On Fire's Wings - Christie Golden [29]
Yeshi was tended to almost nonstop as well. At first Kevla was worried when Yeshi requested Tiah to do her henna.
“My lady,” stammered Kevla, “are you not pleased with my designs?”
“Quite pleased, my little bird,” Yeshi replied soothingly. She added, with a wink at Tiah, “but there are some parts of my body that you are too young yet to henna.”
Tiah smiled, and the two older women laughed together. While there was not a single spot on her mother’s body that Kevla had not, at one time or another, adorned with the green plant paste, Kevla feigned shyness, and smiled at Yeshi when she patted the girl’s cheek and left arm in arm with Tiah.
“You will help me,” said Sahlik, coming up behind Kevla and taking her arm. “Ranna, I know that Maluuk will need to stock up on supplies. Go see what he needs.”
Sulkily, Ranna said, “He has an apprentice. Let Asha do the work.”
Sahlik straightened and looked the young woman in the eye. “You obey Yeshi,” she said with deceptive softness. “When Yeshi is not around, you obey me. Asha will be busy preparing salves and ointments. He will not have time to run to the market.”
“Why not send Kevla?”
“Because I’m sending you. I have other duties for Kevla.”
Ranna sighed. “Very well, Sahlik.” She slowly moved in the direction of the door.
Kevla watched her go, unable to suppress a smirk of satisfaction. No doubt, Sahlik had something special, something fun, to offer her.
She did not.
Halfway through the task that Sahlik had assigned Kevla—that of opening and freshening the rooms of the khashimu—Kevla wished that she’d been the one to go to market and shop for herbs and oils for the healer.
Jashemi’s rooms had been sealed up for almost two years. With no air to waft through them, they smelled stale and unwelcoming. Kevla, laden with sweet-smelling, just-washed linens, wrinkled her nose despite the opulence of the chambers.
The bed was bare. Fine dust had settled on every piece of furniture, proof that the powdery sand found a way where even fresh air did not. Kevla looked around and put the bedclothes safely down outside, in the corridor. She put her hands on her narrow hips, surveyed the enormity of the task, sighed, and went to work. It took her the better part of the afternoon, and by the time she was done, she smelled worse than the room had. But it was finished.
She had beaten the mattress and pillows to rid them of dust, and covered them with sumptuous blue and green fabrics. The pillows were embroidered with gold thread, which shone among the deeper hues. Jashemi’s clothes had been removed from storage, washed, and now rested in a chest made of a light wood that smelled tangy and sharp-sweet. Kevla wondered if the young master would have outgrown them; he had been gone for a while.
Kevla had polished the table and filled ceramic bowls with fresh fruit. Another bowl and a pitcher of water stood on a small pedestal beside the bed. She had cleaned and refilled the oil lamps, beaten the rugs, swept, and mopped the floor, and now, as Sahlik had instructed her, tucked dried whole fruits studded with cloves among the bedding and here and there.
She ached, but she was proud of her handiwork. The young master’s room was ready.
As she went to the caverns to cleanse herself from the dust and sweat of the day’s labor, she wondered what this boy would be like. He was not much younger than she. Would he be kind and wise, like his father? Would he be petty and spoiled, like his mother? She had strained her ears listening for any gossip that would give a hint, but no one talked about Jashemi-kha-Tahmu very much, except as his father’s heir.
Kevla was putting the finishing touches on Yeshi’s hair, weaving dried flowers and jewels into the glossy black locks, when a strange, wailing sound made her jump.
“Ouch!” Yeshi’s manicured hand went to her head and rubbed to