On Fire’s Wings by Christie Golden

father the entire long way home, telling Tahmu what he had learned and trying to minimize the less savory aspects of two years spent with Naram and Pela.
    At one point, Tahmu asked him how Naram treated his family and his servants. Jashemi hesitated, loath to speak badly of his mother’s brother.
    â€œI am the only one who can hear you,” Tahmu said, “the others are riding too far away. And I have raised you to speak the truth to me, Jashemi.”
    After a moment, Jashemi spoke. “There is no one like Sahlik in Naram’s household,” he began.
    Tahmu smiled. “There is no one like Sahlik anywhere,” he said. “She is unique, one of our household’s true treasures.”
    â€œWhat I mean is, there is no servant who….” Jashemi struggled for the words. Finally, he resolved to simply speak bluntly. “There is no one there who dares question Naram, even when he is clearly wrong.”
    â€œMany believe that is how a great House should operate,” said Tahmu. He was staring straight ahead, mounted atop Swift-Over-Sand. He spoke mildly, and Jashemi could not determine what answer his father wanted to hear.
    â€œBut you don’t,” Jashemi challenged. “You want Sahlik to tell you if you are going to do something wrong, something that would hurt the Clan. I’ve heard you speaking to her sometimes.”
    Tahmu’s face was inscrutable. “Go on.”
    Jashemi licked his lips and reached for the waterskin fastened to his saddle. He took a drink, wondering what his father was doing. Was this a test of some sort? And if so, was he giving the right answers?
    He continued. “And my mother…you do not force her to veil herself if she steps outside her quarters. Nor do you deny her anything.”
    â€œDo you think I should?”
    Jashemi recalled his aunt’s behavior—subservient, soft, mild. He never saw his uncle strike her, but by the way she sometimes cringed when he began to yell, he suspected that Naram might reprimand Pela with more than harsh words. The servants all seemed afraid of him. They never spoke against him, of course, but they never seemed to be happy around him, either.
    But Jashemi was old enough to realize that sometimes his mother took advantage of his father’s indulgences. He wondered how she would seem to him now, after two years’ separation.
    â€œNo,” he said, at last. “I would not want my wife to be afraid of me. I would want her to love me, and respect me because I am worthy of respect, not because I enforce it. I like it that our servants smile and hasten to obey our requests with joyful steps. I would not want anyone scurrying away from me with downcast eyes. Somehow—somehow I think that is wrong.”
    He turned and looked at his father. “I would know your thoughts on this, Father.”
    Now, at last, Tahmu smiled down at his son. They rode close enough so that the khashim could easily reach over and squeeze Jashemi’s shoulder.
    â€œMy boy is becoming a man,” he said, “with a man’s wisdom and perception. I agree with all that you have said, my son. I do not wish to speak ill of my wife’s brother, but I do not approve of how he runs his household. I, too, saw the fear in the servants’ eyes. I saw how Pela watches his every move, not out of love but out of anticipation of a blow. He cannot hold his wine and he has not earned the respect of his equals. I permitted you to go only because it is tradition. I am pleased that you learned anything at all. I thought I might have to spend the next year undoing what Naram has done.”
    Jashemi smiled, relieved.
    â€œA leader commands respect because it is deserved and earned. I have spent my life striving for that goal, and I believe I have a household that would die for me if need be.”
    â€œAnd a wife who is happy,” added Jashemi, thinking of his mother’s flamboyance in comparison