The Thief and the Desert Flower, page 12
“Ai-yup!” A man’s voice cut across the chatter. He was short and stocky, but carried himself as if he stood a head taller than anyone in the crowd. When he spoke, the babbling trailed off and everyone listened.
“Kyo fregni al ji grajia. Dian mi? Sensi qui tal.”
Chala wished she could disappear. She wished she and Kyo were back in the cave in bed, lying in the gray of early morning and telling each other stories. She wished she were dying of thirst in the desert—anywhere but here.
Kyo released her and slid down from Machyi’s back. He strode forward, head up, shoulders back, as powerful among his people as her father the king was in Gendera. A stream of Shinje words poured from him as he gestured toward the loaded pack horse, then his tone shifted as he pointed to Chala. Despite not understanding, she heard the softening and affection that colored his voice. When he stopped speaking, he was beside the short man she guessed was his cousin Danje. They stood shoulder to shoulder facing the crowd and Kaitan.
Still perched on top of the horse, Chala felt like she was on display. She wanted to slip down to the ground where they couldn’t all stare at her at once, but she maintained her royal pose. Kyo had explained what to expect today, that the people might challenge his leadership. The supplies would go some ways toward appeasing them, but they wouldn’t be happy that Kyo had taken a hostage. He had to remind them that, as leader, it was his prerogative to break his own rules if he thought it was for the good of the tribe.
But, as Chala knew, the problem was no ransom was coming and his action in kidnapping her had been completely selfishly motivated. It would take some clever talking to soothe the angered members of his tribe. Here was the part where she should want them to insist Kyo send her away, but her unruly heart clamored for the opposite.
An older woman, whose sharp blade of a nose resembled Kyo’s, pushed her way through the crowd—it must be his mother, Sian. She gave Kyo a sharp glance then spoke quickly, pointing at the pack horse then at Chala before turning to address the people. The positioning of her body near Kyo and Danje made it clear to all that she supported them, but Chala had caught a glimpse of her anger.
Chala knew enough about politics to understand that leaders must never show doubt or division. Such weakness was the surest way to lose control of one’s subjects. As her mother had always said, “Act like a queen. Be a queen.”
With that in mind, Chala finally descended from Machyi’s back, slipping gracefully to the ground and striding regally across the sand to stand beside Kyo.
He glanced at her and almost smiled before schooling his face to the scowl he seemed to wear when addressing his kinsmen.
“Shakzana Chala Leandros di Gendera,” he began, then rattled off what sounded like a challenge to anyone questioning his right to have her. He didn’t need to touch her to make it clear he claimed her. The possessive tone of his voice sent a thrill through Chala instead of enraging her as it should have.
For a moment, Chala locked gazes with Sian. The woman’s face was lined and weathered, but her eyes were still sharp and young—and hard. Chala didn’t know if the anger was directed at her or Kyo, but it was intimidating either way. Then Kyo ended his little speech with the word, criasami, and her attention turned to him. Was he calling her his wife?
He whispered a few words to his mother. She nodded then crossed to Chala and beckoned her.
Chala didn’t want to go, but Kyo shot her a look and she caught his unspoken message. In front of his people, she must appear compliant and supportive—a role she’d seen her mother assume many times as Queen, even when she believed her husband was wrong. Her parents might argue policy in the privacy of their chambers, but always presented a united front to the people. Chala accompanied Sian and the crowd parted before them as they walked to her tent.
The smell of unwashed bodies, cooking food, campfire smoke and horse dung nearly overwhelmed her. If this was camp life, no wonder Kyo chose to live apart. Chala was glad when the tent flap closed behind her, concealing her from all those intense gazes. But now she was regarded by one more fearsome than the rest combined—Kyo’s mother, Sian.
The woman was tall and bony like most of the Shinje women appeared to be. Her flowing black hair was streaked with white and held at the nape of her neck by a strip of colored cloth. Her tan dress was plain but belted at the waist by a scarf woven with all the colors of the rainbow. She stood as still as a statue in the center of the tent, gazing at Chala with those unyielding eyes. But this was the same woman who had once adopted an abandoned Genderese boy, Tanjia. She couldn’t be too terrible.
