Taken by Storm (ROMANTIC REALMS COLLECTION) (19 page)

“I don’t like the idea,” he growled, but when Sarfraz looked to Tahj, Radeem winked at the prince.

“He is fifteen. It is the boy’s choice.” Tahj looked down at Sarfraz. “I will prepare the letter. Saddle your horse.”

* * *

Bashea was bent over a pot in the fire when the three riders came charging into camp at a full gallop. She shielded her eyes with one hand in order to see them better through the late-afternoon sun, and stuck her other hand, involuntarily, into the small of her back, frequently sore now from the additional stress of her rounded belly. Bagrat and the rest of her family were constantly warning her not to overdo this close to her time, but she needed work to ease her mind.

The horsemen stopped some feet from her and dismounted. The tall one in the middle stepped forward. He looked somehow familiar. “This is Tamook?” he asked, and she could see now he was just a boy.

Bagrat stood up and strode over to meet him. “It is.”

The young man reached into a leather pouch tethered to his side, lifting the flap and bringing out a neatly folded piece of parchment. “I am looking for Lady Bashea.”

Bagrat’s eyebrows lifted at that, and he turned with a smirk. “
Lady
Bashea?”

Bashea straightened and strolled regally over to the messenger, swatting Bagrat as she passed him. “I am Bashea,” she said kindly.

The young man’s eyes opened wide, staring at her. “Th-this is for you,” he stammered, handing her the paper.

“You look familiar to me. Have we met before?”

“No, I am sure we haven’t,” he answered dreamily.

Bashea smiled and elbowed Bagrat, who she could feel behind her now, knowing he was about to laugh at the boy, who seemed taken with her. She glanced at the paper, tapping it against her palm, her curiosity over the boy superseding her interest in the letter’s contents at this point. “You are from…?”

Sarfraz shook himself. “I have come from Vadeed.”

Bashea was immediately keyed up. “This is from Radeem?”

“No. Prince Tahj.”

Bashea would have swooned, were it not for Bagrat’s thick arm.

“Let me get you some coins, lad,” Bagrat said quickly as he steadied his sister.

“No need. I am just following orders,” he answered smartly.

Dara put her arm around him and led him off. “A meal, then. Surely you are hungry…”

Bashea heard all this as if in a daze, a low, background buzz to the humming in her ears. She stared at the paper now as if it were a finely cut diamond.

“Bashea,” Bagrat said gently. “Are you well?”

“He’s alive! Oooh!” Her hand went to her stomach.

“What? What is it?” Bagrat asked in alarm, looking over his shoulder for Dara.

“It is nothing. The baby only kicked me hard.”

“Let’s get you out of the sun.” Bagrat led Bashea into her tent. “Water?”

“Please.”

When Bagrat returned with some, minutes later, Bashea was still sitting on the edge of her bed, staring at the letter, wonderstruck.

“Aren’t you going to read it?” he probed gently.

“Read it?” she responded, as if a million worlds away. “Yes. I will read it.”

“I’ll leave you alone then,” Bagrat murmured with a smile, though it wasn’t even clear if she heard him.

Several minutes after Bagrat left her, Bashea looked up to find him gone. She rubbed her belly comfortingly. “It is from your father,” she told her constant companion, and she felt a sort of shimmery glow descend on her. “Your father.” Tears left her eyes now. She’d never known if her baby would have a father; now it seemed like there was a chance.

Slowly, as if it were the most ancient, holy epistle, she opened the folds and spread it on her lap.

My dearest Bashea—

I cannot think to start this letter without saying first how much I love and miss you. These many months have been an agony for me, and I could not go on if not for knowing it was all to win you over to my side, to prove to you my only happiness lies with you, to make you my wife, the mother of my children.

A small sob escaped Bashea. “He has no idea, Baby.” Her hands shaking now, she continued reading.

Except for this constant ache in my heart which comes from your absence, I’m doing fine. Radeem and I have been gathering quite an army. I am touched by the amount of support I’ve gotten, even from unexpected corners. Yesterday, three of Kadeesh’s old friends showed up in Vadeed to swear their allegiance to me. Men who were boys I looked up to as a child, kneeling at my feet. It is very humbling.

But throughout it all I think of you, and count on the promise we made to each other…though, truth be told, I often wonder if some man hasn’t come and swept you off your feet yet, and all this will be for naught.

But I hold on to the hope we will be together again soon. When I miss you most, I hope you will forgive me for this, but I stole a volume of your poetry. I read it and it makes me feel close to you. So, I thought I’d try my hand at it, please forgive my inexperience—

When the sun’s rays are stretching across the Western sky—

And the night animals begin to wake,

It is then I think of you, far from my side,

And my heart begins to ache.

My lids cannot close without

The ghost of you floating before my eyes

And I’m tortured for want of you,

You’re the breath within my sighs.

For when the circle is done

And again the sun begins to rise

The pink edges melt with the blue

And become the swelling skies.

Then I rise to face another day,

A false smile upon my face

Duty drags me along

Though I see you with each reluctant pace.

The space between us is both great and small

The chasm insurmountable when you are not near

But, at times, bridged by my thoughts of you

I find that you are here.

Bashea, the time is nearing

When I’ll stand or when I’ll fall

But it’s not the battle which scares me

As I march through castle hall.

It is the thought of me returning to you

When all is said and done

To find what my heart’s longed for

With each rising of the sun

Is not what I imagined,

Or what is designed to be

Yet, I pray, somehow, you’ll

Accept my love and, finally, marry me.

