The interior of the palace is cool and delightful. The floors are a beautiful painted tile, and even though the interior is dark, it's spacious and open. Rich, fluttery wall-hangings covered in beads clink as we walk past, stirring them, and there are leafy plants potted amidst the delicate furniture, made from shaped metal with a woven mat for a seat. There are statues lining the walls, and Kassam pauses in front of them, noting the bowls of oils and incense before each one. "You pray to all the gods here?"
"All of them," the tall man says happily. "My prince's family is quite traditional." He gestures down the line of statues, and sure enough, there's one with a pair of curling ram horns. It's not quite the same horns that he's wearing right now, but Kassam looks pleased that his altar has fresh flowers on it. As we walk, I notice that one of the statues is missing a head, and the marble form seems to have been covered by a black cloth. The man gestures at it, saying, "The god Seth insisted upon Riekki's removal. We have not yet had our statue of him returned to us yet, but the sculptors are hard at work already."
Kassam grunts, then glances down another hall where servants scurry past. "I see oracles here. They serve the prince?"
Oracles? I try to peer down the hall, but I didn't pay attention. Everyone here wears flapping robes of various colors—except for Kassam, of course, who is touchably almost-naked. To me, they all look the same, but maybe they feel different to Kassam. "What's an oracle?" I whisper, using this moment as an excuse to lean in close to him…and maybe press my mouth against his skin, just a little.
He pulls me in under his arm, and the warmth of him is like a blanket. His scent envelops me, and I have a hard time concentrating as he explains, "Oracles serve the gods. They pray on behalf of the people and are keepers of lore. Many choose to serve one god alone, but there are some that serve all, choosing to be of service to mortal man instead of seeking the love of one particular god. If they are not dedicated, they will not receive prophecies."
Right. Because the gods stick their hands into things here and go to war with each other. "Are you going to give out any prophecies while we're here?"
"Shall I just whisper naughty things in their ears, then?" he teases, looking down at me. "As I do you?"
My breath stutters at those laughing silver eyes. Heat floods through my body and I place my hand on one firm pectoral, brushing my thumb over his nipple. "Save your naughty things for me and me alone."
Kassam returns my heated look with one of his own.
Servants race down the halls ahead of us as the tall man—the vizier to Prince Rahim—gives us an aggravatingly leisurely tour of the palace. These are the family's personal shrines to the gods. These are the tapestries brought here as a wedding gift from Rahim's mother's people. These are the finely made chairs that show off the metalwork that Chandrilhar is famous for. This is the library, full of ancient books (and oracles hard at work reading and taking notes).
I try not to seem impatient, but I'm exhausted and grimy and starving. I just want to sleep and eat, in either order.
We're finally shown to the suite of apartments that will be ours. It's three rooms, and the entirety of them is as big as my apartment back in Chicago. There's a sitting area full of small chairs, cushions, and what looks like some sort of stringed musical instrument in one corner. The next room is the bedroom, comprised of a low-slung metal-postered bed and an extremely wide, flat mattress covered in dozens of pillows. The final room looks like bathing implements, with a beaten metal tub, a cloudy, ornate mirror on the wall, and a table with various cosmetics on it.
The bed looks like heaven to me, and I sit on the edge, kicking off my boots as I do.
"My Lord of Knowledge, Seth, has asked not to be disturbed for any reason," the vizier says, watching me as I pull off my shoes. "I would introduce you to him, but until he sends for us…"
Kassam waves a hand idly. "It is fine. There will be time enough to see him again. My anchor needs to rest."
"Of course she does," the vizier says smoothly. "There are servants assigned to these quarters, and they will bring food and fresh clothes, and will play music for you to soothe you as you rest. I will bring footmen to fan you as you rest, and they will also draw you a bath—"
I raise a hand, weary. "All of that sounds awesome, but I just want to sleep. I don't need music or fanning."
Kassam strokes my cheek with a gentle finger. "Then you will rest, my little light." He turns toward the vizier. "But I have a few requests. What kind of sweets do you have?"
"Sweets?" the vizier echoes, clearly confused.
"To feed his hedonism," I say with a tired smile. The blankets look soft and appealing, and even though I'm covered in travel dust, I pull up one corner and slide underneath, shoving aside a dozen pillows.
The vizier's expression turns knowing. "Of course, of course. We have one of the finest cooks in all the land who would be happy to make anything you like. Tell me. Do you prefer nuts or fruit in your baked goods?"
"I like both," Kassam says, straightening as I fluff a pillow under my head. God, it feels good to lie down. I'm in heaven.
"And nose spices?" the vizier inquires. "Shall I—"
"No nose spices," Kassam says, and looks over at me. "But I will taste all your beers and wines." He picks up one of the decorative pillows from the bed and sniffs it. "This smells like fruit?"
"Do you like perfumes?" the vizier asks. "I can show you those, as well."
I smile sleepily at Kassam as he gives me one last look and then follows the vizier out of the room. I wait for the dangerous, pulling feeling of the bond, but it's gentle, and I realize they must not be going far. Closing my eyes, I start to drift off—
—when I hear something moving in my room.
I open my eyes, my senses immediately on alert. I'm an idiot, I realize. I just hopped into bed in a strange place and assumed I was safe. What if someone's come to assassinate me because they think they're doing Kassam a favor? Terrified, I clutch one of the stupid pillows on the bed to use as the saddest weapon ever and peer over the edge.
One of the conmac settles on the floor on the far side of my bed. His long, wolven body stretches out and he lowers his enormous head onto one leg, giving me a reproachful look with his bright yellow eyes. As I relax, another conmac wolf slips in and settles on the other side of my bed, practically glaring at me.
They must have followed us through the city, and now they're settling themselves down next to my bed, guarding me. They want me alive because—I'm guessing—they suspect Kassam won't follow through with his promise to free them if something happens to me.
"I know," I say. "I know. I should have thought it through. Being a target is kinda new to me."
One of the conmac yawns, as if my excuses are tiresome.
"Point taken. Thank you anyhow. I owe you guys one." I settle down into the bed again, and this time when I drift off, no one interrupts.
37
When I wake up again, it's dark in the bedroom, no afternoon light flooding through the pretty stained-glass windows. The conmac are no longer next to the bed, and when I close my eyes and mentally “feel” for the bond I share with Kassam, there's no pulling at all. He must be back.