A Thousand Nights (24 page)

“Lady-bless,” called the cook as I passed through. “Will you take a cask of honeyed mead to your sister?”

I was forever impressed by the speed at which news traveled in this place. Seemingly, it flew faster than the wind. I told the cook I would be glad to take his mead, one of the prides of his
kitchen, and he sent a boy to carry it to the girls who were packing my things.

At last I was back in my rooms. I changed quickly. This dress had no ties, for all its glamour. Its beauty was in its embroidery, and the way the gold thread caught the light. I took it off, and
then my leggings, and stood in my shift. I wondered what dishdashah they would send for me to wear at my sister’s wedding. It could not be too fine. I should not outshine her on her wedding
day. Hopefully whoever packed would keep her head and remember that.

I found a simple gown, blue linen with no embroidery at all, and pulled it on over my shift. This one hung to my feet and needed no leggings. I put on the slippers that were sturdy enough for
garden paths, and went out again to find my father.

They had come from the bath by the time I reached them, and were sitting in the shade with a backgammon board, though none of them were playing.

“Sister!” my youngest brother shouted when he saw me.

He ran and caught my elbows, lifting me into the air and spinning me around as he kissed my cheeks and my nose. My left slipper went flying into a bush.

My other brothers pelted me with affection in a similar fashion, though they at least left me on the ground when they did it. My youngest brother fetched me my shoe, and I balanced myself on his
shoulder as I stood on one foot to put it on without bending. Then I went to where my father stood, still in the shade, and bowed to him.

“Father,” I said to him. “Thank you for coming to ask Lo-Melkhiin if I could attend my sister’s wedding. He has a few conditions, but already my things are being readied
for the journey.”

My father said nothing for a moment, and I looked up at him. Surely he had wanted me to get permission, even if he had not dared to hope for it. He put his hands on my shoulders and held me at
arm’s length for a moment, and then without warning pulled me into an embrace so tight I thought he would crush my ribs.

“Daughter of mine,” he said to me. “I am so sorry.”

“Father,” I said to him. “There was nothing you could have done. If you had been in the village and fought them, they would have only killed you, and my brothers, and taken me
anyway. Who then would keep my mother and my sister and my sister’s mother? Who would go out with the caravan?”

“Daughter of mine,” he said to me. “You are too wise and too kind.”

“I am a queen here, but I am as I have been taught,” I said to him. “I am as I learned to be in your tents.”

He released me, and my brothers came back to sit in the shade. We sat, and they told me of the man my sister was to marry.

“He is as pale as unbleached wool,” my youngest brother said. “You can see how his blood passes through his body.”

“My youngest brother is a fool,” said the eldest. “I can see my own veins. It is not a miracle.”

“His hair is the color of the sun, but his eyes are brown, like normal.” This from the tallest of them.

“My sons, you jabber worse than the sand-crows,” my father said, but there was laughter in his voice. “Your sister will think her sister weds a ghost. Say instead that his skin
is pale and his hair is the color of flatbread when you have mixed in saffron. They are correct about his eyes, though, daughter of mine. They are brown like ours.”

“Does he really come from the mountains?” I asked them. “Lo-Melkhiin’s mother, who must travel with me, is from the great blue desert. That is also far away.”

“He truly does,” said my oldest brother. “He brought with him a silver-colored metal that is not like anything I have ever seen.”

“Speak no more of that here, I beg you,” I said to them. They looked surprised. “I cannot explain why. Only say nothing more of the metal within these walls, or within the
hearing of anyone from the city.”

“Even you, sister?” asked the oldest.

“I am not from the city,” I told them. “Lo-Melkhiin has decided I am his queen, but that does not make me belong here.”

“He called you the star of his skies.” This brother was the most quiet. He did not often speak, joking that the others spoke enough for him, but when he did, even my father listened
to his words. I listened to them now.

“He did that only because you were there to hear it,” I said to him.

“He mocks us,” said my youngest brother. “And he mocks you.”

“Hush,” said three of my brothers at once, and then they spoke no more for some time.

I had spent most of my time in visions seeking my sister. Perhaps I ought to have looked upon my brothers from time to time. They simmered with anger and inaction, like a pot of lentils left in
the embers of the cook fire. I wondered what they had plotted while they were out with the caravan, far from the watching eyes of any who knew even where Lo-Melkhiin’s qasr was, let alone any
who might speak to him. For a breath, I saw them in the desert, trading spices in purple cloth packets and wrapping unfamiliar ore in broadcloth of the same color.

My brothers doubtless thought to use my sister’s wedding as a staging ground for my rescue. I hoped my father would be wiser, and stern enough to hold them back. I must return to
Lo-Melkhiin, or I would never grow powerful enough to defeat him. With Lo-Melkhiin’s mother along, they would be unable to make much mischief, but I still feared they would do something
rash.

I found my father’s gaze, and saw he understood my concern, though he did not understand why it was I had to return. He would fear reprisals on the others who lived in his tents, and I
hoped that it would be enough to keep the storm in his eyes from brewing full. I hoped also that it would be enough to temper my brothers’ fires as well.

A serving girl came into the garden and coughed. She would come no closer with my brothers there, so I went to her instead. She was pink behind her veil. I suppose my brothers were handsome
enough to catch the eye. Three of them were married, after all.

“Lady-bless,” she said to me, her voice low, “your things will be ready when the hottest part of the day has passed. You will leave then, if that suits your father.”

