Master and Apprentice (12 page)

“Can’t blame you there. It had to seem like marrying your grandfather.”

“Yes. But it was not merely the difference in years. He was … wrong, somehow. I did not trust him. And he did prove himself to be most untrustworthy.” She folded her hands in her lap, like she couldn’t decide what to do with them. “A few days before my father was to announce his decision, a small band of strangers arrived at the palace seeking audience with the Council. They were Dehbei. Among them were their clan leader, Omari-el, and his son. The prince Gahiji-an.”

I grinned. “Love at first sight?”

“Fascination, at the least.” A slight blush rose in her cheeks. “My father had not yet permitted me to attend Council meetings, and I was not encouraged to leave the palace grounds. I had never seen any of the Doma before.”

“You guys have too many names. I thought it was Dehbei.”

Her flush deepened. “Doma means lower caste. Those who seat the Council are Pashi, and the rest … forgive me. It is not a pleasant term.”

I shrugged. “No big deal. Humans have some pretty unpleasant terms too.”

“They do indeed.” Some of the color faded from her features. “My father was displeased, of course. Barbarians, he called them, and warned me not to speak with them. He could not refuse them audience, but he would not allow them inside the palace before the Council convened the following day. He forced them to make berth in the courtyard. Like animals.”

“Your father’s an asshole,” I said. “Sorry, Princess.”

She nodded agreement. “Despite the warning, I could not ignore their presence. I wanted to observe them. So I installed myself in a small outbuilding near the outlying border of the
courtyard, and …” Her brow furrowed, and then a half smile pulled at her mouth. “Perhaps it would be better to show you. I am no storyteller.”

“Uh. This won’t involve time travel or anything, will it? I have a paradigm-shift phobia.”

“Not at all.” She raised her arms and whispered a few djinn words. Her hands slowly described a rough circle in the air. As they moved, her fingers left contrails of blazing light behind. She brought her hands together to close the circle, and the patch of trapped air shimmered and warped. An image resolved itself—a castle, gleaming white against a blue-violet sky. The building looked like it had been crafted from clouds. A small, dark shape that might have been a bird streaked across the backdrop.

I blinked, but the image stayed put. “Whoa. Djinn TV.”

A delighted laugh escaped Akila. “It is a thought-form. An illusion of memory. Watch.”

She gestured at me, and sounds filled my ears. A soft wind, rustling movement, murmured voices. The castle pulled back, and the image panned like a camera over a courtyard of lush grass and patterned flagstones. In the center was a floating tree, sculpted of flowing water with leaves of flame, turning slow revolutions in midair. I remembered hearing about it—the elemental fountain, representing earth, air, water, and fire. It was supposed to glow red at sunset.

On the far side of the fountain, a group of djinn sat on the grass or stood in twos and threes. Maybe fifteen altogether. All of them had the same shaggy, streaked hair and dusky weathered skin. And eyes like wolves. They wore vests and form-fitting pants; heavy boots; and long, hooded cloaks, all in shades of brown. Most of them had taken their cloaks off and spread them on the ground to sit or lie on, revealing hard muscle and the distinctive raised armband tattoos Ian sported.

They’d obviously traveled rough to get there. To the last one, they were dirt smudged, dust covered, and weary in expression and motion. More than one looked furious enough to eat raw iron and spit out nails.

One of them standing in a group bore a strong resemblance to Ian, though he looked older than Ian did now. I assumed he was Omari-el, his father. The clan leader seemed almost happy, and the faint lines at the corners of his eyes and mouth suggested perpetual cheer. Ian definitely hadn’t inherited that from him. He gestured to a djinn sprawled on the ground a few feet away, who struggled to his feet and approached slowly.

Omari-el detached a cloth bag that hung from his waist and held it out. “Drink, Jai,” he said. “I know you are empty.”

The one called Jai accepted with a grateful nod. He held the narrow end of the bag to his lips and tipped the bottom up. Clear water dripped from the corners of his mouth as he drank. When he finished, he handed it back and jerked his head in the direction of the fountain. “A shame these pompous birds prefer form over function. Such a waste of perfectly fine water.”

“Aye.” Omari-el laughed and extended a hand. “Give me your skin.”

