On Fire's Wings - Christie Golden [77]
“Jashemi,” whispered Kevla. There was no response. He was deeply asleep. Kevla didn’t know what to do. She didn’t want to speak so loudly that she might be overheard, but saw no other course.
“Jashemi!” she said, more loudly. “Wake up!”
He started, and looked around. His eyes widened when they looked at the fire.
“Kevla! I can see you!”
That was alarming. Up until this point, Kevla had not realized that she could be seen by those she watched. She had been very lucky to escape detection until now.
“He’s with her,” she said.
Jashemi nodded and rose from the bed. Kevla looked away, her cheeks burning. She had not realized Jashemi slept unclothed. She did not extinguish the fire, however, and after a moment, asked of it, “Show me Yeshi.”
Jashemi threw on a rhia and went silently through the House to his parents’ sleeping chamber. As he stood outside, he wondered what would be the best course of action. To knock and feign surprise at seeing Halid there? No, that might give Yeshi a chance to hide him, or he might climb out through the window.
As he hesitated, he heard voices. Soft, lustful murmurings. Laughter.
A red haze fell down over his vision. He heard blood thundering in his ears, and before he realized what he had done he had placed his shoulder to the door and broken it open.
They rushed to pull the sheets up, to cover themselves. Furious, Jashemi grabbed the sheets and yanked them back. He stared, anger mixing with contempt, as hands went to cover groins and breasts.
He reached for Halid, seizing the bigger man’s wrists. Halid’s knee slammed into Jashemi’s stomach, knocking the breath out of him. Jashemi’s hands opened and he staggered back. Halid came after him. He clutched a wicked-looking dagger. It glinted in the firelight. Of course. Halid would not be so foolish as to sleep with his master’s wife without a weapon immediately to hand.
The blade arced down. Gasping, Jashemi darted to the side and felt the breeze as Halid struck only air. He whirled and angled his body, ramming Halid with his shoulder with all his strength. Halid’s bare feet slipped on one of the rugs and he went down, still gripping the knife. He managed to roll over before Jashemi bore down on him, and Jashemi felt the tip of the blade slice through his rhia and graze his ribs. He slammed his elbow into Halid’s throat, then gripped the hand that held the knife. He squeezed and Halid’s hands opened. Jashemi seized the knife. Halid grabbed his arm, but Jashemi easily twisted out of it. In a smooth motion, the blade was at Halid’s throat.
For a long moment, they lay there, Jashemi atop Halid, gasping for breath. Jashemi stared into the eyes of his father’s most trusted friend, and saw there none of the affectionate warmth he had seen for the last twenty years. He saw only hatred and treachery.
He pressed down with the dagger. A thin trickle of red seeped out from beneath the bright blade. Halid had committed treason against his khashim. The punishment was death.
Halid’s eyes grew wider as the pressure on his throat increased, but uttered no word. With a low oath, Jashemi leaped to his feet. He still held the dagger.
He could not do it. He could not murder in cold blood, not even when it was deserved. The crime was committed against Tahmu, and Tahmu must be the one to order punishment. Jashemi would abide by the laws of his people, despite the rage that surged along his veins.
Halid’s hand went to his throat and found it whole. Slowly, he grinned.
“I knew you wouldn’t have the stomach for it,” he said.
Jashemi felt his face flush but ignored the taunt. “I will send a falcon to my father describing in detail what I saw here tonight. Your lives will be in his hands, not mine. May the Dragon have mercy on you, for you’ll get none from Tahmu or me.”
He turned and was about to make good his threat when Yeshi’s voice stopped him cold.
“What notice will Tahmu take of lies told by a son who is possessed by demons?