Chapter 15
Return
They rode through the palace gates in the
middle of the night quietly and without fanfare, the guards giving
hushed salutes to the king. Yet, lights shone behind every
shuttered window of the second floor of the royal household. Sahar
knew they would be waiting for her and her father’s return, but she
didn’t think they were the reason half the household seemed to be
awake at midnight.
As they rode up to the palace steps, stable
boys still rubbing the sleep from their faces came running up to
take their horses, Ratter and Arman right behind them.
“What a night it be, what a night it be,”
Ratter chortled as Sahar slid down off of Lasair and handed him the
reins. “Our princess and king be comin’ back, and our new prince or
princess comin’ into this world.”
“Rima is having her baby?”
Ratter touched the side of his nose with a
gnarled finger. “The women ‘ave been in ‘er bed chamber since
sunset,” he said. “An’ yer brother ‘as been pacing the halls
outside it jest about as long.”
Sahar laid a hand over her belly without
thought, an action that did not go unnoticed by Ratter. Swiping at
her flushed cheeks, she turned and ran up the steps into her
home.
Home. But for how long? If she was with child
and she married Aleksi she didn’t think she was long for this city
she’d known her whole life.
She looked down at her belly, concave from
ten and eight days of camp rations and scavenging, as if the wee
one that might be growing in her womb could give her the
answer.
“Come daughter.” Sahar practically jumped out
of her skin at her father’s hand on her shoulder. “Let’s find your
mother.”
She followed him up the stairs to the living
quarters, and when they turned the corner into the hall, she broke
into a run at the sight of her brother and Munir pacing the floor
outside of Asim’s and Rima’s chambers.
“Sahar.” Her brother met her halfway,
wrapping her up in his arms and swinging her in a circle. “It’s so
good to see you.”
“It’s good to be seen.”
He set her back on her feet in time for Munir
to give her a hearty, one armed hug, his other still in a
sling.
“Welcome home.” He stepped back and eyed her
from head to toe. “Are you well?”
She knew what he was asking, what every
member of her family and half the city would be asking. Had the
Wolf or his curs violated her?
“I’m well,” she assured him, and her brother
blew his breath out in a huge sigh of relief.
“Aleksi?” Munir asked.
“He’s well also,” she told him. “He found me
before they could follow through on their vile threats and got me
safely away, though he suffered a knife wound to his shoulder when
we fought the bast”—she glanced over her shoulder as her father
walked up—“the Wolf and the Tall.”
Munir mimed spitting on the floor. “Where are
the Wolf and his pack now?” he said.
“Aleksi killed the Jackal the night he
rescued me, and I killed the Tall the night we rescued Lasair.”
“You did what?” her brother asked, his voice,
his expression, showing more pride than surprise. She gloried in
it.
“Aleksi and I fought the Wolf and the Tall,”
she told them. “I beat the Tall to death with a stick and Aleksi
pulled the Wolf’s blade from his shoulder and stuck the Wolf in the
belly with it. The Wolf rode off. How far he got, we don’t know.”
She looked to her father. “Brawn went after him to find out what
has become of him.”
“We’ll have much to prepare for,” her father
said. “No matter what Brawn discovers. But for now—”
The chamber door burst open and the queen
stepped out. Her gaze went directly to her husband, and she sucked
in a great breath. She turned to her daughter, and her breath flew
out in a rush. Her tears wet Sahar’s cheek as she embraced her.
“You have come home to us,” she cried softly.
“Oh, my darling girl. My brave, brash, wonderful, headstrong girl.
You have come home to us.” She kissed Sahar’s tear-streaked cheek
and stood back, holding her shoulders with both hands. “You are
well?”
“I’m well.”
Her mother looked over Sahar’s head to her
husband, and was reassured by whatever she saw. She ran her hands
down Sahar’s arms and held her wrists.
“Good,” she said. “I am glad.” She sniffed,
smiled and then looked over to Asim. “You have a son, my son,” she
said, grinning as Asim stood there wide-eyed with his mouth hanging
open. “Go, meet your son and thank your wife.” She laughed as he
leapt past her into his chambers, and then squeezed Sahar’s wrists.
“You, my daughter, can meet your nephew tomorrow. Tonight you must
go bathe, then eat, and then sleep.” She wrinkled her nose and
whispered, “You smell.”
Safe, clean, warm, and dry, laying in her
big, soft, comfortable bed alone, Sahar was unable to sleep. She
knew Aleksi had moved into one of the guest rooms in the palace at
her parents’ invitation, and for one brief moment she considered
sneaking over to his room and getting into bed with him,. Throwing
off her bedcovers, she stuffed her feet into her slippers and
padded down the hall to the kitchens. She pushed the door open and
stopped. Aleksi was sitting at the table he often sat at with Anya,
gnawing the meat off a drumstick of cooked fowl. “What are you
doing here?”
