On Fire's Wings - Christie Golden [84]
He was a stranger here, even though he was now kin to the clan leader, and the clansmen never let him forget it. They laughed at him when he asked for a spoon to eat the thick, meaty stew, stared aghast the first time he inquired about water. It was no wonder the clans were always at each others’ throats. They were so different, and made so little effort to try to understand each other.
To ease the ache of Kevla’s absence, Jashemi strove to fill the void with information. His wife was the one person he felt he could comfortably ask potentially embarrassing questions of, and when they were alone he bent her ear. This served several purposes. First, he learned about his new family and their customs; second, he forged a closer relationship with the stranger who was now his wife, and third, he filled their time together with this new sort of bonding instead of the more common union between man and wife.
He was racked with guilt over what had transpired on their wedding night; the only reason he had been able to satisfy her as a man should was that he pretended she was Kevla. That was an insult to both her and the beloved woman who was his sister. Since then, he ruthlessly drove all images of Kevla that were not innocent from his mind, and did not touch his wife in a sexual manner. Better to abstain from both than to sully either.
At first, Shali seemed perplexed by his lack of desire. But she warmed to him when she saw his genuine interest in learning about her people, and seemed willing to make this intimacy an acceptable substitute.
“Do your people not grow weary of traveling?” Jashemi inquired one night as he sipped a goblet of wine with Shali. The wine was excellent; Tahmu had brought it from the House of Four Waters. It tasted of home.
“Oh, no,” Shali replied, taking a drink from her own goblet. “It is in our blood, this wandering. We would feel trapped if we were to stay in one place too long.” She leaned forward. “Tell me again of your House,” she said.
So Jashemi spoke of the House and its never-ending supply of water, its strong stone foundations and brightly painted hues, its enormous kitchens and gardens. Shali’s eyes shone as she listened. They had been speaking like this for weeks now, and Jashemi thought it was safe to move on to other topics.
“My father has long wanted to be counted a friend of the Sa’abah Clan,” he ventured.
“Then giving us his son was a good thing to do,” she said, smiling sweetly.
“It seems to me your people are very skilled at warfare.”
“We have to be,” she replied. “Everyone wants our sa’abahs. But they do not breed well when kept in a corral.”
Jashemi wondered if the so-called “wanderlust” Shali had attributed to her tribe was dictated not from within but from the sa’abahs. They were as valuable as water, and if they only bred readily when on the move, well then, it made sense to become a traveling clan.
“Of course everyone wants them,” he said, “but some would prefer not to fight to obtain them. Why does your father oppose trade?” He kept his voice light, as if the conversation meant little to him personally, but he hung on her answer.
“What is to stop another clan from trading and then descending at night to reclaim what they had given?”
“Trust,” Jashemi said simply.
She looked sharply at him then. “Trust,” she said, “is a luxury that perhaps those in your Clan can afford.” He marveled at the bluntness of her words; the wine was having an effect. “It is easy to trust when you are in no danger. When was the last time the House of Four Waters came under attack?”
“Not in my lifetime or in my father’s,” he admitted.
She shrugged, the gesture conveying more than words could. She drained her cup and poured more wine. “Besides,” she said, “it keeps our warriors ready for battle from all sides.”
“You mean, from all