Jai unhooked a similar bag. “Most of us are dry. And we’ve little food left.” A brittle smile stretched his mouth. “Perhaps we should feast on falcon tonight.”

“Easy, brother. It would be most impolite to eat our hosts.”

“Hosts!” Jai snorted. “Omi, you are far too generous. These are jailers, and we are herding ourselves straight into their cells.”

A shadow passed over Omari-el’s features, but it cleared quickly. “We have come on our terms,” he said. “If the Council will not listen, we will depart on them as well.” The undercurrent of steel running through his words seemed to calm Jai. The clan leader turned and clasped the shoulder of
the djinn nearest him. “Roan-el. Gather the skins, take Meiri with you, and go to the lodge we passed. Get water and food. And if you encounter a problem, tell them we will simply help ourselves to those fine, fat animals conveniently tethered in their stables, unable to escape our blades.”

Laughter wound its way through the gathering. As the others moved to comply, Omari-el scanned the group and the grounds. A stern frown pressed his lips together. “Where is my son?”

“Off sulking, no doubt.” Jai flashed a genuine grin. “The boy was most unimpressed with these windbags. I believe he expected golden stone and emerald grass, and a bit of a richer reception than the spit in the eye we received.”

“Ah, well.” Omari-el shook his head. “He will return when hunger bites his belly.”

The view shifted abruptly, racing across grass to a small stone building on the opposite side of the fountain. The image flickered twice and resolved itself to show the inside of the structure, and a young Akila standing to the side of a window, watching the Dehbei with focused intensity. She was as breathtaking then as she was now. The gossamer dress she wore looked spun from silver spiderwebs, and strands of a similar material had been plaited into the long, silken sweep of her dark hair. Even her skin seemed to sparkle in the light streaming through the window.

The single spacious room contained a few strange long-handled tools along one wall, and a pile of pale dried grass that was almost hay, but not quite, in a corner. There was no door or flap over the arched opening on the back end of the building that served as an entrance. After a minute, a male djinn dressed in garish gold satin walked through and stopped in the center of the room. Sleek raven hair and impossibly round black-ringed eyes proclaimed him Bahari—and the sneer on his face said he
wasn’t nearly as impressed with the courtyard view as Akila.

“There you are,
rayani,
” he said in throaty tones.

Akila gasped and whirled from the window. “Nurien. I thought you had gone on the hunt with your father.”

“For those witless cattle? They bore me. I prefer a more exotic form of prey.” He smiled, stepped closer to her. “Perhaps I shall hunt the wolf tonight.”

Akila gave him a withering stare. “You would not dare.”

“Why not? They are only Doma.” His fake smile fell away. “You seem unusually interested in these barbarians,
rayani
. Shall I inform your father of your approval?”

“That will not be necessary.” If her voice were any colder, she could’ve invoked an Ice Age. “Go and amuse yourself elsewhere, Nurien. I am weary, and not in the humor for company.”

“On the subject of Kemosiri,” he said as though she hadn’t spoken, “he will announce his decision soon. I am certain he will agree to our proposal, and you will be my bride.”

“I am not so certain.” A slight tremor in her voice betrayed her lack of confidence, and she averted her gaze quickly. “My father would not force me to bond with a … a preening peacock such as you.”

Nurien’s jaw clenched. “Your father does not care who you bond with, so long as his personal accounts are fattened and his power is enhanced. We have made a generous offer, and he will not refuse.” He closed the distance between them, grabbed her arms, and forced her against the wall. “Now. Let us celebrate our impending engagement.”

“The lady asked you to leave. Peacock.”

A figure materialized beside the haystack in the corner. Ian—smooth faced, painted with grime like the rest of his clan, more furious than I’d ever seen him. And I’d seen him killing mad. He moved toward the Bahari, one hand resting on
a familiar ornamental dagger nestled in his belt. The dagger that now served as his tether in the human realm.

The wide-eyed look Nurien turned on him morphed into smugness. “So the Doma can speak,” he said. “I thought you might grunt like pigs.”

“Remove your hands from her.”

“Or what? Will you poke me with your pig sticker?”

Akila bucked hard and rammed a knee in her assailant’s gut. He staggered back. “I will never bond with you,” she breathed. Concentrated points of color blossomed high on her cheeks. “You disgust me.”

