On Fire's Wings - Christie Golden [83]
“Perhaps,” Tahmu acquiesced, “but this is the way of things. And it is only a year. Before you know it, you will be home again, with your bride.”
Jashemi grit his teeth, looking down to hide his expression until he could get it under control. If only I could warn him, tell him!
“Father,” he began, feeling his way carefully, “There are some who might think you growing old and feeble, with a son already of age. There might be…plots against you.”
“There have always been plots against me,” Tahmu laughed. “But I have Halid to watch my back. That’s what a Second is for, after all.”
“Yes,” said Jashemi, dully, “That is what a Second is for.”
“I leave two hawks with you,” Tahmu continued. “If you have need of me, send a message.”
“I will. Father…please take care of Kevla.”
Tahmu stopped in midstride and regarded his son. “So,” he said, “you have been seeing her, haven’t you?”
Jashemi smiled slightly. “Come, Father. I can’t believe you didn’t know.”
“Of course I knew,” Tahmu said, smiling himself now. The smile faded as he added, “I only wish there had been no need for secrecy. You are brother and sister. You should have been raised as such.”
I wish we were not, Jashemi thought, a heady yet painful mixture of desire and guilt sweeping through him. I wish she were anyone in the world but my sister.
“It is time,” said Tahmu, and Jashemi realized their walk together had brought them to the corral. Tahmu’s sa’abah had been saddled, and as it turned bright eyes to them its tack jingled.
They stood looking at one another, father and son, yet two men grown. Tahmu held open his arms and they embraced tightly.
“You have a great opportunity here, my son,” Tahmu whispered. “Relations with the Sa’abah Clan have never been good, but I can think of no better ambassador than you.”
They parted, hands still on one another’s shoulders. “You share my vision,” Tahmu continued. “You desire peace more than war. Let us see if we can bring this about.”
With a final clap on Jashemi’s shoulder, Tahmu mounted. His entourage was waiting for this signal, and they mounted as well. Tahmu did not give a last wave or shout a farewell; he had said all he meant to say. Jashemi watched as his father rode into the desert, and his throat closed up.
Be careful, Father.
Life among the Sa’abah Clan was very different from what Jashemi was accustomed to. They were nomadic, so there was no Great House. The tents of the khashim and the higher-caste members of the clan were as ornate as could be managed, but even they were nowhere as fine as even the poorest room in the House of Four Waters. Because there was little opportunity to grow crops and store meats, the clan subsisted mostly on the meat they could hunt and the fruits they happened upon. Jashemi found he missed fresh vegetables terribly. The entire atmosphere was much more rough-and-tumble, and Jashemi was reminded more of his uncle’s household than his father’s. The greatest single privation, though, was a lack of water. He was used to bathing every day, sometimes even twice a day if he had been out hunting or in the sun for a long time. Now, he realized that the basin of water he and Shali had used to cleanse themselves on the night of their wedding was as much of a bath as he would ever have here. The resource was finite; it was whatever the clan stumbled upon in their travels and whatever they could carry.
But more than the comforts of a proper bed or water to bathe in, Jashemi missed Kevla. All the other things could have been borne had she been present. Their time together had been infrequent and laced with fear of discovery, but now, denied even this, Jashemi realized how much he had grown to count on his sister. She understood him, accepted him…loved him, he was sure of it, though they had not spoken of such things.
He did not dare even to be close to a fire, and was