“Kyo told me you speak Genderese.”
Sian didn’t respond.
“My name is Chala. My father is the king of Gendera. I was on my way to my wedding when…” She trailed off. There was no polite way to say, “Your son and his men attacked my caravan and he kidnapped me.” Besides, she was sure Sian knew all this.
The woman pointed to the ground near the fire pit that smoked in the center of the room. “Sit.”
Chala obeyed, sitting on her heels as she’d grown accustomed to doing from days of cave dwelling. As Sian poured something from a skin into two cups, Chala examined the furnishings of the tent. Every bit of space was filled. There was a pallet by one curved wall, the sitting area near the fire, and many utensils, storage bags, and piles of things she didn’t recognize. Everything was portable, making Chala wonder what it would be like to have a home that could be dismantled and moved at a moment’s notice. What was it like to drift from place to place and never put down roots? The idea was both intriguing and frightening.
Sian offered her a cup and Chala took it.
“Thank you.”
The woman squatted on the other side of the fire, puffs of smoke occasionally obscuring her. She held her cup, but didn’t drink it, and her gaze never left Chala, who felt weighed, measured and found wanting.
“I know my being here is dangerous for you all. It would be best if Kyo took me to Calwas and let me go.” Even as she said it, she knew it wasn’t really what she wanted any longer. Yet, she couldn’t imagine living in a tent like this, among these foreign people for the rest of her life either.
“I’d never tell them how to find Kyo or your tribe,” she continued.
One long brown finger tapped slowly against the side of Sian’s cup. Otherwise she sat completely still.
“I care for him, you know. More than I should. But I think you realize I’m not the woman for him. If you want me out of his life so he can choose a more appropriate bride, then you should convince him to release me.” She sounded calm and reasonable, surprising herself. The woman couldn’t possibly guess that inside her heart was denying her words and clamoring for just the opposite.
“Cria tyokianna si kian.” Her voice was as low and rough as a man’s. “Heart have what it will.” She spoke the words slowly and carefully as if she’d had to dredge them deep from the well of memory. She shrugged and spread her hands.
“No,” Chala protested. “Surely you can convince him the idea of having me as a…a wife is crazy. He must listen to you.”
For the first time, a smile curved Sian’s mouth, and years dropped away from her face. “Kyo? No. Anchia… Rock.”
Silence fell between them. Chala held the cup between her hands and sipped the thick, murky liquid. It wasn’t like anything she’d ever tasted. It was sweet and sour at the same time and after a couple of sips her head felt light and dizzy.
“What is this?” she asked, indicating her cup.
“Cassa.”
Kyo had given her cassa berries to eat before. This must be wine made from the fermented fruit.
“It’s good,” she said, although she didn’t really care for the strong flavor. But there was nothing else to fill the silence so she continued to sip. By the time Kyo finally arrived, her cup was empty and her head was spinning.
Addressing his mother, he rattled off a few sentences in Shinje. She responded with a few short, sharp words. It could have been an argument or a loving exchange for all Chala could tell. Then he turned to her and spoke in Genderese.
“I divide supplies among the people. Take some negotiate to make all happy.”
“Did you really tell them you’re taking me as a wife? What did they say?”
He squatted down by her side and accepted a cup of the horrid cassaberry wine from Sian. “I do what I will. They must accept.”
“But they’re not happy about it, and I haven’t agreed! You can’t just tell people that!” She shook her head, and her eyes seemed to take a moment to catch up. Her temper was rising and she wasn’t sure why. She’d known before coming here that it would be difficult and that Kyo was going to formally “claim” her before his tribe. But the whole experience was suddenly too much. How had she gone in a few short weeks from a woman desperate to escape captivity to one who was concerned about the opinion of primitives? She could never fit in here and wouldn’t want to.
Emotions and cassaberry wine churned in her stomach. Swirled into the mix was a strong desire for Kyo to hold her and make love to her once more. What was wrong with her that she couldn’t get enough of him? “We should leave now. I don’t belong here.”