Nurien hissed sharply and raised a hand.

Ian moved impossibly fast. One leap carried him straight into the Bahari, like a torpedo, and knocked him to the floor. Ian straddled his chest, pulled the dagger, and held the edge to his throat. “Speak, and I will sever your vocal cords.”

Nurien glared up at him. He held his tongue, but the fingers of one hand traced a complicated pattern on the stone floor, just beyond Ian’s line of sight and on the side opposite Akila.

Seconds later, a horrified expression infused Ian’s face as his arm moved away from Nurien—and plunged the dagger deep into his own shoulder.

A cry from Akila engulfed Ian’s pained gasp. Nurien twisted hard to one side and sent Ian sprawling. He scooted back and stood against the wall. “Barbarian,” he spat. “I will show you true power.” His eyes rolled back for an instant, and he launched into a low and rapid chant.

Ian bounded to his feet, already drawing his uninjured arm back. His fist flew. A solid
crack
announced it connecting with Nurien’s jaw. The Bahari, silenced in midspell, entered a boneless slide down the wall and slumped to the floor. “True
power, indeed,” Ian muttered. He turned his attention to Akila. “Are you hurt, lady?”

Akila shook herself. “No,” she whispered. “But you are. Your knife …” She pointed.

Ian followed her gesture to the handle protruding from his bloodied flesh. “Ah, yes. I seem to be impaled.” He wrapped a hand around the dagger and pulled, grunting when the blade emerged with a faint pop. “How unfortunate.”

“Let me heal you.” She approached him with hesitant steps. “Thank you. For stopping Nurien.”

Ian nodded. He closed his eyes while Akila worked the spell, only daring to look at her when she’d finished. “You have my gratitude,
rayani,
” he said. A hoarse note crept into his voice. “I should rejoin my father. And you should take yourself elsewhere, before the peacock regains consciousness.”

“Wait.” She smiled at him. “How long have you been here watching me?”

“It was you who invaded my solitude,” he said with the ghost of a grin. “I had entered this building, innocently intending to sleep, only to be encroached upon by a spy watching my clan.”

“You do not look innocent.”

His gaze could’ve melted boulders. “And you do not in the least resemble a peacock.”

Akila caught a breath. “You … are in need of a bath,” she blurted.

He laughed. “Aye. But unless you keep bathing water within the folds of your dress, I am not likely to have one soon.”

“Come with me,” she said. “I know of a warm spring near the palace.”

“As you wish, lady.”

The scene faded quickly, and reality filtered back in around the dissipating thought-form. I rubbed my eyes and stared at the real, present-time Akila. “Holy shit.”

“What is the matter?”

“Your husband throws a helluva punch.” I grinned at her. “I’m just glad I’ve never been on the wrong end of his fist.”

She laughed. “I am glad as well.”

“So … what happened to Nurien?”

“My father rejected the proposal, though my protest was not his reason for turning it down. He never did explain why.” A look of almost pure hatred flashed in her eyes. “On the same day the Dehbei returned to their village, Nurien and his father disappeared. I have questioned Gahiji-an, and he insists it was not his doing, or his clan’s. We assumed they left in shame due to the overturned proposal.”

“Oh.” I ran through a few mental calculations and came up short. “Wasn’t this a long time before you and Ian got hitched?”

“It was. We stayed in communication with one another, and I used reflective magic to visit his village whenever I could escape my Council duties. Omari-el was far more amenable to our bond than my father.” Sorrow crossed her face. “I loved him as well. He was the father I would have chosen, if there had been a choice.”

I almost hugged her—but then I remembered Ian’s right hook, and restrained myself. “Thanks for telling me this, Princess. I’ll try not to call Ian a grumpy bastard anymore.”

“No need to refrain from that. He certainly can be, on occasion.”

“Yeah, like any day that ends with a
y.
” I sighed and straightened. “Maybe I should head back inside, see if Jazz needs anything.”

“All right. We will … see you later.”

“Sure.” I wandered outside and made my way to the front door. Slowly. I still had no idea what to say, and I wasn’t sure I’d given Jazz enough space. Or whatever. But if she needed more, I’d be happy to crash for a while. My body insisted that not only could I sleep now, but I’d have no choice about it in five minutes or so, no matter where I happened to be.