Odalisque (3 page)

Boaz was stunned; he wasn’t ready to accept this new role, even though he had been groomed for many years to take his father’s crown. If not
for the sly wink that Pez gave him from under a short arm, he might have fled the chamber.

‘Your Majesty,’ they cried as one. ‘Hail the Zar!’ They repeated it several times until the new King of Kings commanded them to stop.

Into the instant silence that followed Pez broke wind, his rear pointing suspiciously towards the new Valide Zara and her bejewelled Vizier. Boaz knew this sort of lewd behaviour should have made his father sit up from death and roar with laughter. Joreb had so loved Pez’s wickedness. Boaz felt a nervous flutter of amusement threaten to explode from his own throat but he controlled it with effort and focused on his scowling, clearly offended parent. He ignored the mortified Vizier who deserved all the bad smells that came his way.

‘Mother,’ he said. ‘Rise.’

And she did, first crawling forward—as one should to the Zar—before straightening on her knees to place the diamond-encrusted emerald ring onto her son’s finger. She nodded reassurance before bowing her head over her son’s hand and kissing the ring fervently.

‘My lord Zar,’ she said, pride catching in her throat. ‘How may I serve?’

‘Hail, Valide Zara,’ Boaz said and Herezah basked in the words she had longed to hear for so many years. Now, as the Zar’s mother, her very name would strike fear into the hearts of those around her.

She took their obeisance, noticed the wry smile on Salmeo’s normally unreadable face, and gave the first of many orders as the most powerful woman in the land.

‘Rise all,’ she said, turning to Tariq. ‘Where is Lazar?’

‘Waiting, Valide Zara,’ the Vizier replied, fully recovered from the dwarf’s insult and barely able to contain his glee at the thought of the potential riches and power spreading out before him. Hail the Valide! He had aligned himself well.

‘Admit him alone,’ she ordered and resisted smiling at the notion that Lazar would share this moment of high joy with her. ‘The passing of the old Zar is a secret until I say differently.’

The physicians were instructed to tidy the body of their ruler and were laying out the formerly rumpled sheets neatly over his corpse as the tall, sun-browned Spur entered the chamber.

‘Lazar,’ Boaz said, his expression lightening. This was the only other person who walked the palace corridors whom he could truly consider a friend.

The Spur spared only a fleeting glance towards the prone figure on the bed, for his shock at the news of imminent death had already been suffered at the Ratha Emporium and then, with effort, concealed as he strode in disbelieving stony silence ahead of the runner who had brought the terrible news of the Zar’s relapse. It was something he could only think of in private. Right now his focus was firmly on the new Zar and not allowing
his emotions to creep through as Herezah stared at him with the hungry gaze of a hunter.

In an instant Lazar was on his knees and reaching to the huge ring that was barely able to sit straight on the slender fingers of the young man’s hand. ‘Zar Boaz, Your High One, I offer my services and my life to you.’

In a show of affection, Boaz covered Lazar’s hand with his own, pale and unblemished against the tanned, strong fingers of the bowed man. ‘I hope we never claim it, Spur.’

The Spur of Percheron stood and nodded at Boaz, proud of the boy’s composure. The light grey eyes that marked Lazar as something for curiosity—and certainly a foreigner—looked now to Herezah before he bowed low. ‘Valide Zara.’

She stifled her pleasure, hiding it behind the grave expression she had contrived; plenty of time ahead to enjoy Lazar’s new fealty to her. Right now there were urgent arrangements to make and she revelled in the thrill of finally being able to give him a direct order.

‘Take the physicians away and do what you must,’ she said coldly, glad she was not veiled on this occasion as it was not insisted upon within the palace confines, so long as the Zar was present. It pleased her hugely that the Spur could see her beauty and what he was missing.

If he could sense her pleasure he did not show it, but then Lazar gave little away to anyone.

‘May I pay my respects?’ he asked, looking towards the body draped in silken sheets.

The new Valide inclined her head and watched the Spur cross the room in four strides and then kneel to kiss the hand of the dead Zar. He took a moment in silence before he stood and soberly turned towards the men who had tried to prevent death. ‘Physicians,’ was all he said.

‘You must be gentle with the gentlemen’s throats,’ Pez began to sing. He cartwheeled once before an exasperated look from Herezah told Lazar that it was in the dwarf’s interest to be removed as well.

‘Come, Pez. You can keep us company,’ the soldier suggested.

The dwarf agreed but not before a loud and long farewell belch to those gathered.

Upstaged, Herezah had to delay her chilling warning to Lazar until he was ready to depart. ‘Do it immediately, Spur, but no word of the old Zar’s death is to get out until I sanction it.’

