Chapter 17
Majed gaped and then overtly fixed his gaze on the sky as a pair of bare-chested women crossed our path, all willowy curves and inviting smiles. “Perhaps I misspoke about people not being tempted away.”
His words rang too true. If I had any doubts that Queen Lab was trying to seduce my crew, they were gone the moment I saw the spectacle that awaited us that evening.
We were to feast upon a sprawling, rose bedecked balcony that overlooked the sea, set with hundreds of candles, each like a blazing star.
A low table was crowded with grand dishes meant to impress: a turtle stew served in its own gilded shell, swordfish fried whole and skewered in an undulating motion as though they swam through the air, and pastries painted to resemble glossy fruit and hung from spun sugar stems on a tree made of roasted nut clusters.
Glass pitchers of wine and various fermented fruit liquors were everywhere, and I strongly suspected the majority of my crew, even those most devout, were going to find themselves tempted.
In addition to the two young women we’d passed, at least two dozen more servants, seemingly selected for beauty and coy gazes and wearing nothing but pleated skirts that barely skimmed the thigh, mingled with my crew, filling cups and massaging shoulders as a band of equally lovely musicians played lyres and a harp in the shape of a sea nymph.
My men were so dazzled that most entirely missed my arrival, their attentions thoroughly occupied.
I didn’t evade all notice, though. A dark-eyed man so enticing he nearly rivaled Raksh sauntered by with a wink, the silver armbands encircling his impressive biceps wider than whatever piece of fabric was clinging desperately around his hips.
I abruptly followed Majed’s gaze, waving away the beauty’s offer of wine.
“What is the minimum number of men we need to crew the Marawati?”
“More than the number of locals currently pulling at their attention.”
Trying not to despair and to at least feign some happiness at our unexpected largesse, I joined my crew, taking a seat beside Tinbu and getting his thoughts on their supply run. He was more cheerful than Majed, but that said little. This was the same man still trying to teach Payasam how to hunt.
“How went your day with the court?” Tinbu asked, after filling me in and taking a sip from his cup.
I met Majed’s gaze over Tinbu’s shoulder and hesitated. I might have confided my visions to my navigator, but feared Tinbu needed no further distractions as he focused on repairs.
“Quite well,” I lied. “Our days here will be interesting, but I suspect Dalila and I can hold the queen’s attention long enough to—”
“I’d say Dalila is already succeeding,” Majed cut in, nodding to the entrance as an awed hush fell over my men.
The queen had arrived.
Surrounded by those in shades of ivory and bone, Queen Lab was resplendent in a shimmering gown that looked like a midnight forest spun into cloth, dark emerald intertwined with silver starlight, the deep magenta of moonflowers with bright white bursts of night-blooming jasmine.
Her diadem blazed with the reflected firelight of the flickering candles, as though the air above her very head were aflame, a holy halo; her gaze was just as fierce.
Jeweled serpentine bands wound up her arms and her rather well-formed legs, visible through cutouts when she strode across the balcony.
Majed clucked his tongue. “I am beginning to understand how the enchantress legend might have started.”
Tinbu looked awed. “She is glorious.”
She is intentional. Every tale I had ever heard about shipwrecked sailors landing on an isle of beautiful, lusty women ran through my mind.
They were frequent, a trope that catered to the fantasies of my almost entirely male profession; men who, forced to leave wives and lovers behind at home—real women—envisioned a dreamy alternative, crafting stories out of their desires, out of their companions’ lies.
As my men gazed upon Lab in adoration, their mysterious, fabulously wealthy, and possibly magical savior, I suddenly felt as though I had fallen into one of those tales.
I half expected an ogre husband to rush out and eat us, or the men to be picked off one by one, enjoyed for a night, butchered and served on a platter the next.
The queen had told me she knew our stories, knew them well.
What did it mean that she had decided to play a part?
Lab paused. Gone were the gray-haired councilors: her retinue tonight were younger nobles, all dazzling and wearing jewels fit for a sultan in their hair and upon soft, perfumed skin.
Her companions also sported the colorfully dyed cloaks, but they wore them as folded skirts or twisted shawls, elegant, artful creations.
But it wasn’t only Khatti Ugalans following in the queen’s wake: it was Dalila as well.
