to efface himself now was impossible. He settled cross-legged on the rugs beside the emir. The prince’s kady gave Arden a narrow, excited look. Arden hoped the man was not whipping himself into a religious fervor.
With a flick of his hand, Prince Rashid bid the rest of the Shammar to sit. Selim was doing his best to be invisible, slipping into a position at Arden’s feet.
“And what is the purpose of your journey?” Rashid demanded.
“I must find this son of my father a bride, for I have vowed that I will do it, if I must come to the ends of the earth.”
“You find him a bride, wellah!” Rashid repeated, bemused. “This is an honorable task, but why have you come so far?”
“Because the young sheytan will have no brides!” Arden exclaimed. “Ask those who were in the coffee-hall if it is not so!”
This raised a laugh and a murmur among the crowd. Selim pressed back against Arden’s knee. He thought he could feel the boy shaking. But he had no choice but to brazen the thing out, whatever Selim might wish.
“Let me see this one,” Prince Rashid said, beckoning. “Stand up, boy.”
Selim was trembling visibly now. He came slowly to his feet, his head lowered.
“Come here,” the emir said. “Closer.”
Selim took a reluctant step.
“Here!” Rashid exclaimed, scowling. Arden took Selim’s elbow and thrust him in front of the prince.
For a long moment, Rashid looked on the boy. His kady leaned over and whispered in his ear. Rashid did not take his eyes from Selim, but his hard mouth curved downward.
Suddenly he rose, taking the boy’s chin between his fingers and jerking his face up.
Selim made a faint sob, a sound of such terror that Arden came to his feet. The boy lifted a slender hand, as if reaching out to him—but Arden was not looking at that.
He was staring at Rashid and Selim—at their profiles, one so close to the other.
Like a landscape lit by a bolt of lightning, he saw it.
Rashid: dark, hard, black-bearded, Arab. Male. And Selim: none of those things.
None of those things.
The prince turned his head, looked at Arden with his mouth pulled down in a cruel curve and his black eyes ablaze.
“Is it she?” he hissed.
Not until Rashid said the word did Arden feel as if his mind could encompass it.
She.
She! He wanted to turn his face to the burning blue sky and shout it in frenzy. She!
He had known it. His body had known it, dreamed of women, dreamed of her, the soft hand in his sleep, the angel that sang in his burning visions.
She.
His throat would not manage words. He only glared back at Rashid, mute.
“Come!” the prince said, halfway to a snarl. “May it please Allah—you are mine!”
He turned, his robes swirling. But the Egyptian officer stepped in front of him. Rashid stopped, then put out his arm and flung the man aside. He turned to the crowd and lifted his hands.
“The Queen!” he shouted in a huge voice that rolled across the stirring crowd. “The Queen of the Englezys! She has come to me!”
“The Queen!” It was a murmur, a rushing wind in the mass of desert warriors. “She is come!”
They rose, the Shammar, the Annezy, the ferocious Kahtan and the Sherarat, the sheiks and nomads of a hundred tribes, with their legions camped beyond the walls.
They began to press forward. The kady leapt onto the prince’s platform.
“Allah akhbar! The holy war begins!”
“Jihad!” roared the crowd in return. “Allah akhbar!”
The slaves and soldiers near the prince broke into confused fighting. Arden grabbed Selim’s arm, but the emir had him— her —in a vise grip, hauling her toward a low door into the castle. Arden held on, staying with her, slamming the Egyptian officer against the wall with an elbow in his throat.
“Jihad!” the crowd kept howling, a thunder now against the echoing walls. “Kill, in the name of the Prophet!” The last thing Arden saw before he ducked into the black passageway was the Egyptian officer go down beneath
With a flick of his hand, Prince Rashid bid the rest of the Shammar to sit. Selim was doing his best to be invisible, slipping into a position at Arden’s feet.
“And what is the purpose of your journey?” Rashid demanded.
“I must find this son of my father a bride, for I have vowed that I will do it, if I must come to the ends of the earth.”
“You find him a bride, wellah!” Rashid repeated, bemused. “This is an honorable task, but why have you come so far?”
“Because the young sheytan will have no brides!” Arden exclaimed. “Ask those who were in the coffee-hall if it is not so!”
This raised a laugh and a murmur among the crowd. Selim pressed back against Arden’s knee. He thought he could feel the boy shaking. But he had no choice but to brazen the thing out, whatever Selim might wish.
“Let me see this one,” Prince Rashid said, beckoning. “Stand up, boy.”
Selim was trembling visibly now. He came slowly to his feet, his head lowered.
“Come here,” the emir said. “Closer.”
Selim took a reluctant step.
“Here!” Rashid exclaimed, scowling. Arden took Selim’s elbow and thrust him in front of the prince.
For a long moment, Rashid looked on the boy. His kady leaned over and whispered in his ear. Rashid did not take his eyes from Selim, but his hard mouth curved downward.
Suddenly he rose, taking the boy’s chin between his fingers and jerking his face up.
Selim made a faint sob, a sound of such terror that Arden came to his feet. The boy lifted a slender hand, as if reaching out to him—but Arden was not looking at that.
He was staring at Rashid and Selim—at their profiles, one so close to the other.
Like a landscape lit by a bolt of lightning, he saw it.
Rashid: dark, hard, black-bearded, Arab. Male. And Selim: none of those things.
None of those things.
The prince turned his head, looked at Arden with his mouth pulled down in a cruel curve and his black eyes ablaze.
“Is it she?” he hissed.
Not until Rashid said the word did Arden feel as if his mind could encompass it.
She.
She! He wanted to turn his face to the burning blue sky and shout it in frenzy. She!
He had known it. His body had known it, dreamed of women, dreamed of her, the soft hand in his sleep, the angel that sang in his burning visions.
She.
His throat would not manage words. He only glared back at Rashid, mute.
“Come!” the prince said, halfway to a snarl. “May it please Allah—you are mine!”
He turned, his robes swirling. But the Egyptian officer stepped in front of him. Rashid stopped, then put out his arm and flung the man aside. He turned to the crowd and lifted his hands.
“The Queen!” he shouted in a huge voice that rolled across the stirring crowd. “The Queen of the Englezys! She has come to me!”
“The Queen!” It was a murmur, a rushing wind in the mass of desert warriors. “She is come!”
They rose, the Shammar, the Annezy, the ferocious Kahtan and the Sherarat, the sheiks and nomads of a hundred tribes, with their legions camped beyond the walls.
They began to press forward. The kady leapt onto the prince’s platform.
“Allah akhbar! The holy war begins!”
“Jihad!” roared the crowd in return. “Allah akhbar!”
The slaves and soldiers near the prince broke into confused fighting. Arden grabbed Selim’s arm, but the emir had him— her —in a vise grip, hauling her toward a low door into the castle. Arden held on, staying with her, slamming the Egyptian officer against the wall with an elbow in his throat.
“Jihad!” the crowd kept howling, a thunder now against the echoing walls. “Kill, in the name of the Prophet!” The last thing Arden saw before he ducked into the black passageway was the Egyptian officer go down beneath
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