Here the poem ended, but Tahj had added more.

Ahh, the joke’s on me, Bashea, for you made it look so easy, but I cannot make the words bend to fit my thoughts or show you the way I feel. I long for you to show me the way, even now.

Should I not return to you, and our upper meadow, know I loved you, and with the last beating of my heart, it beat for you
.

—Tahj

“Oh, Tahj!” Bashea wept, imagining him in each stanza of the poem. She rose, but then a pain gripped her so hard she doubled over, letting the letter flutter to the ground. “No! Not now, Little One,” she ordered. She gritted her teeth and stood up, leaving the tent determinedly.

She rushed to the fire and found the boy where he was sitting spooning food into his mouth as if he hadn’t eaten for days. Just like his father. She quickly crouched in front of him, her hands on his knees. “Prince Tahj—he was well when you saw him?”

The boy’s eyes were wide with surprise, but he answered. “Yes, quite well.”

A smile warmed her face like a sunrise. She patted his knees. “Good! Good.” She rose, but then grabbed her stomach, bending over. “Ohhhhh!”

Immediately Bagrat was at her side, gripping her arm to support her. “Bashea, what is it?”

Dara hurried to her other side. “Is it the baby?”

“Yes, I think it iiiiissss!” She panted, her eyes frantic.

“Get her to our tent,” Dara ordered.

“But not now, Dara. Not yet.”

“I think the baby has different thoughts on the subject, Bashea.”

“Nooooo!” she screamed, the next contraction taking her by surprise.

“The tent, Bagrat!” Dara raced ahead to prepare the way.

Hours later,
Bashea was crying out in pain. “I need Tahj! I need Tahj!” She sobbed.

Dara laid her forehead on Bashea
’s, repeating reassuringly over and over, “I know, dear one, I know.”

And in the twilight hours, Bashea gave birth to a baby girl.

* * *

Tahj marched along, almost feeling claustrophobic in the circle of soldiers. Surrounding him was his entourage of handpicked men, sixteen of the bravest and strongest, including a handful of Kadeesh’s friends and, of course, Radeem. Surrounding them were men who had once been loyal to his father but now vowed allegiance to Lord Boltar—for he would always be Lord Boltar to Tahj. They were escorting Tahj and his men to the throne room for an audience.

It felt strange to be within the castle walls. Where once his family crest hung on the wall, there was a tremendous shield with a wickedly taloned, black eagle on a background of red. Overhead, where multicolored flags used to wave, were now row upon row of black and red flags. He watched them flutter a warning and snap with the breeze like so many dragons’ tongues. Where once he heard the chirp of the small birds who darted in and out of the sunny archways, now the only sound to accompany the steady and somewhat ominous marching of men’s feet was the sad cooing of a lone mourning dove, which could be heard, but not seen.

Radeem nudged him as they reached the throne room, whose large, cypress doors had always remained open in invitation in his father’s time, but now were closed and cold. The men stood nervously waiting while sentries on either side drug open the doors, the iron locking pulls dragging against the tile with a grating, metallic sound. As they passed through the doorway, Tahj again thought of the mouth of a dragon, and for the hundredth time wondered if he had made the right decision to meet on Boltar’s grounds.
But these are my grounds, my home, and he has intruded long enough.

As Tahj came into view of his father’s throne, he almost stopped short. Although he had, of course, known Boltar would be sitting there, it still came as a shock to his system. When he looked at the steps, now bearing a red-and-black-fringed carpet, he saw the corpses that had been lying there when he fled for his life. Although he’d tried to prepare himself for this, he just hadn’t been capable of it. Pushed forward by the others, he came to the center of the room and stood before the throne of the man who’d murdered his mother and father, and probably his beloved brother, too.

Boltar sat on the throne with a golden staff in his hand, two guards flanking him with golden spears. Where glass lanterns had been on the columns of the stairs, there now burned crude torches, a rather odd addition, Tahj thought, but he supposed it made Boltar appear more menacing to some. Tahj knew he was only a coward who hid behind the might of the masses and felt no fear, only loathing. Boltar’s snake-like eyes glinted in the light cast by the torches.

“King Boltar of Avistad,” someone announced loudly. The whole of the crowd bowed their heads in respect. Tahj commanded his head to bow, but the best it could do was a slight nod. Now came the problem of how to address the fraudulent king with respect without vomiting. But Boltar saved him the trouble by speaking first.

“Ahh, young Tahj. How good to see you.”

The sound of the man’s voice made the hair on Tahj’s arms stand up, and he was well aware his proper title had been dropped.

Radeem glanced at Tahj. He could see the veins in the prince’s face and neck pulsing, but he was surprisingly under control.

“Yes, Boltar, I am glad to be back in
my
home.”

Score one for Tahj,
Radeem thought, and he had to cough to hide the smirk he couldn’t keep from his face. Radeem scanned the area expertly and was surprised to find no more soldiers were posted in the room besides the four standing at attention on the balcony behind more of the garish, self-glorifying red and black banners. The captain felt confident, however, some were now amassed behind the large doors they entered. But he would see to that when the fighting started.
If
the fighting started, he reminded himself. He smiled. The odds were much more favorable than he’d anticipated.

“What can I do for you, Tahj?” Boltar asked in a bored tone. He snapped a finger at a servant who hurried off to fetch something.

You can vacate the throne, you officious ass!
Radeem thought.

“I have come to make a proposal to spare many Avistad lives, which would, of course, be both your and my topmost concern.”

Boltar leaned forward, “Oh, are there Avistad lives at stake?”