“And you thought of Matthew,” Ramon said gravely.
“Of course I thought of your son! Is he not the mightiest wizard of the West?”
Jimena stared, amazed. Was Matthew really so skilled?
“Who else would have magic strong enough to steal away djinn, even such small ones?”
“Not even Matthew, I should think,” Ramon said. “He is not Solomon, after all.”
“Who else!” Lakshmi’s face distorted with anger, turning dark. “Who else in all the West?”
Jimena knew the anger for the other side of fear and cried, “You poor child! I know how frantic you must be, for my own grandchildren have only now been stolen away! Oh, let us share our grief, not rant at one another!”
“Your grandchildren?” The blood drained from Lakshmi’s face as she turned to stare at the little figure on the battlements. “Matthew’s babes? His offspring stolen?”
“His, and Queen Alisande’s,” Jimena confirmed. “A little boy five years of age, and a princess who has only learned to walk within this last month.”
“Can he think that I stole his children away?” Lakshmi gasped. “Can he have done this to me to retaliate?”
“He does not know of his children’s abduction, for he is halfway around the world fighting barbarians and evil magic! Surely he is too deeply enmeshed in protecting the West from a barbarian horde to have reason to kidnap children! Besides, the little ones are precious to Matthew, all of them, not his alone! He would never do such a thing!” Jimena took a breath and held out her hands, beseeching, tears in her eyes. “Princess of djinn, will you not help us to recover our lost babes? Then perhaps we can aid you in regaining your own! We must strive together, not against one another!”
Lakshmi wavered, the uncertainty in her eyes metamorphosing into longing for another woman to share her pain—but she could not give in so easily. “How can I trust you? Or you!” She turned back to Ramon. Then comprehension dawned in her eyes. “If she is Matthew’s mother, she is your wife!”
“That is my great good fortune,” Ramon acknowledged, “and she my greatest blessing.” He caught Jimena’s hand. “Lakshmi, Marid and princess of djinn, may I introduce my wife, the Lady Jimena Mantrell? Jimena, this is the Princess Lakshmi, who aided Matthew and myself so greatly in Ibile, and without whom we might not have come home to you.”
Jimena curtsied. “I am honored, Your Highness.”
But Lakshmi only darted a guilty glance at her, then back at Ramon. “Your wife? But she is not old, is not …” She ran out of words.
Just as well, for her guilt fanned the coals of Jimena’s suspicions into white-hot flames. Did the djinna feel guilty about what she had done with Ramon, or what she had only wished to do?
CHAPTER 15
Ramon threw in a discreet reminder. “But your husband, the Prince Marudin—why has he not come to interrogate Matthew with you? How is it we have been spared his wrath, which, when coupled with yours, would certainly have leveled this castle in minutes?”
Lakshmi stared at him, stricken, for a long minute. Then she bowed her face into her hands, blasting a wail like a tornado siren that shot up the scale and diminished in volume as she herself shrank, stepping down onto the battlements and diminishing to mortal size to bury her head against Ramon’s chest. Her shoulders shook and her whole body shuddered as she wept out her rage and grief.
Ramon folded his arms around her more or less automatically and stared over her head at his wife in shock and alarm.
All Jimena’s jealousy vanished on the instant, for if Lakshmi had been Ramon’s lover, he would certainly have known how to give the comfort she needed. Jimena gave him a small smile and a nod of encouragement, pantomiming holding a baby and patting its back.
Ramon nodded his comprehension and tightened his arms about the weeping woman. Djinna or not, centuries old or not, she was a beginning mother who needed comfort and reassurance, and he gave what he could. It also occurred to him to wonder where her parents were.
The storm of tears passed, and Lakshmi pushed against Ramon’s chest, moving away a little. Ramon pulled out a handkerchief and dabbed at her cheeks, then let her take it. Jimena stepped forward, and Ramon, knowing his cue after a quarter century of marriage, stepped back.
Jimena embraced the taller woman with scarcely a second’s lapse in hugs. “Poor child, what tragedy is this that has befallen you? Has your husband played the rogue and vanished in the night?”
“No, never!” Lakshmi cried in indignation. “Marudin loves me! I have bound him to me by love—” She blushed a moment. “—of many sorts. He would never leave me of his own will!”
“Then of whose will has he left you?” Jimena looked straight into her eyes.
Lakshmi bowed her head, and the tears gushed again.
Jimena held on, patting her back, crooning, and wondering if djinn babies needed to be burped.
When the worst of the storm had passed, Jimena pressed gently, “Come now, we must know! What vile creature has stolen your husband away, and by what power?”
“By the power of the lamp that once held him!” Lakshmi said, with a hiccup.
“But Matthew dissolved that spell!” Ramon exclaimed.
“He did, but another sorcerer has found a way to weave a new spell around the same lamp.” Lakshmi began a fresh torrent of tears.
Jimena held on and gave what comfort she could. “You poor child, to have your husband abducted, then your children, too! I can see why you thought of Matthew, for who could know better how to reweave a spell than he who had unraveled it? But since we know he did not, tell me—what monster has made you the target of such malice?”
At last the tears slackened, and Lakshmi drew back. “Some vile Eastern sorcerer. More than that I know not, save that his skin is that of any Arab or Persian, and he wears a long robe of midnight-blue and a tapering hat with a rounded tip. Oh, and white whiskers and hair.”
“There is not much there for us to work with.” Ramon frowned. “Where has this sorcerer taken him?”
“To these very barbarians whom you say your son has gone to fight! I have followed, I have espied from on high, I have seen Marudin boil forth from his lamp to smite his old masters the Arabs!”
“Would he not enjoy such revenge?” Ramon asked.
“He would not! Through centuries of serving Muslims, he became convinced of the truth of Islam, and had himself come to the worship of Allah! No, I am sure that every muscle within him rebels at the notion of attacking the sultan’s troops, of fighting against the Faith—but the compulsion of the lamp-spell leaves him no choice.”
“Then his new master is not a Muslim,” Jimena inferred.
“He is a vile sorcerer who serves some corrupted pagan god!”
“Then Prince Marudin most surely acts against the dictates of his conscience.” Jimena’s eyes lost focus. “That would require a powerful spell indeed—but its hold would be tenuous.”
“How did this sorcerer discover Marudin’s lamp?” Ramon asked.
“How?” Lakshmi threw up her hands in exasperation. “How did he ensorcel my husband? How did he steal my—” Her voice choked off, her eyes widening. “How did he steal my babes?” she whispered.
Then the tears poured forth again, and she embraced Jimena. “Oh, forgive me, forgive my rash indictment of your son! Of course the sorcerer who stole my Marudin would also have stolen my babes! For what purpose I cannot guess—but surely the same villain stole all three, and I was very wrong to blame Matthew!”
“He would be the first to pardon you,” Jimena assured her, “and the first to attempt to find and rescue your children.” She looked up at her husband.
Ramon nodded.
“And if he would do it, so shall we!” Jimena said stoutly.