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Georgie was an early riser. Despite the energetic night they’d spent, the following morning didn’t break her pattern. As she wriggled out of bed and enjoyed a stretch, the men slumbered on. Back when Connor was her work colleague, she’d have shaken him awake. Today, she simply smiled at him mumbling in his dreams and shifting closer to Iksander.
They were a pair of sexy puppies sprawled together for company.
She pushed off the temptation to crawl back and join them.
That way lay sloth and waste of good daylight! She glanced at the adjoining rooftop garden, where lush palm fronds glowed emerald. As was usual for Iksander’s Glorious City, the weather was sunny. She had a perfect opportunity to explore . . . maybe without a chaperone.
Perked up by that idea, Georgie found a non-sheer robe and flowing trousers among the assortment Yasmin brought. Adding a long silk scarf to cover her humanly punkish hair, she resembled the other female servants she’d seen in the residence. If she were careful not to galumph like a tomboy, she might escape notice.
Tomboy or not, the pretty jeweled harem slippers were the most comfortable she’d ever wiggled her feet into. They were also silent. She tiptoed from the royal suite with no one the wiser.
She pulled the scarf across her mouth to hide her delighted grin.
Her mood continued brightening as she went. Iksander’s palace was a fairytale come to life. In addition to glittering jewels and abundant gilding, magnificent architecture soared everywhere. Every airy hall was a masterpiece, every lacy window and elegant marble column and sweeping set of stairs. Her spirit felt drunk on wonder. She loved few things better than beautiful old buildings. One time too many, she gave in to her urge to gawk.
“Stop dawdling, girl,” a passing servant scolded. “The sultan’s home now. You’re not a statue anymore.”
Georgie bowed her head and tried to look chastened.
She hurried down the next passage as if she had pressing business there. A wide carved arch marked the corridor’s end. It appeared to lead into a broad garden.
Did she dare step through? For herself she did, but she didn’t want to accidentally embarrass Iksander. She was his guest. She knew her freewheeling habits weren’t de rigueur for a female here.
Maybe she’d just go a little ways. See if people were out there who might spot her.
Hoping she looked purposeful, she glided under the exit. Oh it was nice outside! This garden was more open than Iksander’s private courtyard, with paths winding through an elaborate series of flowering beds. The warmth was a lovely change from the icy city they’d had their recent adventures in. Unable to resist, she turned her face toward the sun. It was strange to think she wasn’t on a planet but a whole different plane. The sky seemed the same. Bluer maybe but otherwise normal. Supposedly, Iksander’s realm was a sort of island, separated from other djinn territories by mysterious, hard-to-cross swaths of mist. She didn’t think the limits of his lands were nearby but hadn’t thought to ask. Was this how Flat Earthers felt: wondering how far they could go before they fell off an edge?
She laughed to herself at that.
She’d begun walking again when a cat jumped lightly onto the pathway in front of her. Nimbleness aside, it was scraggly, with a crooked black tail, three white socks, and a battle-scarred right ear. Georgie guessed the feline didn’t expect company. On seeing her, it stopped and stared in surprise.
“Hello, kitty,” she cooed, crouching down to its level. “Are you friendly? I have a cat back home. I’d be happy to pet you if you’re into that sort of thing.”
The cat’s little mouth fell open as if it were confused. Did Iksander’s people not talk to animals? Then the feline’s ears swiveled backward. More people were approaching. The cat had heard their footsteps before Georgie.
“Mroww,” it said, seeming to jerk its head meaningfully.
Palace security is coming, said a voice inside Georgie’s brain. Follow me if you’d rather they didn’t ask what you’re doing out alone.
Oh my God, Georgie thought, her heart thundering. This cat is enchanted! It’s a genie in disguise.
Quickly, the feline urged, which goosed her into motion. Georgie rose, following it hastily down another path, one that skirted the patrol’s route. The creature continued leading even after they were safe.
“Who are you?” Georgie whispered, unsure she could communicate telepathically. “Where are you taking me?”
Shush, said the cat. Come this way.
Their journey ended at a second palace within the larger grounds. Topped by its own domed roof, two high white walls surrounded it. The gleaming golden door at the entrance looked important.
“Is this the harem?” Georgie asked curiously.
It is, the cat confirmed. The sultana planned to summon you today anyway, so just knock and say your name. Whatever you do, if you value your human freedom, don’t agree to accept a room. Life in the harem is quite restricted. You might never get out again.
This sounded dire enough that Georgie’s eyes widened. Before she could ask more questions, the cat bounded off and disappeared into the undergrowth.
That was irritating. At the least, she’d like to know what manner of genie was giving her advice. Iksander’s dimension included light and dark—though being dark didn’t necessarily mean evil.
Since the truth about her guide was unknowable at the moment, she shrugged to herself and knocked.
True to the cat’s prediction, announcing her name got her through not one but two secure entrances. To her surprise, a tall, turbaned man took charge of her. She’d assumed harems were just for women . . . unless he was a eunuch. The guard looked masculine striding ahead of her through the vaulted hall. A curved sword hung at his hip and his shoulders were very broad. She had a sudden longing for her laptop and access to Google. A moment later, she wondered if that would help. Who knew if djinn eunuchs were the same as their human counterparts?
“Wait here,” he said. “I’ll inquire if the sultana has time for an audience.”