“I couldn’t sleep,” he said. “Not without my
tigress snuggled up against me, snoring in my ear.”
“I don’t snore.”
“Shall we call it purring then?” He pushed
the plate toward her as she scowled at him and took a seat at the
table. “Hungry?” he asked.
“Ravenous.”
He licked his lips, never taking his eyes
from hers. “Me too.”
Sahar laughed. She couldn’t help it. “You
are—”
“Handsome, charming, irresistible.”
“An arrogant ass.”
He gave her a cocky grin as he cut off a
slice of breast meat. “True,” he said. He took a big bite and
smacked his lips. “Tasty, but then you know how I like a tender
breast.”
Sahar gave him her best glare even as her
traitorous cheeks flushed hot at the memory of his mouth on her
body. He may be an arrogant, conceited ass, but the man had reason
to be. He was as good in bed as he was on the back of a horse.
Which was saying something. He was grinning at her and licking his
lips, and she was actually considering climbing on top of him and
riding him here in the kitchens when the door opened and Anya
walked in.
“Oh, oh my,” she exclaimed, her hands to her
cheeks. “I was told you’d returned together and safely. Thank the
gods. I didn’t expect to see you two up before the sun.”
“We didn’t mean to raid your kitchen,” he
said. “We’re hungry and have become accustomed of late to rising
before the sun.”
“No need to apologize.” Anya shook her head.
“You’re always welcome in the palace kitchens.” She swiped at
welling tears, and then wiped her hands on her work apron. “I’m so
glad to see you both alive and well, if not a stone or two lighter
by the looks of you.” She sniffed and grinned. “Well, we’ll take
care of that soon enough.” She went to the larder and pulled out a
sack of ground flour. “What a night, eh? You two and the king
returned. A new princeling born. It’ll be a day and a night of
feasting no doubt.”
Aleksi stood. “We should be getting out of
your way then.”
“No.” The vehemence of her answer stopped
Sahar as she started to stand. “No need,” she said, waving them
back down. “You two sit, eat. Can I make you some eggs or porridge?
More kitchen maids will be joining me shortly. We have orders to
pack enough travel provisions for twenty and four riders off on the
king’s business at first light, but I can cook you something before
they show.” She smiled and let out a happy sigh. “Please,” she
said. “Sit and eat and tell me the real story behind all the tales
I’ll be hearing come the morrow.”
“Meet your nephew,” Sahar’s mother said,
laying the bundle of blanket and pudgy-cheeked infant in her arms.
“Ammar, son of Asim, son of Asad, King of the City by the Sea.”
The newborn gazed up at her with big, round,
serious eyes. The corners of Sahar’s mouth tilted up, and she found
herself speaking in that strange, high-pitched way adults spoke to
babies. “Hello, my nephew Ammar,” she cooed. “I am your Auntie
Sahar, your father’s sister.” She tickled his palm with her
fingertip and smiled as he wrapped his fingers around it. “Ohh,
such a strong grip you have my little man.” She looked up at her
brother and grinned. “You must take after your Auntie,” she said in
a conspiratorial whisper meant for her brother to hear.
“Ha, ha,” her brother said, though he was
grinning too. In truth, he hadn’t stopped grinning since Sahar
walked into their chambers.
“Truly,” Sahar said to Asim and Rima, “he is
the most handsome baby I have ever seen.”
“He looks like his father,” Rima said from
her bed with a tired but happy smile while Asim gazed down at her
with an adoring expression.
Rima lay propped up with six pillows at
least, a tray of her favorite sweet breads on the table beside her
and a pitcher of frothy beer to relax her strained body and
encourage the flow of her breast milk. Many women of rank or wealth
chose to use wet nurses, considering the toll pregnancy and
childbirth took on their bodies, but not the women of Sahar’s
family. They chose to hold their infants close, to nourish them
with their bodies and nurture them with their mother’s love.
Cradling her nephew in her arms, smelling his
new baby smell, she understood why. That understanding brought her
close to tears.
She handed the baby back to his mother,
kissed Rima on the cheek, gave her brother a quick hug, and
practically ran out of their chambers. Her mother found her a short
time later, pacing her rooms like a tigress in a cage. A cage of
her own lustful making.
Her mother sat on the edge of Sahar’s bed and
patted the space beside her. She stopped pacing and hung her head
low. She had no doubt that her mother knew she might be carrying
Aleksi’s child, and she could not face her, not yet. She’d entered
the races to show that she was as capable as any man. She’d proudly
claimed, out loud and often, that she didn’t need a man, that if
and when she was to marry it would be her choice. Now here she