On Fire's Wings - Christie Golden [4]
He was clad in the man’s short rhia, and the powerful legs that gripped the horse were covered with snug-fitting white silk breeches. Belt and boots were of finely tooled leather, and his dark hair was protected from the harsh rays of the Arukani sun by an embroidered kerchief. His face was clean-shaven, proof of his rank, for only khashims shaved their beards. Gold earrings glinted, catching the sparkle of bright eyes that were now trained intently on Kevla. Fastened to the leather belt were an expensive sword and matching dagger. At a respectful distance, mounted on their own horses, two servants waited and watched.
“You cry the services of a halaan,” said the khashim without preamble. His voice was a rich, deep rumble, quiet and self-assured. When Kevla stared up at him, transfixed, he gentled his tone further and said, “You may answer truly, child. None will punish you for your…impertinence.”
Kevla swallowed hard. If her mouth had been dry earlier, now it seemed as vast a wasteland of drought as the Arukani desert itself. She tried again.
“Most honored uhlal, great khashim, I do indeed.” A thought occurred to her and she ventured in a hopeful voice, “Perhaps my lord is interested in Keishla’s services?”
The khashim smiled at that, a smile that seemed to Kevla to be somewhat sad, which made no sense to her at all.
“Not her services, child, but I am indeed interested in Keishla. Are…are you her daughter, perchance?”
Kevla nodded.
His dark eyes roamed her face. Almost, she could feel his gaze like a physical touch as it glided across her small nose, large, dark eyes, and soft mouth. For an instant, she knew fear. Perhaps the man would want her instead of her mother. Some men, she knew, liked young flesh—very young indeed. Keishla had promised her daughter that she would never be used in such a manner. But if a khashim came asking, with gold and jewels to offer…?
For the first time, Kevla was grateful for her mother’s stubborn sense of pride. If Keishla would not go diving in the dust for coins for a khashim’s amusement, then surely she would never give her daughter over for one’s pleasure.
“I had thought as much,” said the khashim softly, more to himself than to Kevla. He straightened and seemed to shake off his melancholy. “Take me to her. What is your name, child?”
“Kevla, great khashim.”
“Kevla what?”
A blush of shame rose in Kevla’s cheeks. She hesitated for a moment, then replied softly, “Kevla Bai-sha.” She hated the name. It literally meant “female without father,” and was as unkind an epithet as “halaan.” Bai could and sometimes did hold various positions in society, but never high-ranking. They were permitted marriage, but only among themselves. Few Bai knew trades; who wanted to teach them? Most begged for the food that nourished them, counting on the shame of those who had perhaps fathered such misfits.
“But I think, great khashim,” continued Kevla, “that you knew that before ever you asked.”
Again he smiled that sad smile, and nodded. “You are right, Kevla.” He deliberately did not utter her mark of illegitimacy. For that she was grateful. Bad enough she had to suffer the jeers and taunts of others daily. Somehow, she felt very strongly that she did not wish to hear this large, powerful man calling her “Bai-sha.”
He turned in his saddle toward his servants and said, “Leave us.”
“But, most honored lord—” one protested.
“I said, leave us. And no word to your mistress. She need know nothing about this, and as I understand, both of you have families to feed.”
The meaning was clear. The two servants inclined their heads and turned their mounts back toward the marketplace.
Kevla watched them go and smothered a smile.
“Shall we go?” said the khashim.
Kevla nodded, stepping forward into the dusty street to lead the way when suddenly she was seized and hauled upward. She had just tightened her limbs to struggle when she was plopped down in front of the great khashim himself. Startled, she craned her neck to look quizzically at him.
“We will make better time mounted,” he said simply, as if he was