Chapter 1
Safe in My Heart by Feral Sephrian
There were many reasons for a young man to lie awake the night before his wedding.
Especially when he had never met his bride-to-be.
Especially when the wedding marked the end of a war.
Especially when there had already been several outbursts of resentment amongst the people who disagreed with the marriage for a variety of reasons.
Especially when there were rumors of plots to prevent this marriage, one way or another.
Yusuf sat up in bed and rubbed his weary eyes with the heels of his palms. The king had decreed this marriage, as well as the marriage of Yusuf’s sister to his soon-to-be brother-in-law, after the war over the mountain pass between his and the neighboring chiefdom’s land had claimed the life of Yusuf’s father.
It was the diplomatic solution, of course, but that didn’t stop people from resenting the decision and publicly crying for their new chief to petition for full control of the pass, or for the king to make one of Yusuf’s brothers chief instead, though Yusuf had earned the position through his mother’s lineage.
They called Yusuf a coward and a dog for surrendering so quickly, not that he had had much of a choice or that his brothers would have done differently.
Still, he was the chief now, and thus shouldered his people’s anger and blame.
Yusuf would be even more nervous about keeping his head if it weren’t for the man sitting in the corner of his bedroom.
Mattan had been Yusuf’s bodyguard for most of his life.
At first people thought it was a show of disdain for his heir that the chief chose a deaf warrior to guard him.
Surely Yusuf would be dead in a week. However, while Mattan was not suited for a battlefield where he couldn’t hear war horns or his commander’s shouted orders, he had eyes keener than any hunting falcon and reflexes sharper than a snake’s.
Furthermore, his ability to communicate using hand signals was advantageous when he needed to alert Yusuf of something quietly from across the room.
As such, Yusuf had gotten into the habit of looking to Mattan when he felt troubled, so he could confirm or assuage his anxieties.
Mattan made no gesture, he simply sat with his spear and shield at the ready, his dark skin blending with the night’s shadows and his eyes glinting in the moonlight from Yusuf’s window, though he tilted his head slightly when Yusuf sat up.
“Can’t sleep,” Yusuf signed to him. “Nervous.”
Mattan nodded understandingly. He stood and patrolled the room, peering out the windows and through the door. “Safe,” he signed.
Yusuf patted the bed. “Sit with me,” he asked.
He arranged one of his pillows for Mattan to lean against. When Mattan was comfortable, Yusuf took his usual position with his head on Mattan’s chest and Mattan’s arm wrapped protectively around him.
Mattan wore the standard uniform for guards, loose knee-length breeches and a sleeveless tunic, so Yusuf had the added comfort of feeling some of Mattan’s bare skin against his own.
They sat that way for a moment before Mattan asked, “What sound outside?”
“Birds, insects,” Yusuf replied. He put Mattan’s hand to his throat.
He mimicked the whooping call of a distant owl, rolled his tongue to chatter like the nightjars in the courtyard’s trees, and sharpened that roll to a trill for the chorus of chirping insects.
Mattan had never heard them, or any other creatures, so Yusuf at a young age taught himself to imitate their sounds himself so Mattan could feel them and perhaps understand them.
Mattan had been so serious back then, already sixteen by the time he was assigned to the nine-year-old oheneba, and at first, he did his duty with the same irritation as an older brother instructed to look after his younger siblings.
Yusuf won him over, in the end, with his indefatigable curiosity and insistence that anything he learned, Mattan would learn, and vice versa.
Mattan gradually smiled more easily around him, joined his games when there was no danger, held him tenderly if anything frightened him.
It was around when he was sixteen himself that Yusuf realized he was in love with his bodyguard.
Yet another reason to dread his wedding tomorrow.
Six years later, Yusuf’s love had never diminished.
Mattan did not return his full affections, nor did he rebuke them.
He was happy to care for Yusuf. He accepted whatever gift or romantic gesture Yusuf offered him with the grace of a lover despite rarely making any in return.
When Yusuf described his feelings, Mattan admitted he had never experienced those feelings himself, though he cherished Yusuf with all his heart and would stay at his side until their dying days.
Except soon Yusuf would have to have a wife at his side, several in fact, in order to maintain his position.
Only a handful of his younger siblings were suitable to take his place, and the one old enough to actually rule as chief if Yusuf abdicated had no interest in ruling directly.
Daqiq would gladly take any of Yusuf’s wives off his hands, certainly, but this first marriage, this key alliance, was Yusuf’s sole responsibility.
Three days ago, Yusuf’s sister had set out with her procession to her new husband’s home, and yesterday Yusuf’s bride-to-be had arrived with her own.
He had not seen her since. He knew she was of noble heritage, and their children would have all the privileges that bore them.
People said she was beautiful, or at least pleasant to look at, and possessed a strong spirit.
Yusuf doubted he could ever love her the way he loved Mattan.
By tradition, her uncles would secretly leave a bowl of ox blood in their bedchamber to mark the sheets if she didn’t bleed on their wedding night, so perhaps Yusuf could talk to her instead and delay that consummation until they knew each other better.
He clung to Mattan tighter. If only Yusuf had been born a lesser daughter, maybe then he and Mattan could have been together the way he wanted.
“Why did it have to be me?” Yusuf murmured.
He often spoke his tumultuous thoughts aloud to Mattan, simply to hear them himself while in the presence of someone he trusted.
“I always knew I was supposed to be chief after Papa, but this is so sudden. I’ve barely had time to mourn him.
Why couldn’t the king have chosen Diabe?
He’s older and already has a wife. It’s not my fault Maame had a girl before me.
If Tamima had been a boy, she could be chief instead of being sent off to marry one.
” He sighed and clutched Mattan’s tunic in his balled fist. “And why does my heart only want you? Why must God torment me like this? Why couldn’t He have made me a better son?
Or did He try and I have simply failed Him the way fear I will fail my people? ”
Mattan stroked Yusuf’s hair. When Yusuf stopped speaking, Mattan put his hand to Yusuf’s chest, made the sign for safe, then touched his own chest. It was a gesture Yusuf knew well, the one Mattan made whenever he sensed Yusuf’s feelings troubled him.
“Your heart is safe in mine.” Though Mattan would not feign love to give Yusuf false hope, he always assured Yusuf that he would never hurt him or let him suffer.
Yusuf sat up to kiss Mattan’s cheek. Then he pressed his lips to Mattan’s throat and whispered, “Thank you, my love.” Mattan kissed the top of his head.
Some of the weight in Yusuf’s heavy heart lifted.
After all, no matter what happened tomorrow or any day after, so long as Mattan was here, he was safe.