Lazar noted how Joreb, still warm on his deathbed, had already been dismissed as the old Zar and the new Zar was already being overlooked. ‘As you wish, Valide,’ and he bowed. The Faranel Sea below blew a sweet wind into the room but could not cover the stench of ambition. It revolted him and he was grateful to escape even with the unpalatable task ahead of having the physicians executed.

After the door had closed on the four men, Herezah turned and said, ‘Tariq, Salmeo.’

‘Valide?’

‘You understand what needs to be done.’ It was not a question.

‘I do,’ the avaricious Vizier replied.

‘Salmeo?’

The huge black man sighed. ‘Enemies will be made, Valide Zara.’

She could smell on his breath the violet-fragranced tablets that he habitually sucked. ‘The enemies of Boaz will be dead. The other kind will be helpless.’

‘Mother? What’s going on?’ Boaz had been too lost in his grieving thoughts to follow the conversation.

‘Come with me, Boaz, I want to explain something to you.’ She took his hand, looking pointedly at the two men who were charged with the ugly task.

She did not need to say any more. The darkly ambitious eyes of the woman, who now essentially ruled Percheron, said it all.

Boaz was deeply disturbed. This morning had begun like any other in the palace and then, during a language lesson, Vizier Tariq had arrived looking grave. Initially the son of the Zar’s First Wife and Absolute Favourite had leapt at the interruption. Any distraction that released him from Galinsean verbs and tenses was a blessing. It was a language that tested even the most accomplished linguists in Percheron. His mother had told him that very few could master the strange tongue. She had explained that she had also tried to learn the tiresome language for many years but failed. Boaz couldn’t imagine his mother failing at anything and he’d initially thought she was just saying as much to flatter him, but others had confirmed it. The language of the people from the west was seemingly impossible for a Percherese to speak fluently. His mother jested that should a Galinsean suddenly arrive in the city then not a soul in Percheron could conduct a worthwhile conversation with the visitor. Boaz felt sure she was exaggerating and they had
laughed about it. In any case, he reasoned, any Galinsean landing in Percheron meant trouble, not conversation.

The golden-haired race with their pale eyes allegedly wanted Percheron so badly that Lazar had set up a special spy network throughout the city just to keep the Zar constantly updated on every item of news that could be gleaned from the trading ships. It had got to the point where no ship with Galinsean registration, or even a Galinsean aboard, was permitted to pass between the giants let alone dock in the harbour.

Lazar seemed to know something about Galinsea, having roamed it for a number of years apparently, and he agreed that its King would certainly have designs on beautiful Percheron. He remembered how the Spur had scowled when he spoke.

‘…not that the Galinsean royals would know art from their arses,’ he had warned. ‘They want one thing only and that’s the harbour. They’d sack the city and then raze it without so much as a look backwards.’

Boaz didn’t believe this but grasped the sentiment behind it. It was obvious Lazar held nothing but loathing for their neighbours.

‘Our good fortune is that they may be good sailors but we can protect our waters and the desert to our back is the best protection of all. No Galinsean would know how to survive in that unforgiving landscape.’

At the Vizier’s interruption Boaz had briefly entertained the thought that it might mean he would be allowed to play pigball with his brothers. But his anticipation of a fun afternoon was immediately dampened by the Vizier’s solemn request for Boaz to accompany him.

The day had got much worse, however, than discovering that pigball was not on the agenda. Having witnessed his father take his last breath, he had not only had to deal with everyone suddenly on their knees to him but he had learned something so terrible he had fled his father’s chamber. The new Valide’s whispered words had set off such a panic within him that he had to run to the only person he knew might soothe his mind, assure him it was some terrible game his power-obsessed mother had dreamed up to frighten him. This was why he now found himself in the private chamber of the court jester, someone he could genuinely call friend.

Pez sat cross-legged and cross-eyed, but he was not winning any smiles from the new Zar.

‘I thought my fart well timed,’ the dwarf offered into the silence.

‘My mother didn’t.’

The dwarf sighed and for a rare moment became serious. ‘You cannot escape this, Boaz.’

‘It’s barbaric!’

Pez nodded his oversized head.

Boaz begged. ‘There must be another way?’

‘Well, certainly not one your mother would entertain. You know this is her way of protecting you.’

‘My father would never have condoned this.’

‘Boaz,’ Pez said mildly. ‘This is precisely how your father’s throne was won and held.’

The Zar had not expected this. ‘I never knew that.’

Pez shrugged. ‘It’s hardly something he was proud of and it was something he deliberately asked that his own sons be shielded from until his death came about. You are Zar now and your mother can’t keep the harsh realities of life from touching you.’