Sian said a few more words then walked from the tent, leaving them alone.
“You listen.” Kyo knelt in front of her. He took her hands in his and looked into her eyes. “Tonight will be a jintaji.” He cursed in frustration then tried to describe what he meant. “Eat, drink, dance—jintaji. You and me will be criaskianna.”
Kyo let go of her hands to lock his own hands together, fingers hooked around fingers. He pulled one hand against the other to illustrate the strength of their bond. “Criaskianna.”
Chala swallowed as the import of the word crashed over her. “Married? You think we’re going to be married?”
He nodded, his expression more serious than she’d ever seen it. “We are.”
By the time the tribal priest tied the braided cord around her wrist, Chala realized she was very drunk. She gazed at Kyo through a fog that may or may not have been smoke rising from the fire. Discordant music, drums, finger cymbals and nasal chanting filled her head until she could barely think. The music had gone on since before sunset, as had the drinking and feasting.
Both the women and men of the clan had donned special clothes for tonight’s celebration. The tawny desert tones were put away and colorful beaded and embroidered tunics were on display. Ribbons of fabric were braided into long, dark hair. White teeth flashed in happy faces.
Sian had given Chala a purple gown studded with shiny black beads and had spent nearly an hour braiding her hair with shimmering ribbons to match.
“My criaskianna injara,” Sian had explained, fingering a fold of the dress. She gazed into Chala’s eyes with a fierce light shining in her own. “You will be good criasami for Kyo.”
Chala wasn’t sure if it was a command or a question, but she nodded and took another drink of the cassa wine. She was as helpless to stop this sham ceremony as she would be to halt a herd of stampeding horses. And the terrible thing was that a small part of her was happy to be carried along against her will—especially when she beheld Kyo in his wedding finery.
It reminded her of her first glimpse of him when she’d thought he looked like a piece of the night sky cut out of the daylight. The clothes he’d been wearing then had turned out to be a dark walnut brown, but the tunic, pants and boots he wore tonight really were as black as midnight. Flashes of brilliant scarlet accented the sober suit. His hair shone like a crow’s wing and his bearing was regal. Kyo looked every inch a prince of his people as he met her outside his mother’s tent and took her arm to escort her to the feast.
After she’d eaten her fill and drunk until she could barely keep her balance, Chala had danced along with everyone else, gripping callused palms, her heart soaring with the wild music and her feet finding the rhythm. The people had joined together in a long chain that wove between tents and around campfires. And when the chain dance was over, Chala had twirled alone in an off-center circle with her arms stretched wide and her face turned up to the stars. Freedom soared in her veins and she felt a connection with these people, whose language she couldn’t even understand, such as she’d never felt before—or maybe it was the cassa wine that cast everything in a warm glow.
But now the eating, drinking and dancing were over and Chala was being bound to Kyo, symbolically and physically. Braided strips of leather, both dark and pale, made up the cord. She gazed at the length between her wrist and Kyo’s, several feet away. Her stomach leaped, but not in a way that signaled she might lose its contents. It was a sharp twist of lust at the sight of their hands tied together and a thought of the wedding night to come.
Harsh-tongued comments and raucous laughter surrounded them as Chala and Kyo were encircled by clansmen and led toward Kyo’s mother’s tent. Someone held the tent flap open and they were herded inside, accompanied by the noise of clapping and shouts. Chala’s face was already flaming from the alcohol she’d drunk. She couldn’t blush any redder, but she wanted to evaporate like water spilled on hot sand.
Once inside, Kyo drew her against him with one arm and held her close. He kissed the top of her head and murmured Shinje words. How beautiful the harsh language sounded coming from his lips. She rubbed her face against his chest and breathed in his scent. Her arms wrapped around his back, straining their binding rope to its limit and pulling on his wrist.
She’d nearly passed out against his hard warmth when Kyo stepped back and took her chin in hand, tipping her face up to his. “Hey.”
