focused his attention on his family. Sweet Naori came to him first, leading their two young sons, overjoyed to have him home. She embraced him but expressed no interest in the politics or the battle.
Omra called his three daughters—Adreala, Cithara, and Istala—who greeted him formally, though he could see by the sparkle in their eyes how glad they were to have him home and safe. Next, Saan bounded in, his straw-colored hair and blue eyes giving him an entirely non-Uraban appearance. “I never had any doubts you would hold Ishalem, Father. The city belongs to us, not the Aidenists.”
Omra swept him into a hug. It always amazed him that Saan was a man now. “You will hear plenty of stories about what happened on the battlefield. The soldiers are already spinning tales up and down the docks, looking for someone to buy them cups of wine.”
“I'll buy you a cup of wine, Father, if you tell
me
your stories.”
“Later.” He took a seat on his cushions, relaxing. “I want to know what's happened here in my absence.”
“Not much, certainly nothing so exciting as an invading Aidenist army.” But the young man's bright gaze flicked away for a moment. “Well… there was one incident, an attack on me and Omirr. Thugs in the souks. But we fended it off. Considering what the men said, I suspect the sikaras put them up to it, though I have no proof.”
After Saan described the attackers, the conversation, and the knife fight in the alley, Omra could barely contain his fury. He lurched up from the cushions again. “Someone raised a hand against my son!” He caught himself and added, “
Two
of my sons.”
Saan shrugged. “There were only four of them, and Omirr did his share of fighting too. Remember, Father, enemies have tried to kill me many times. I'm ready for them.”
Omra paced, clenching his jaw. “At least the Aidenists attack us openly. If this is some sikara plot…” He let out a long sigh. “I cannot challenge the church without proof.”
“Three of the men are dead, and the one who escaped was never found. If he is involved with the sikaras, I doubt we'll see him again. They've probably sent him away to Kiesh by now… or we'll find his body floating in the harbor. Kel Rovic is investigating. Maybe he'll find something.”
Troubled, Omra sent him away and called for Istar, the person he most wanted to see. Always attuned to his thoughts, Istar detected his mood as soon as she entered the room. She settled in, crossing her legs on a broad cushion, and reported on her meetings with Finance Minister Samfair, Protocol Minister Faan, and Trade Minister Usthra, all of whom tolerated her well enough. Then, with a tone of amusement, she recounted how the stuffy Inner Wahilir emissary had refused to present her with his document from Soldan Huttan, even though she was Omra's court surrogate while he was in Ishalem.
Saan's news had stripped away his feelings of peace and anticipation, and at this further affront, the soldan-shah felt his face grow hot. Going to his writing desk, he snatched a cut piece of rough paper. “By treating you with disrespect, they insult
me
.” His words were hard and sharp, like the jagged edge of a spear head. “That, at least, I can stop—I have the power. I will show them what it means to ignore you.”
Istar leaned closer as he wrote furiously. “There's no need to overreact.”
“I am reacting
properly
, not excessively.” He finished his decree with a flourish, set aside the quill, and sealed the inkpot. “This is my summons, to be delivered to all five soldanates. Each soldan is hereby commanded to send his First Wife here to the Olabar court, where all will see the consequences of insulting me—and you.”
Istar was troubled. “What is it you plan to do? I want no blood shed over this, Omra.”
He merely dusted the fresh ink with powder, tipped a candle over the document to spill drops of wax, then pressed his signet ring into the hot wax to make his mark.
Omra called his three daughters—Adreala, Cithara, and Istala—who greeted him formally, though he could see by the sparkle in their eyes how glad they were to have him home and safe. Next, Saan bounded in, his straw-colored hair and blue eyes giving him an entirely non-Uraban appearance. “I never had any doubts you would hold Ishalem, Father. The city belongs to us, not the Aidenists.”
Omra swept him into a hug. It always amazed him that Saan was a man now. “You will hear plenty of stories about what happened on the battlefield. The soldiers are already spinning tales up and down the docks, looking for someone to buy them cups of wine.”
“I'll buy you a cup of wine, Father, if you tell
me
your stories.”
“Later.” He took a seat on his cushions, relaxing. “I want to know what's happened here in my absence.”
“Not much, certainly nothing so exciting as an invading Aidenist army.” But the young man's bright gaze flicked away for a moment. “Well… there was one incident, an attack on me and Omirr. Thugs in the souks. But we fended it off. Considering what the men said, I suspect the sikaras put them up to it, though I have no proof.”
After Saan described the attackers, the conversation, and the knife fight in the alley, Omra could barely contain his fury. He lurched up from the cushions again. “Someone raised a hand against my son!” He caught himself and added, “
Two
of my sons.”
Saan shrugged. “There were only four of them, and Omirr did his share of fighting too. Remember, Father, enemies have tried to kill me many times. I'm ready for them.”
Omra paced, clenching his jaw. “At least the Aidenists attack us openly. If this is some sikara plot…” He let out a long sigh. “I cannot challenge the church without proof.”
“Three of the men are dead, and the one who escaped was never found. If he is involved with the sikaras, I doubt we'll see him again. They've probably sent him away to Kiesh by now… or we'll find his body floating in the harbor. Kel Rovic is investigating. Maybe he'll find something.”
Troubled, Omra sent him away and called for Istar, the person he most wanted to see. Always attuned to his thoughts, Istar detected his mood as soon as she entered the room. She settled in, crossing her legs on a broad cushion, and reported on her meetings with Finance Minister Samfair, Protocol Minister Faan, and Trade Minister Usthra, all of whom tolerated her well enough. Then, with a tone of amusement, she recounted how the stuffy Inner Wahilir emissary had refused to present her with his document from Soldan Huttan, even though she was Omra's court surrogate while he was in Ishalem.
Saan's news had stripped away his feelings of peace and anticipation, and at this further affront, the soldan-shah felt his face grow hot. Going to his writing desk, he snatched a cut piece of rough paper. “By treating you with disrespect, they insult
me
.” His words were hard and sharp, like the jagged edge of a spear head. “That, at least, I can stop—I have the power. I will show them what it means to ignore you.”
Istar leaned closer as he wrote furiously. “There's no need to overreact.”
“I am reacting
properly
, not excessively.” He finished his decree with a flourish, set aside the quill, and sealed the inkpot. “This is my summons, to be delivered to all five soldanates. Each soldan is hereby commanded to send his First Wife here to the Olabar court, where all will see the consequences of insulting me—and you.”
Istar was troubled. “What is it you plan to do? I want no blood shed over this, Omra.”
He merely dusted the fresh ink with powder, tipped a candle over the document to spill drops of wax, then pressed his signet ring into the hot wax to make his mark.
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