‘You sound as if you support her,’ Boaz replied sourly. Pez said nothing and the Zar looked chagrined. ‘They’re my brothers,’ he appealed.

‘And also your murderers if the shoe was on the other foot. Boaz, don’t be naive. Every wife in the harem thinks the same way as your mother. She is doing what she must to protect you and Percheron’s throne.’

‘She is doing this for her own chance at power!’

The dwarf shook his head sadly. ‘Your father chose you for succession. She only dreamed it. He made it so.’

‘Why can’t I re-write the history books and magnanimously send them away?’

‘And watch your back for evermore? No, child, they each have a rightful claim to the
throne—the older ones every bit as eligible as you—and you might not think so now, but each of those boys is your enemy. Their mothers would see to it.’

The new Zar made a sound of anguished disgust. ‘I cannot be there. I will not witness it!’

‘You must!’ Pez countered equally firmly, ‘or you will be viewed as weak.’

‘So be it!’ Boaz shouted, slamming his hand onto the table. He regretted the raised voice and his tone softened to a plea. ‘Save me, Pez—don’t allow me to bear witness. I cannot.’

The dwarf was torn. He understood the young man’s fear but conspiring against the Valide Zara would be tantamount to treason. He began to shake his head when an idea struck him. It was unpleasant but effective, and hopefully without repercussions.

‘Hold out your arm.’

‘What?’

‘Do it.’

Boaz obeyed, nervously. ‘Only Lazar and I know the real you, Pez. Everyone else thinks you’re demented.’

Pez decided not to enlighten his friend that there were others who knew the truth. ‘Why don’t you tell?’

‘Because you’re my secret. The only thing truly mine that my mother can’t spoil or interfere with. I don’t share it because you’re true; there is no-one else I trust in the way that I trust you.’

Pez smiled and his collection of odd features seemed to blend and become, not handsome—not by any stretch—but suddenly right. The warmth and beauty in his smile revealed his heart.

‘There will be, son.’

Boaz frowned, confused. ‘Who?’

Pez burped theatrically for his answer and Boaz had experienced the dwarf’s evasive tactics enough times to know he would get nothing more from his friend on the subject.

‘This is going to hurt, Zar Boaz, but not nearly as much as watching your brothers die.’

The new Zar instinctively closed his eyes.

‘How did this happen?’ Herezah yelled at Tariq. ‘Today of all days!’

She’d donned an exquisite black tunic over matching silk trousers, presumably her mourning garb, but neither man present missed how the cut of the outfit showed off her sensuous figure. Even in grief Herezah intended to take everyone’s breath away.

To his credit, the sombre expression of the Vizier did not falter at the outburst. ‘Pez found him, Valide Zara. Apparently Boaz had been running to find the jester when he fell and sustained the injury.’

She made a sound of disgust at the Vizier’s pointless explanation. That much she had worked out for herself. Herezah’s eyes blazed
anger towards the Spur instead. It was his turn to answer for her plan going awry. ‘Spur Lazar?’

‘Pez fetched me when it happened. I could see Boaz’s arm was broken and I sent for one of the city’s physicians immediately. I didn’t have much choice, Valide,’ he said. He did not wish to anger her further by reminding her that it was she who had called for the palace physicians’ deaths to be carried out immediately.

The men had died bravely as it turned out. They had said their prayers and written notes to their families before kneeling calmly in the execution courtyard and together chanting the mantra to send their souls safely to the Garden of Zarab.

Lazar would not permit the palace soldiers to handle this sort of killing. He had assembled a small team of executioners to carry out any deaths ordered by the royals or their agents. In this instance two experienced men had arrived quietly to stand behind the physicians. A third, the most senior man, gave the signal when the mantra had been cast. The executioners had reached a blade around each victim’s throat and expertly slashed the jugular. It was not pretty but it was swift and it was honourable. Their heads were later fully severed but would not be pushed onto spikes until the Valide gave permission for the city to learn of the Zar’s passing.

Lazar privately scoffed at the Percherese claim to be peace-loving. He had personally witnessed
countless barbaric acts within the palace walls alone. By the same token, Galinsea, hailed as a warlike nation, had never executed its doctors for not being able to cure someone.

‘Well, I’ve sent the city physician away,’ Herezah said, exasperated. ‘Yozem will take care of Boaz. We shall need to hire a new team of physicians for the Zar.’

‘As you wish,’ Lazar murmured, still wondering at the senseless waste of life. Those dead doctors would have made fine physicians for Boaz.

