On Fire's Wings - Christie Golden [71]
“Producing an heir is important,” said Tahmu, “but there is more to it than that. There is…tenderness, and pleasure.”
Jashemi sighed and then laughed. “I sense you will not let me leave until you have told me what you think I need to know.”
Tahmu, too, laughed, and the tension between them eased. “I would feel better if I sent you to your wife’s bed with a little knowledge, that much is true.”
Still chuckling, Jashemi replied, “Speak then, and I will listen like a dutiful son.”
So Tahmu shared what he knew about pleasuring a woman; where they liked to be touched, when to be gentle and when to be forceful. As he spoke, he thought of Keishla and the tender, too-brief time they had shared.
True to his word, Jashemi listened patiently. Emotions flickered over his face, but Tahmu could not interpret them. He asked no questions. When he had finished, Jashemi searched his father’s face, as if trying to memorize it.
“Thank you, Father,” he said formally, ducked underneath the water once more, then got out. “Enjoy your bath. I will see you at dinner.”
As Tahmu watched his son ascend the stairs with a quick step, he wondered, half-ruefully, if all fathers felt as puzzled by their son’s behavior as he.
Tahmu made the announcement at dinner that night. He did not inform Yeshi beforehand; he was in no mood for an argument before dinner, and he knew he would get one. He seemed to get an argument from Yeshi if he suggested that the sun might rise in the morning and set in the evening.
She was wise enough not to publicly contradict her husband, but the look she gave both Jashemi and Tahmu was openly hostile. She did venture, as she reached languidly for a piece of fruit, “Husband, do you truly believe there is time to notify all so they may come prepared?”
“The hawks will fly tomorrow,” he said.
“And, Mother,” Jashemi interjected, “my birthday comes at a quiet time. The Acknowledgment will be in the midst of Second Harvest season. Our people will appreciate not having to let the fruits of their hard labor feed animals instead of their families.”
Tahmu gave his son an admiring look. “Well spoken, Jashemi,” he said. This had not occurred to him, but it was true. It would indeed be better to hold the ceremony sooner rather than later. Jashemi wasn’t thinking like a hotheaded youth. He was thinking of his people’s ease and comfort—thinking like a future khashim. Proud of his son, Tahmu clapped a hand on the boy’s shoulder.
Yeshi glowered.
Yet again, the House of Four Waters began preparing for the descent of hundreds of people. This time, though, the gathering would be a purely celebratory occasion. No one would be riding off to a raid, perhaps never to return. Still, the event brought with it its own unique set of challenges. They would need places for the elderly, women, children, and servants to sleep, not merely healthy men of a certain age. Tahmu rode into the river valleys, asking higher-caste men if they would open their homes to other Clanspeople from far away. They would do as their khashim ordered, of course, but a personal request and thanks from their lord would ease the burden somewhat.
Kevla, as usual at times like this, was worked hard. But she went through her chores with composure and a sense of achievement. This was exactly what she and Jashemi wanted, and it could result in saving Tahmu’s life.
They started trickling in several days before the actual date of the ceremony. Kevla knew that the Clan was large, but as the days passed and more and more throngs of people descended, she began to wonder how many people actually called themselves members of the Clan of Four Waters. She asked Sahlik, who chuckled and replied, “Soon as count the hairs on your head, child. I can think of at least two hundred who are high-caste enough to be known to me. And they have families and servants of their own.”
Kevla doubted