Still in her tunic, someone had given her an ivory shawl of soft combed wool and she had it pulled tight around her narrow shoulders.
The Mistress of Poisons halted at the entrance, gazing upon the lavish display of food and entertainment with a dubious scowl.
No doubt this must seem a trap from her most paranoid nightmares.
“Doctor?” the queen called, realizing Dalila had strayed. Dalila forced a grimacing smile and swiftly caught up.
“Your Resplendency.” I rose to my feet as they approached and bowed.
“I cannot thank you enough for hosting my men and for your people’s assistance and generosity both in supplying our repairs and filling our bellies.
Hospitality is a chief virtue among my people, and yet I never expected to find its highest practitioner in a foreign land.
” Perhaps I was laying it on a bit thick, but it didn’t hurt to feed the ego of someone who held all our lives in her hands.
“Thank you for lending me your physician,” Lab replied. “Particularly on a day when it sounds like you needed her. My steward says there was an incident?”
Dalila jerked toward me. “What incident?”
“It was nothing,” I assured. “I’m too old to get knocked off a ship and tossed among the waves without some lingering effects, but I am feeling much recovered now, God be praised.”
Dalila looked skeptical, but Queen Lab beamed. “A relief. We would hate to lose you.” She glanced at Dalila and her retainers. “Were the group of you not discussing an experiment? The anti-inflammatory properties of some flower or another?”
“Yes!” one of the men replied, his brown eyes brightening with enthusiasm. He had long black braids and delicately painted cowrie shells looping his neck. “Your doctor has such brilliant ideas; we can scarcely wait to collaborate.”
The prospect of Dalila willingly collaborating with strangers was so startling that it took me a moment to formulate a response. This woman barely shared her work with me.
You told her to play a convincing con, did you not? “I pray her time here is fruitful,” I finally replied.
Lab motioned for us to sit, several servants scurrying to bring up more chairs. “Let us enjoy ourselves. I have brought along those of my companions who can converse in your tongue and my chefs have prepared their most tantalizing specialties.”
There was only so much ease to be had, however, in the company of the intimidatingly alluring queen and her glamorous cohorts.
Lab and her retainers made polite and engaging small talk, her companions introducing themselves as musicians and artists, poets and scholars.
They were clearly practiced at the art of keeping a royal company, for they were happy to carry on mostly one-sided conversations and jests while the rest of us remained exhausted or agog.
The music was lovely, if a bit haunting, and the food delicious, but again, a great weariness crawled through my bones.
My joints hurt, the heaviness threatening to swarm my skull.
Indeed, I was so tired I didn’t even realize that I was slumping onto my elbows until Tinbu nudged me.
“Amina,” he whispered.
“Wh—what?” I straightened up, stars dancing before my eyes to see Lab smiling merrily in my direction.
“Are we boring you, dear Captain?” she teased.
The party had clearly been swirling on without me.
Lab had one of the men’s legs over her thigh and was leaning against the shoulder of a young woman, playing with her hair.
A glance revealed more than a handful of my men had been pulled into similar amorous embraces by the pretty Khatti Ugalans.
I tried not to despair. By the end of this evening, I’d be lucky to have enough hands to pull a rowboat. “Of course not, my queen.”
“I will confess that I was hoping you might make for livelier company; after all, I heard you had quite the day charming my citizens. They are abuzz with tales of faraway lands and soaring upon the many seas. An exciting upbringing you must have had, sailing all around the Indian Ocean with your family, your grandfather teaching you everything he knew.”
A shiver traced down my spine. I assumed either a spy in the audience or the steward would be sharing my every word with the queen, but it was unnerving to hear it related back, no matter the other woman’s warmth.
“It wasn’t always the most secure life,” I replied. “But when our bellies yawned, we at least had our freedom and each other.”
“And are there others like you back in this Oman? That was the name of your country, yes?”
“Others like me, Your Resplendency?” I asked, confused.
She gestured at my body. “Of your might, I mean. You are uncommonly large, no? And the way you carry yourself . . .” Her gaze turned penetrating, even as her smile grew more playful.
“You call to mind foreign stories of strong men and demigods, warriors capable of hoisting this entire table and battling great beasts.”