‘Nothing is as I wish,’ she replied acidly. It was galling that Boaz would not be present, but having seen the grey-faced Zar sweating from the pain of his damaged arm, she knew it was impossible. Yozem had already mixed the pain-relieving opium paste including the crushed dust of diamonds, emeralds and rubies accorded royalty, although, from now on, Boaz would take his opiate in the gilded tablets prepared for the Zar alone.

‘If not for Pez—’ Lazar began but the Valide cut across his words angrily.

‘Yes, yes, if not for Pez! If I didn’t know he was so feeble-minded, I could almost believe he works against me.’ Both men made noises of gentle admonishment. She ignored them. ‘What have people been told?’

Lazar answered. ‘They know only that the Zar is injured and that he is with his physicians. No-one knows of his death yet.’

She nodded, seemingly no longer interested. ‘So, is everything ready, Tariq?’

‘As ordered, Valide. Salmeo is with them.’

Herezah knew Lazar would find her latest scheme heinous but he would hide his disgust behind that irritating mask. Hoping this man would ever show any emotion seemed a lost cause. The gods knew she had been trying for long enough. Why he intrigued her so much she couldn’t say; perhaps it was his remoteness that made her yearn to be able to reach him. All her life men had looked at her with lust. But this man hardly looked at her at all. If he did, she felt as if he was looking through her. She hated him for that; it was a worse kind of humiliation, insulting her far more cruelly than being wanted purely for fleshly desires. Even a kind word beyond those courtesies he was bound to show would be something to cling to. Still, she thought, everything had changed as of this morning. It was obvious Lazar knew it too, which would explain his reluctant manner. Good. It was high time the dark eagle, as she thought of him, had his feathers ruffled.

‘Your men will secure the area, Spur Lazar. I trust I can count on them to be discreet?’

He bowed his head in acknowledgement but not before she saw the unhappiness flit across his face, so briefly anyone else might believe they had imagined it. But not Herezah. She knew the planes and nuances of that face as well as she
knew her own; had imagined herself touching it often enough, kissing those angry lips, staring into those furious silver-grey eyes.

‘Valide—’ Lazar started.

‘Don’t,’ she warned. ‘I will not be swayed. It is the only way to protect Boaz. You know that as well as anyone. Now, where are the women?’

‘At the pools, Valide,’ the Vizier answered.

She turned away from Lazar to make sure he understood who was controlling the power now. Boaz might be Zar but his mother was the ruler. She deliberately made sure she could still see the Spur from the corner of her eye though. Why waste any opportunity to feast on the looks of a man who genuinely fuelled her own desire. Zarab knew there was no other man around her who could. Too long she had been forced to serve the whims of Joreb; old, fleshy Joreb and his strange sexual habits. And then of course there were the half-men, the eunuchs, with their soft tongues, who illegally satisfied many in the harem, but not her. She found them repulsive. As for finding solace in another woman she felt her stomach twist at the thought, although she knew a number of the odalisques and wives took their pleasures in each other. She scowled to push the notion away. Lazar alone made her heart pound.

‘Good. And the wives?’ she asked her Vizier.

‘Salmeo arranged for them also to go swimming this afternoon, Valide. It is such a warm day. Everyone but Ameera took advantage
of him opening up a long-unused gate to the Sapphire Pools.’

She raised an eyebrow in response. ‘He
is
spoiling them,’ she said, pretending not to notice Lazar’s grimace at her condescension. ‘And Ameera?’

‘Unwell. Confined to her quarters.’

‘Set a guard upon her.’ The Vizier nodded. Herezah continued. ‘So to the boys.’

‘At the Lion Fountain,’ Tariq confirmed. ‘Salmeo is meeting them.’

‘We’re ready then.’ She turned to the Spur and levelled him with a flinty gaze. ‘Wipe that scowl from your face, Lazar. You take your commands from me now and, as distasteful as you find this, your men will see it done properly.’

‘Yes, Valide Zara.’ The words were dutiful but she heard the contempt; saw it flash angrily in his eyes. Still her cold heart leapt, enjoying that ferocity in him, and yes, the defiance. He was the only man in Percheron surely who wore his face clean-shaven, save the youngsters waiting desperately for stubble to show as their voices deepened. But this was no adolescent and he deliberately wore no beard with pride. The nakedness showed his firm jaw; he wore his dark hair loose and longer than any Percherese dared, and that, she knew, was another refusal to relinquish his independence. No jewels or adornments for Lazar either. No, she thought, he is dazzling enough.

Too many of the harem’s women committed hours of conversation to how it might feel to bed Lazar. Not once had he shown the usual foibles of men though, and fallen for their charms. To do so was an offence of the highest order, of course, and would have meant instant execution.