Page 22

S tepping over the threshold of the grand tent was akin to crossing the boundary of worlds. From the sunlit openness of the steppe, he found himself cocooned within a realm of cool shadows and soft whispers.

The tent was bathed in a dim light that filtered through the blue fabric overhead, tinging the vibrant tapestries that adorned the walls, rendered in rich dyes. Each one was a mythic tale, a piece of pageantry, or a recounting of history, of Rohan’s victories, woven with threads of dyed wool and silk.

In the centre of the tent, atop a raised platform of polished wood, stood a throne. It was a grand, imposing sight. The chair was crafted from the massive bones of the great khiroi, shaped and polished until they shone like ivory in the cool light. The seat was upholstered with a thick fur, the shaggy hairs knotted into a plaited, soft matt. The back rest was fashioned from a fan of imposing, curving horns, each larger than any Jai had ever seen, their sharp points aimed skyward.

Yet it sat empty. Instead, a dozen men and women sat cross-legged on an enormous rug in front of it, murmuring among themselves in hushed tones. Waiting for something. For someone , Jai thought.

Jai went to join the waiting Kidara, only for Nazeem to tut and pull him back. The tent was not just one big space, but had a heavy curtain dividing it in two, just behind the throne. Nazeem and Jai walked down the length of it, the whispers of the waiting subjects fading behind them as they made their way to the other side of the grand tent.

Pulling back the curtain, Jai was met with a much more intimate setting. This half of the tent was quieter, warmer, the air thick with the sweet aroma of spiced fruits and wine.

There, reclined on an ornate bed draped in fur, was a man Jai immediately knew to be his uncle, Teji. He was the spitting image of Samar, though he did not look like the warrior Jai had envisioned. Instead of the hardened, fearsome man of his imaginings, Teji was a vision of regal leisure, dressed in a robe of silk, a fine pelt of curls erupting from his chest. His features were softened by years of easy living, his body fuller than the wiry fighters Jai was accustomed to among the Valor.

Around him, three women worked diligently, each from a different part of the world judging by their looks. One was pouring wine into a finely crafted goblet held in Teji’s hand, tasting it diligently, then wincing and turning aside, before handing it to her king.

Another was massaging his feet in her lap, while the third wafted at him with a peacock feather fan.

Courtesans, by Jai’s guess. Just like his own mother had been. The realisation stung, but he pushed it aside as Teji turned his heavy-lidded gaze towards them, a slow, lazy smile spreading across his lips as he recognised his nephew. His voice was a low rumble, slurred by the wine.

‘Arjun,’ he drawled, smacking his purple-stained lips. ‘Come closer, boy. Let’s have a look at you.’

‘It is Jai, uncle,’ Jai said, hurrying forward. ‘Rohan’s third son.’

His uncle, far from giving the embrace Jai had hoped for, instead flopped a bejewelled hand from the bed. Jai stared at it for a moment, and his uncle twitched it impatiently. One of the courtesans, a dark-skinned woman with a tight cap of curls upon her head, mimed kissing her own hand. Bemused, he heard Nazeem cough gently behind him, and despite his revulsion, Jai lowered his head, kissing the largest of the rings there.

‘Good,’ Teji said, closing his eyes and readjusting himself upon the tasselled cushions that propped him upright. ‘Very good.’

Nazeem approached then, and bowed his head.

‘My lord, your nephew has travelled across the breadth of the empire to find us. Shall I organise a welcome feast?’

‘His visit has cost us enough already,’ Teji said, not even looking at Jai, instead prodding the masseuse at his feet. She giggled, but Jai saw her laughter did not reach her eyes.

‘But surely—’

‘I’m not in the mood,’ Teji grunted. ‘My belly pains me again. Leave us.’

He shooed at Jai and Nazeem with a limp wrist, reaching out a hand and pulling the masseuse closer. Jai felt the sting of disappointment and embarrassment, but knew better than to argue. He let Nazeem take his hand and drag him outside, his heart in his stomach. It was a bitter welcome. He turned to Nazeem, his only anchor in the sudden maelstrom of the unknown.

‘He is better in the mornings,’ Nazeem said, giving Jai an apologetic smile. ‘Your arrival was a surprise to us all.’

‘He mistook me for Arjun,’ Jai murmured, only just concealing his contempt. ‘Does he know... that Arjun was murdered?’

Nazeem looked around, and Jai saw the eyes of the waiting Kidara dart away.

‘That is a delicate matter,’ Nazeem said in a low voice.

He guided Jai out of the tent with a hand on the small of Jai’s back, until Jai was blinking in the bright afternoon sun. Winter ambled up to him, nudging his hand with her snout. He scratched her absently between the small nubs of her horns, just where she liked it, and at least one of them was content.

‘Our conversation will continue,’ Nazeem stated, keeping a wary eye on the dragon. ‘But first, refresh yourself. Rest. I’ll have a manservant arranged for—’

‘Feng,’ Jai interjected. ‘I want him, and his sister. He’s probably feeling as out of place as I.’

A furrow creased Nazeem’s brow.

‘But, Jai, he’s not one of us, not Kidaran. Can he be trusted? He failed to mention your dragon, or your father’s armour when he first arrived. We almost didn’t come.’

Jai was taken aback, puzzled. Why would Feng withhold such information? Nazeem, reading his expression, nodded.

‘We’ll ensure he’s sent off with the next band of merchants, back to his people in the east. He made the journey to us alone, and argued your case. There’s a certain bravery in that.’

Jai started to protest, but Nazeem propelled him down the path with a soft hand.

‘So it’s settled,’ he said. ‘I have a great boy, eager to please. He’ll draw you a bath.’

‘Send Feng,’ Jai ordered, with as much confidence as he could muster. ‘If he lied, he can explain himself to me.’

Nazeem faltered in his steps, then bowed his head.

‘As you wish, my prince.’

My prince , Jai thought. Damned right.

But then he remembered the curt scene in the tent. The dismissal from his uncle.

Then why don’t I feel like one?