“I’m awake.” Chala gazed up at him from heavy-lidded eyes and smiled. He was handsome, alive and fierce and virile and hers. She swayed and slumped against him.
Kyo grinned. “Too much cassa.” He lifted her off her feet and carried her to the bed in one corner. After laying her gently across it, he reached down to unfasten the elaborate sandals Sian had laced around her ankles. The tether binding them pulled Chala’s hand across her body.
“Shinjate, ge congia mochran!” Kyo picked at the knot tying the cord around his wrist.
“No. Leave it.”
He looked up at her, one eyebrow raised. A slow smile curved his mouth. “You want be tied to me?”
“No,” she lied, but sat up so he could use both hands to remove her sandals.
He unlaced the bodice of her dress then stretched out beside her, fondling her breasts. His soft strokes of each swell and light flicks on her erect nipples sent ripples of pleasure through her.
Kyo’s gaze was fixed on her breasts, but he didn’t seem to see them. Chala lay still and watched thoughts flicker over his eyes like clouds scudding across the sky.
“What are you thinking about?”
“You.” He looked into her eyes. “Thinking about you here.”
He reached up with his free hand and touched her cheek, traced his thumb over her mouth. Then he bent his head and brushed her lips with a kiss.
Chala continued to lie there, drowsy and compliant, floating in a pleasant fog of alcohol and lust. She loved his soft touch and quiet words and his deep, solemn gaze.
His voice was a whisper when he spoke again. “This place, this life…not for you.”
The haze lifted at his words and reality crept in. Was he suggesting that he would let her go? Did she want him to?
Kyo’s tongue swept over his lips. “Maybe you go with me away from here? Go by ship. See places.”
He waited for her reaction and, for the life of her, Chala couldn’t speak. She was too surprised and too sleepy to know what she thought of his offer. She only knew that for tonight she wanted to lie here safe and warm in his arms. Her eyelids were nearly closed. Kyo was a blur.
He tapped a finger on the tip of her nose. “Think on it, and sleep.”
She felt him draw a blanket over them and shift until his arm, tied to hers, was in a more comfortable position. His hand held hers as she nestled into the curve of his body. Chala’s eyes flickered open and she looked at the cord of braided dark and light strips around their wrists and their dark and pale fingers laced together as one.
According to his tribe, she’d become Kyo’s wife tonight. He’d become her husband. Did it count? Did Karachi recognize such a union? They hadn’t spoken vows, merely been yoked together by the tribe’s holy man. Surely that didn’t count as a lifetime promise.
But in this moment, embraced by her captor who had somehow become her lover, Chala felt as if they’d made a bond that couldn’t be broken. No matter what happened, her world had been ripped apart and stitched back together in a new way and her life would never be the same again.
Chapter Twelve
“All this for a woman?” Danje shook his head and cast down the pia. The marked sticks fell in a jumbled configuration. He began making connections and adding up points.
“It’s not only about her. You know I’ve never been happy as chief. You’re the natural leader and you’re my cousin. Everyone will gladly follow you. Kaitan and his friends may challenge your right at first, but I’m sure you can overcome them.” Kyo scooped up the sticks and threw them. A washout. He passed his small pile of coins to Danje. “See, you’re a winner. The people respect you. Take the position.”
Danje tucked the coins in his wallet, gathered the pia sticks and put them in their pouch. He took a drink of the liquor Kyo had brought from Calwas, grimaced and blew a long breath. “You plan to travel, to see the world? But, brother, how will you survive out there. The desert is your home. Besides, your woman is a dangerous possession. I don’t know why Brachas’s men haven’t come looking for her yet, but I expect him to seek retribution at some point.”
“I’m sorry. I know I’ve placed everyone in danger.” Kyo could barely meet Danje’s eyes. To create this situation then leave his cousin to solve any problems that might come of it was wrong—and proof that Kyo wasn’t a good leader. “When I took her, I didn’t know she was a princess, but even if I had I don’t think I could have resisted. There was just something…” He shook his head, unable to explain the crazy impulse that had seized him from the moment he’d met Chala.
