Out of the Darkness

Hajjaj shook his head. “I’m afraid you’re wrong, my dear. I could say, ask Tewfik: he would remember. But he’s not so old as that, and I don’t need to ask him, because I already know. Unkerlant got hold of Zuwayza and held us as long as she did by playing our princes off against one another. These things have happened, and they can happen again.”

“Well, they had better not, not to you, or whoever plays such games will answer to me.” Kolthoum sounded as if she meant every word of that. From some Zuwayzi women, it would have been an idle threat. From Kolthoum . . . Hajjaj would not have wanted his senior wife angry at him. Kolthoum arose from the nest of cushions she’d made for herself and flounced away in considerable annoyance.

Why aren’t I more upset at the idea? Hajjaj wondered. Maybe because Iskakis is such a blunderer, any assassins he hires would likely make a hash of the job. Anyone who would let a woman as . . entertaining as Tassi leave him can’t be very bright. Of course, Iskakis looked for entertainments of that sort elsewhere. The more fool he, Hajjaj thought.

Joints creaking, he got to his feet and went into the library. Surrounded by books in Zuwayzi, in Algarvian, in classical Kaunian, he didn’t have to think about man’s inhumanity to man . . . unless he pulled out a history in any of those languages. He didn’t. A volume of love poetry from the days of the Kaunian Empire better suited his mood.

Motion in the doorway made him look up. There stood Tassi. Since becoming part of his household, she’d insisted on adopting Zuwayzi dress: which is to say, sandals and jewelry and, outdoors, a hat. To Hajjaj’s eyes, she always looked much more naked than a woman of his own people. Maybe that was because he was used to the idea that people of her pale color were supposed to wear clothes. Or maybe her nipples and her bush stood out more than they did with dark-skinned Zuwayzin.

“Do I disturb you?” she asked in Algarvian, the only language they had in common.

Aye, he thought, but that wasn’t how she meant the question. “No, of course not,” he said, and closed the book of poems.

“Good.” She came into the library and sat down on the carpeted floor beside him. “Do I hear rightly? Iskakis is being difficult again? Difficult still?”

That didn’t take long, Hajjaj thought. Kolthoum didn’t spread his business around the household, either. Servants going down the hall must have heard bits and pieces, and all the powers above put together couldn’t keep servants from gossiping. “As a matter of fact, he is,” Hajjaj replied. He wouldn’t lie to her, not on matters touching her as well as him.

“Why not just”--she snapped her fingers--”send him away, tell King Tsavellas to pick a new minister? Then he will be gone, and so will the trouble.”

“I can’t do that,” he said.

Tassi snapped her fingers again. “King Shazli can. And he will do as you say.”

That did hold some truth. Hajjaj had hesitated to ask Shazli to declare Iskakis unwelcome in Zuwayza. He was a purist, and did not feel personal problems had any place in the affairs of his kingdom. If, however, Iskakis had killing him in mind, the Yaninan minister was the one mixing personal affairs and diplomacy. “I may ask him,” Hajjaj said at last.

“Good. That is settled, then.” Tassi took such logical leaps as easily, as naturally, as she breathed. “And I will stay here.”

“Does that please you, staying here?” Hajjaj asked.

She looked at him sidelong. “I hope it pleases you, my staying here.”

Aye, Tassi looked very naked indeed. He didn’t think she let her legs fall open by accident just then, giving him a glimpse of the sweet slit between them. She used her naked flesh as a tool, a weapon, in ways that never would have occurred to a Zuwayzi woman who took nudity for granted.

Age gave Hajjaj a certain advantage, or at least a certain perspective, on such things. “You didn’t answer what I asked,” he remarked.

Tassi’s lower lip pooched like an indignant child’s, though that pouting lip was the only childlike part of her. Her lisping, throaty accent made even ordinary things she said sound provocative. When she asked, “Shall I show you I am pleased?” . . . Hajjaj didn’t answer. Tassi got up and shut the door to the library.

Some time later, she said, “There. Are you pleased? Am I pleased?”

Hajjaj could scarcely deny he was pleased. He wanted to roll over and go to sleep. He wasn’t so sure about Tassi, not in that same sense. “I hope you are,” he said.

“Oh, aye.” She dipped her head, as she often did instead of nodding. Her eyes sparkled. “And do you see? I do not ask for precious stones. They would be nice, but I do not ask for them. All I ask for is to stay here. You can do that for me. It is easy for you, in fact.”