On Fire’s Wings by Christie Golden Page A

with Pela’s mousy reticence. When his father did not answer, Jashemi glanced up at Tahmu sharply. Sorrow sat upon those elegant features.
    â€œI have done what I could to make your mother happy,” Tahmu said softly. “But I do not know that I have succeeded.” He kicked Swift and cantered up to ride alongside his Second, Halid.
    After the welcome-home feast, Jashemi went to his old quarters. They smelled fresh and clean, and he idly picked up a bright yellow cloved fruit tucked among the pillows and inhaled its spicy citrus scent. His servants undressed him; they seemed so pleased to do the task that he had not the heart to dismiss them as he was perfectly capable of removing his own clothing.
    As he lay in bed, Jashemi’s mind kept returning to that conversation. Even though they had had several more days’ travel ahead of them, Tahmu had not initiated such a personal conversation again.
    He thought of the girl he had glimpsed at the feast.
    â€œI think I know why you cannot make Mother happy, Father,” he said softly. With a sigh, he rolled over in the soft sheets, closed his eyes, and slept.
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    The next morning, the men of the household were to go hunting. Jashemi’s servants woke him well before dawn, presenting him with a hot cup of eusho, hard-boiled eggs, and fruit to break his fast. He sipped the beverage slowly, nibbled on the sweet paraah, and then headed down to visit the caverns. His servants offered to come with him, to wash his hair and scrub his back, but he ordered them to stay behind. He wanted to be alone with his thoughts.
    He descended the stone steps quickly, his mind elsewhere, and before he knew it he was standing in the cavern, gazing at the underground pools.
    A girl shot to the surface, expelling air with a gasp. Jashemi felt heat rise to his cheeks and he turned away.
    â€œOh!” cried the girl. “Oh, my lord, forgive me, I shall depart at once.” He heard her emerge from the pool, heard the splattering, slapping sounds of wet feet padding quickly over to the clothes basket.
    â€œThere is no need,” he told her, not turning around. “I will come back later.”
    â€œNo, my lord, no, you are the khashimu. I beg forgiveness; usually no one comes down here at this time….”
    That’s right, Jashemi thought. There are set times for servants and family. The wet feet approached him and then went silent. Curious, he turned around to see the girl huddled at his feet. Her long hair was wet and tangled. Water dripped from it to pool on the stone. Odd, it seemed to him almost red in the torchlight. His heart leaped. It was the girl from the banquet….
    â€œLook at me,” he said, his voice adopting the tone of command.
    She did so, lifting her eyes to his. But apparently, she did not see in his face what he saw in hers. He smiled at her.
    â€œWhat is your name?”
    â€œKevla, my lord.”
    â€œThere is nothing to forgive, Kevla. Servants have as much a right to enjoy the bounty of the House of Four Waters as I do. I’ve been so long away I’ve forgotten who bathes when.”
    She gave him a tentative smile. “You are kind to say these words. May I have my lord’s permission to leave?”
    â€œYes, Kevla. You may go.”
    Jashemi turned to watch her as she scurried up the steps, her white rhia turning dark where it clung to her still-wet body, her little feet leaving clear footprints on the stone. He wanted to call her back, to talk to her, but he did not know what to say.
    He bathed in silence, his thoughts even heavier now than they had been when he descended.
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    The morning air was cool on Jashemi’s face as they rode their sa’abahs away from the House and toward the mountains. His heart lifted a little as he saw Mount Bari far in the distance. Naram lived well south of the House of Four Waters, too far away for Jashemi to see the sacred mountain, and he had missed it. He said