sealed it, and went to find a servant who would see it delivered directly to Shafiq.
Then he went and drank down the rest of his wine, called for more, and tried to find something with which to distract himself while he waited to see what happened next.
***
Unfortunately, no reply came that night, though Nadir wasn't terribly surprised, given how busy Shafiq was.
Instead he got a letter from his sisters' caretakers, asking if he would come see them.
Nadir looked over his schedule for the next several days and wrote to reply he would, along with the day and time.
He next wrote a note to Shafiq's office to keep them apprised of his whereabouts.
After that, he was left with nothing much to do.
So strange, to go from a life where he never had enough time to accomplish everything to one where all he had was time and nothing to do with it.
Sighing, he went for a quick bath and then pulled on clothes suitable for a late-night stroll in the gardens.
The night was cool without being unbearably chilly, unusual for this time of year when some nights could bring frost.
Insects buzzed and hummed, and the air was perfumed with the myriad flowers filling the garden, punctuated by the fresh water in the fountains.
Words tumbled softly through his mind, but he was content to let them do so for the moment, see what came until he finished his walk and wrote them down before going to bed.
He paused by one of the fountains, this one of women spinning and washing clothes and doing other chores, to stare up at the stars and half-gone waning moon.
Comparing stars to jewels was a cliché, but it wasn't hard to see why people were so fond of the description.
The whole sky was like a tapestry made—
A discreet cough made him jump, even as he realized he knew that cough.
Turning, he smiled in greeting at Vamri, Shafiq's personal servant, the one who always seemed to be sent to fetch him when Shafiq wanted an audience.
His heart trip-trapped.
Did… did Shafiq want an audience? Now, in the dead of night? His skin prickled, a shiver racing up his spine.
Surely not.
"How can I help you?"
Vamri smiled but did not say a word, only pressed a finger to his mouth.
He tilted his head in a silent question.
Will you come?
Gods grant him mercy, his heart was going to stop.
Nadir dipped his head in a slow, deep nod.
Vamri's smile widened, and he motioned for Nadir to follow him.
Rather than out of the garden, he headed further into it, finally turning onto a smaller side path that led to one of many nooks and crannies for people who wanted some semblance of privacy without entirely breaking protocols.
Nadir barely kept from exclaiming audibly when from there, Vamri unlocked and pushed open a door that was well-hidden by copious amounts of vines and flowers.
As they stepped beyond the door, his breath caught.
The public gardens were beautiful beyond compare, but these gardens… the private royal gardens were like stepping into a bard's tale.
Even in weak moonlight they were breathtaking.
He wished he could see them by the light of day.
Then again, if Shafiq was requesting such an inappropriate audience… then maybe… just maybe…
Nadir couldn't even bring himself to think it.
He was half-afraid that if he did, he'd ruin any chance he had of his fragile hope coming to pass.
Vamri led him to a small, almost whimsical alcove in the center of the garden, where he then faded off, leaving Nadir to venture on alone down the steps and across a small stone bridge over a little stream that circled the alcove.
In the center was a dais shrouded with gauzy curtains, and beyond them were seats and benches, a table set with wine and food and softly burning candles adding warm, cozy light.
Sitting on one of the lounging benches, long, wide, and deeply padded, meant for sprawling—or cuddling, though Nadir's face flushed at the idea of doing such a thing—was Shafiq.
He looked up at the sound of movement, and the pensive look on his face turned to one of surprise as he hastily stood.
"Nadir!" He sighed.
"My pardon.
Lord Nadir, what are you doing here?"
Mortification shot through Nadir, fire and ice all at once.
"Your servant, Vamri, asked if I would come.
I thought you…" He bowed low, face burning.
"I apologize for—"
"No, don't go," Shafiq said, the words blurted out with a startling lack of grace.
He took a step around the lounger, and then stopped.
"It's true I did not request they bring you here, but it's also true I was lonely and wishing that I could.
It's only that I would never commit such a rude breach of etiquette, especially where it concerns a person who is already dealing with so much upheaval and strife, and is, most would say, in a prime position to be manipulated.
I refuse to be so crass." He smiled crookedly.
"Well, almost.
I could not resist responding to your poems, though I realize it was rude of me to read them without permission."
Some of Nadir's tension eased—or rather, turned into an entirely different kind of tension.
"I don't mind," he said softly.
"I had hoped my reply would convey that."
"It did.
I've been trying to keep the matter discreet, but I'm not surprised my staff is several steps ahead of me, as always.
Come, sit.
Would you like some wine?"
Nadir gave a nod to the wine, but hesitated about the sitting.
There were plenty of options, but…
But for once in his life, he was going to do what he wanted.
What made him happy.
Even if that meant being so brazen his mother would murder him where he stood.
Gathering his nerve, he sat on the open side of the lounger Shafiq had reclaimed, swinging his legs up and moving in close, so they were not quite touching.
He couldn't bring himself to recline, not quite yet, but he was more than happy to sit beside Shafiq, staring down at him, feeling very much like a concubine here to serve his king's every whim.
The idea left his head spinning like he'd imbibed an entire carafe of potent Hushed Whispers.
Unless he was imagining things, Shafiq was just as taken by the situation.
Nadir would have laughed, if he could have found the breath to do so, the nerve to shatter the fragile-feeling silence.
Instead, he took the small carafe and dish where they'd been forgotten in Shafiq's hands and poured a serving of wine himself.
Then he held the dish to Shafiq's lips offering a drink.
His heart thundered in his ears as Shafiq took a sip.
When he finished, Nadir tossed back the remaining wine.
Thankfully, Shafiq took them and set them aside after that, before Nadir's trembling hands could drop the delicate porcelain, and drew him in close.
So close.
He was warm, almost hot, and smelled of amber and cinnamon.
His hand was large but gentle as it rested against the side of Nadir's face.
"I have been trying not to unfairly sway you."
"I've been fairly swayed longer than you know."
"Then… when all this is over, and you are free and clear to answer, there is something I'd very much like to ask."
"My answer will be waiting."
Shafiq smiled softly and let his hand fall away.
"Lie here with me for a little while?"
"I would be honored, my king."
Shafiq lay back down on the lounger, much as he had been when Nadir arrived, and motioned for Nadir to lay across the empty half.
Instead, Nadir squashed every nerve telling him don't and lay right up against Shafiq's side, resting his head on Shafiq's chest so he could listen to his heartbeat while enjoying the cool night air, the warmth of Shafiq's body, the rustling breeze and buzzing insects.
The only way it could possibly be better was if he didn't have to eventually leave.
Someday, though.
A few more weeks, months at the most, and the nightmare of his old life would be over.
For now, this was enough.
Nadir remained where he was until he felt the shift in Shafiq—the way his body settled, the change in his breathing.
Slowly, carefully, he drew away and sat up, loath to go but even more loath to get Shafiq in trouble for such an egregious breach of conduct by staying too long.
Beyond the gauzy curtains, Vamri waited with a faint smile.
"Come, I'll take you to the door."
"Thank you," Nadir said, and the widening of Vamri's smile said he understood all that he was being thanked for.
They walked in silence, and bid each other goodnight with nods at the door.
Nadir continued on alone back to his room, unable to resist smiling, feeling almost like he was floating.
In his room, he dressed quickly for bed and then sat down at his desk to put all the thoughts and feelings tumbling around in his head into words.
The poems were quick and messy, but he'd have something to work with in the morning.
Still smiling, he climbed into bed and fell quickly asleep.