The sound of the door opening made her jump. Sara backed hastily away, wondering belatedly if it had been a mistake to make herself presentable once more. The captain stood in the doorway, smiling approvingly. Then he gestured toward the door. “Where are you taking me?” Sara asked suspiciously, forgetting that he could not understand her.
The captain shrugged. Abandoning all pretense of patience, he swept down on her in three rapid strides and grabbed her wrists, tying them in front of her with the trailing ends of her sash. Ignoring her shrieks and struggles, he called on a brawny sailor to hold her still while he fitted a veil of some unfamiliar diaphanous material over her head and pulled the deep hood of the robe down to cover her face. The sailor threw her over his shoulder with careless strength, and she was carried away.
Like Anvar, Sara was placed in an uncomfortable, jouncing cart, traveling blind. After a while, she knew from the tilt of the vehicle that they were climbing a steep hill. Then the road flattened, and the cart drew to a halt. Sara heard voices, followed by the grinding creak of huge gates opening. Then they were in motion once more.
They stopped, and Sara heard the cheerful patter of a fountain. The captain helped her down, and she found herself standing on glassy stone that felt delightfully cool to her bare feet. He pulled the hood from her head. She saw his outline through the translucent veil, and that of another man to whom he was speaking with rapid eloquence. Then he lifted the veil and the other man gasped. Sara, blinking, echoed his gasp at the sight of him. He was short and chubby, his face elaborately painted with cosmetics, his eyes outlined with kohl. He wore many glittering necklaces over brightly colored robes, and gold earrings pierced his ears. His shaven head was painted with intricate swirling designs in gold. The overall effect was painfully dazzling.
At least, Sara thought smugly, her appearance seemed to dazzle him, too. He was almost jumping up and down with excitement. There was a rapid volley of talk between the two men, then the fat man gave the captain several bags that clinked, and seemed to be heavy. Sara felt a sudden stab of panic. He was selling her? As he turned to leave she tried to grab his sleeve, forgetting that her hands were bound. She didn’t think much of him, but he was the only familiar thing in this strange place. He shrugged her off, and leaping aboard his cart, maneuvered the donkey carefully,, round in the narrow space of the white-walled courtyard. The high, sturdy gates were closed and locked behind him by two slender young men with shaven heads and curiously effeminate, painted faces. Sara felt a wild urge to run, but there was nowhere to run to. The walls that surrounded her were very high. Her eyes filled with tears that spilled unchecked down her cheeks, since her hands were still bound to her waist by her sash.
The fat man clucked in concern, and patted her arm, “Weep not,” he said, in a high, reedy voice.
Sara stared at him in astonished relief. “You speak my language?”
He nodded vigorously. “Little,” he beamed, “Khisu speak good. He teach. You like Khisu. Weep not, lady. Spoil.” With a gentle hand, he stroked the tears from her cheeks. “Be proud.
You for Khisu—your word, King.”
“King?” Sara gasped.
The fat man nodded again. “Khisu many beautiful lady. Want always beautiful lady. Want you, for sure.” He gave her a dazzling smile, showing a gold tooth at the front. “Come,” he said. “Bathe. Dress. See other lady. Many lady. See Khisu this night. Weep not. He like.”
The ladies’ quarters were a labyrinth of many interconnecting rooms, their walls and floors richly decorated with pastel tiles and intricate mosaics. There were rooms with silk-covered couches, and tables, chairs, and chests that were inlaid with gold; rooms with wide, low beds curtained in drifting white muslin; rooms with fountains, pools, and huge, circular marble baths. There were shady courtyards and gardens full of exotic flowers and vivid butterflies. The air was laden with mingled perfumes and the sweet piercing song of bright-hued birds in cages of gold.
The women drifted in and out, some like silent ghosts in their diaphanous robes. Others gathered in chattering flocks around the edges of pools, or splashed and soaked together in the communal baths with a complete disregard for their nudity. A few gossiped together on the soft cushions of couches. There were more of them than Sara could count, and each was more beautiful than the last.
Sara’s companion detached half a dozen dusky beauties from one group, jabbering to them in their own language, with an occasional gesture toward her. Their amazement at her golden hair seemed no less than his own had been, and they crowded round her, exclaiming loudly and fingering her heavy tresses. The little man silenced them sharply and issued what seemed to be a stream of instructions. Then he turned to Sara with a smile. “Zalid, I,” he said, pointing at himself. “You want, you send. You?”
“Sara,” she told him, realizing that he wanted her name.
“Sara. Good. Like desert wind. Go with lady now. Bathe, dress, eat. Later, see Khisu.” Unbinding her hands, he delivered her into the care of the girls.
Sara was ushered into a luxurious suite of rooms. She ate first, the chattering girls serving her with spiced meats, fruit, and strange, flat, leathery bread. She drank wine from a jeweled goblet, and looked around her sumptuous chambers, wondering if she had strayed into a dream. Then she bathed again, in a deep pool of steaming water scented with flowers and herbs. After her bath, two of the girls massaged her body with fragrant oils.
Sara relaxed beneath their hands, enjoying the pampering. As Vannor’s wife she had been used to such attentions, and over the last few days she had missed them dreadfully. After the terrors and hardships of her flight from Nexis, the harem was a haven, not a prison. She was not concerned about meeting the—what did they call him?—the Khisu. She knew she was beautiful. She had used her looks to twist Anvar and that lout Vannor around her little finger, and had no doubt that she could do the same with this King. She felt a flutter of excitement. A real, live King! It was the chance of a lifetime! Sara stretched like a cat, thinking how far she had come in the last few years. This was a far cry from marrying the baker’s son!
Anvar, indeed! Sara scowled, irritated by the slight pang of guilt that marred her self-congratulation. She had not seen him since their capture. She shrugged. He’d been alive then, so they must have plans for him, and he was already a servant, so things couldn’t get much worse. Besides, it served him right for dragging her off on this insane journey! She meant to survive, to take care of herself. With that, she put Anvar out of her mind.
They brought great heaps of clothes for her to choose from—embroidered robes of translucent silk in a myriad of colors, veils with less substance than a summer morning’s mist. They brought gilded sandals, and perfumes, cosmetics, and more jewels than Sara had seen in her life. She took her time choosing, combining the materials for maximum effect. She was in her element now. This was what she was best at.
Ar last she was ready. Sara stood gazing at herself in a full-length mirror of polished silver, and the vision that stared back at her took her breath away. Gods, she thought, I’m stunning! I’ve never looked so beautiful! Although her heart was bearing rather fast, Sara waited with calm confidence to be summoned into the presence of the King. The dazzling creature in the mirror smiled at her enigmatically. This was going to be child’s play.
21
The Bracelets of Zathbar
Inch by inch, Aurian searched the deserted beach, and found the remains of a fire and signs of a violent scuffle. Her heart turned over. What had happened here? A few clear tracks—the prints of strange, pointed boots—still remained. A dull gleam in the sand caught her eye. Digging down, the Mage unearthed her own dagger. With a sinking heart, she tried to reconstruct what had happened, toying absently with the knife as she thought. No strange prints leading to or from the forest. The invaders had come by sea, then. Sure enough, there was a deep rut at the water’s edge, where the prow of a boat had been pulled up onto the sand. No bodies. No blood. Had Anvar and Sara been captured alive? If so, where were they now? Aurian, full of self-recrimination, cursed her tardiness. Why had she not returned sooner? Why had she ever left them?