“Wait a moment,” I said to her, and went back to where my father sat. “Will you be rested enough when the sun goes behind the wall to travel?” I asked him. “Will
the camels be?”

My father squinted up at the sky. He did not think to check the water clock, if he even knew what it was. It was not my custom to check it either, for all I had lived here so long by now. I
still judged the hour by the sun.

“Yes, daughter of mine,” he said to me. “We will be ready, and the camels can find their way under the stars.”

I went back to the serving girl and told her as much. She bowed to me, cast one quick look at my brothers, and left to see to her tasks. When I looked back at them, my brothers were smirking at
one another.

“Shall I tell your wives you found the city so lovely?” I said to the oldest three. They laughed, and kissed me again.

I told them I would see them by the gates when the sun had reached the walls, and went back to my rooms to oversee the last of the packing effort. I wanted to be sure that my clothes were not
over-fine. I found the henna mistress had taken charge, though it was not precisely her place. She showed me the dishdashah she had selected for the wedding feast and for the dancing. I nodded my
approval.

“Lady-bless, would your sister take one of your gowns to be wed in?” the henna mistress said. It was a heartfelt offer, but I shook my head.

“No, mistress,” I said to her. “She will be wed in a dishdashah she has stitched herself, as I was. It is luckier. But I thank you for the generous thought.”

She bowed and left me to select shoes for riding. Soon, everything was sent away to be bound to the camels. I walked to the gate with Lo-Melkhiin’s mother at my side, and the desert
whispering welcome before me.

THIS TIME WHEN I PASSED through the city, the streets teemed with people who had come to see Lo-Melkhiin’s bride. Men stared at my father’s camels as they walked
slowly past. Little girls waved scraps of purple cloth like flags. Their mothers twined the cloth around their fingers. When I passed, they kissed the cloth and raised their hands. I could not
fathom where they had gotten it. Purple dye was the most expensive of all the goods my father traded, and yet I saw so much of it, both in and out of my trance.

My brothers could not stare at me, surprised as they were by the acclaim I was receiving in the streets, because they were too busy with the camels. Lo-Melkhiin had sent my sister and her
husband-to-be rich gifts, but also had he given gifts to my father. They were a shadow of what he would have paid, had he bargained a bride price fairly, but they were still worth a small fortune.
There were jars of the clear oil that burned in the palace lamps, bales of fine silks and silken threads, wine from grapes that only grew in the lands by the blue desert, and a lion skin. I would
not tell them the price of that. They all thought it a marvel, and my youngest brother would not stop petting it. I remembered too well how the lion had looked in my vision, when it yet lived.

Lo-Melkhiin’s mother rode beside me, sitting as straight as I did on her own camel. We both had canopies above our heads, and veils to cover our faces. She carried a fan as well, having no
need to use her hands; a boy led her camel for her. I had one hand on the camel’s mouth rope and one on the saddle horn, but I would need no fan once we were in the desert wind. I had worried
that she would be vexed to travel, especially on short notice, but she looked pleased—a true smile was on her face as she swayed back and forth, matching the camel’s stride. Lo-Melkhiin
had kissed her when we left him, and he had not worn his viper’s face to do it. We went out through the gate, the guardsmen drawn up in straight lines, their armor gleaming in the sun as we
passed them, and then into the desert.

We could not go across the sand, as Lo-Melkhiin’s horses had the day I came to the qasr, because camels are not as fast-moving. Theirs is a plodding, steady pace. A horse
can get you somewhere quickly, but you cannot carry very much with you. A camel will take its time, but it will also carry your house if you ask it nicely enough. Instead, we turned into the dry
wadi bed and followed its meandering path between the oleander flowers. The scent was overwhelming, but I knew better than to get too close. There was poison in the blossoms, and while they would
not kill you if you smelled them, they could make you ill. I turned to say as much to my serving girl, and to the woman who served Lo-Melkhiin’s mother, but they sat on the backs of their own
camels and did not lean toward the blooms.

The camels plodded forward, and the sun sank. My oldest brother came with water and bread, offering it to Lo-Melkhiin’s mother first, as was proper, but we did not halt.

“Sister of mine,” he said to me. “We will ride through the dark tonight. There will be stars enough to guide us. Can you keep to your saddle?”

I certainly knew I could, and he knew it too. I knew also that he was uncomfortable speaking to Lo-Melkhiin’s mother. My brothers might have liked the lion skin Lo-Melkhiin gave my father,
but they felt differently about a woman who wore lion manes upon her head.

“Mother of my heart,” I said to her, ignoring my brother’s wince at how I addressed her, “will that suit you? And will it suit the boy who leads you?”

In truth, it was he I was most concerned about. Sitting on a camel is awkward and uncomfortable if you are not used to it, but it is not as tiring as walking.

“He will ride with me if he tires,” said Lo-Melkhiin’s mother to me. The boy looked up, surprised. “I know better than to play at nobility in the desert. The sun does not
care who you are when it bakes you.”

“We will go on,” I said to my brother. He nodded, and went to offer water to the two who rode behind me.

The sun sank lower, turning the desert a friendly orange, and then a deep red. At length it set, leeching all color from the horizon, until all that remained was white sand beneath us and a dark
sky overhead. Behind me, the serving girl shifted uncomfortably. She did not like the empty dark of the desert night. I turned to smile at her. I knew she would not see it, but I hoped she would
hear it in my voice when I spoke.