On Fire's Wings - Christie Golden [31]
And there were many, many male strangers present.
“I am sorry—Yeshi dismissed us—Sahlik sent me to the kitchen—” She glanced around wildly. None of the serving women had veils. But she now saw what she had been too busy to observe earlier—that all of the high-caste women and their servants, kneeling obediently behind their mistresses, were veiled at this highly formal, highly public occasion.
“Great khashim, I meant no dishonor—” she began again. A movement caught her attention, and before she could think to avert her gaze she found herself staring at a high-caste boy who could only be Jashemi-kha-Tahmu.
He was slightly younger than she, about eleven, still slim with a child’s build. His face, though, was strong and appealing, as was his father’s, and he had his father’s sharp eyes and curly dark hair. He was staring at her in shock, no doubt outraged at her disrespectful conduct, his mouth, with lips as full as a girl’s, slightly open. Before she could look down, his dark gaze flickered to his father’s face, then back to hers.
“Veil yourself and take up your position behind your mistress,” said Tahmu. “Hurry, Kevla. Go now.”
She nodded, biting her lip to keep the tears from spilling down her cheeks. As she turned and walked as quickly as she dared from the hall, she felt someone staring at her. The feeling was so unnerving that she had to turn around. As she did, she saw Jashemi, her young master, watching her every move.
Shame washed over Kevla, and she was grateful to make her escape before hot tears flowed down her burning cheeks.
Chapter Seven
Jashemi-kha-Tahmu was happy to be home. He was not overly fond of his mother’s brother, with whom he had spent the last two years. Naram was loud and boisterous, the opposite of Tahmu, and Jashemi had had barely any chance to interact with his cousins and his aunt. Jashemi was uncertain as to what he was supposed to be “learning” during the two years. Apparently, the vast majority of what Naram had to teach was how to yell, how to drink, and how to make rude comments about females.
Naram’s fondness for physical activity, though, did translate to his nephew. Jashemi had ridden more in these two years than he ever had in his life. He had also learned how to hunt, though he was always sorry to extinguish the light in the beautiful, soft brown eyes of the liah, and he found that he did enjoy male company, other than that of his uncle. He learned to sleep soundly on hard-packed earth beneath a sky crowded with stars, and to travel on almost as little food and water as a sa’abah needed.
Jashemi quickly learned to enjoy what he found pleasant, steel himself against what he disliked, and get through the time with patience. But when he saw his father’s colors on the horizon, flapping in a rare breeze, Jashemi’s heart was so full of happiness that he almost wept.
He had not rushed to greet his father. Such displays were for children. Instead, he prostrated himself as all did before the khashim of the Clan of Four Waters, but he did so without the obsequiousness that the others displayed. Tahmu bade his son rise first, in acknowledgment of Jashemi’s rank as heir to this vast clan. There was a raucous party to mark Jashemi’s last night, and the boy was relieved to see that despite his polite demeanor, Tahmu appeared to dislike the drunken revelry almost as much as his son did.
He rode alongside his father the entire long way home, telling Tahmu what he had learned and trying to minimize the less savory aspects of two years spent with Naram and Pela.
At one point, Tahmu asked him how Naram treated his family and his servants. Jashemi hesitated, loath to speak badly of his mother’s brother.
“I am the only one who can hear you,” Tahmu said, “the others are riding too far away. And I have raised you to speak the truth to me,