He left Georgie in a luxurious antechamber. The space she gazed around was feminine—very peaceful and flattering. Soft rose velvet upholstered the furniture, which was on the delicate side. Complementary shades of exotic stone clad the walls. Exiled high on the rounded ceiling were a dozen small windows. At the midpoint of the room, glittering crystal sconces supplemented their angled light. Actually, Georgie wondered if the crystals might be diamonds.
She wasn’t kept waiting long. The turbaned guard returned after a brief absence.
“Come,” he said. “The valide sultana will do you the honor now.”
He opened the door to a large, similarly pink-hued salon. An older woman—the sultana, Georgie presumed—held queen bee position at the center of a group of beautiful young women. The sultana’s chair was stiff-backed while they lounged, noticeably lower, on plush-looking tufts and cushions. Ten in number, the concubines were arranged as perfectly as a portrait, their dishabille too artistic to be anything but posed. They were richly dressed but not veiled. Georgie supposed they didn’t have to do that inside these sheltered walls.
Though she glanced from lovely face to face, she didn’t spot Yasmin. Perhaps she wasn’t one of Iksander’s mom’s besties.
“Bend your knee, girl,” the guard prompted in a stern undertone. “You’re meeting your betters now.”
Georgie jerked out a curtsey. The awkwardness of the motion caused her scarf to slip from her head. “Sultana, thank you for seeing me on short notice. You are . . . kindness itself in the face of my presumption.”
She struggled to right the veil but gave up when her efforts just tangled it. Hopefully she’d get a chance to fix it before she went outside again.
“Hm,” the sultana said, looking her over dubiously. “You humans do make it obvious what you are.”
Georgie was aware of one other human here: Elyse, the fiancée of the Glorious City’s two guardians—Cade and Arcadius. Georgie didn’t know Elyse well, but what she knew she’d liked. She reminded herself this was Iksander’s mother. No matter how rude she was, Georgie shouldn’t respond in kind. Then again, an evil empress had raised her. She knew a thing or two about verbal sparring.
“I suppose we do betray our nature,” she said calmly. “Neither Elyse nor I were brought up to display the exquisite manners you djinn take such pride in.”
The sultana’s eyes were dark gold, the kohl that lined them heightening the impression of hard intelligence. Despite Georgie’s bland delivery, they narrowed.
“The rumors about your looks seem to be true as well. Apart from your hair and choice of . . . adornments—” the sultana touched her own eyebrow, indicating the spot where Georgie’s piercings gleamed “—you’re the spitting image of my son’s deceased wife.”
The sultana and Najat hadn’t gotten on. Chances were, she meant this as an insult too.
“Thank you,” Georgie said, bowing her head as if she’d received a compliment. “Najat was someone I admired.”
“You knew the kadin?”
This sharp question came from one of the concubines, a chestnut-haired, full-lipped beauty who sat on a rose red tuffet next to the sultana’s chair.
“I did,” Georgie said. “Najat and I were spirit twins. She was able to cross dimensions and meet me in the human world. She’s how I learned of your kind’s existence. She had a wonderful loving heart, without which no beauty can truly claim the name.”
Her jab was too ham-handed. The chestnut-haired girl rolled her eyes like a teenager. The sultana dropped a warning hand to the young woman’s shoulder, murmuring a name that sounded like Sophia. Maybe only the sultana was allowed to insult guests.
“Be that as it may,” she said dryly. “My son admires you. Moreover, in killing Luna you performed a service for all of us. We shall treat you with due respect. To that end, we have prepared rooms for you.”
The scraggly cat’s warning returned to her.
“That’s very kind,” Georgie said. “But unnecessary. Connor and I are just visiting.”
The sultana’s lips pressed more tightly together. She seemed not to appreciate the mention of Georgie and Iksander’s shared lover. “For now you’re just visiting. My son seems quite attached to you. Surely to be fair to him—and yourself—you should learn what we djinn can offer you.”
Before Georgie could think of a polite refusal, the sultana rose and glided toward the door. “I believe you’ll like what we’ve arranged, though naturally you must tell us if it needs adjusting.”
“Don’t be rude,” chestnut-haired Sophia chided as Georgie gaped. “The sultana doesn’t do this for everyone.”
Georgie sighed. She guessed she was going to see the rooms, though she had no intention of staying there. With the other concubines falling in around her, she trailed the sultana down a hall. The quarters she’d arranged turned out to be pretty—cozy and comfortable with a curtained alcove for an enveloping-looking bed and a pair of fat reading chairs. The colors were lovely: green and blue and a touch of daffodil.
To be truthful, the space was unusually welcoming.
“You see?” the sultana said, perhaps sensing her surprise. “We’ve put human books on the bookshelves, in case you feel homesick. You’ll have a private bathing chamber, plus a small kitchen for making tea. All our servants will be at your disposal. Imagine soothing massages every morning and beauty treatments every night. You won’t want for anything. You’ll barely have to lift a finger.”
The sultana laid her hand lightly on Georgie’s back, the kindness of the gesture another surprise to her. “I want my son to be happy. If you’re what he wants, I want you to be happy too.”
Georgie couldn’t deny the pull of the existence she described. Wouldn’t it be nice to be safe here and cosseted? To have her person pampered and made just as enticing as it could be . . . as enticing as a worldly man like Iksander could desire. Clearly, the other residents of the harem profited from that advantage. She’d never again have to fear lacking feminine charms.
Did it matter that there were no windows? That the single door was the sole exit?
“What about Connor?” she belatedly thought to ask.
Iksander’s mother patted her shoulder. “We’ll make sure he’s happy too. Male djinn do like places of their own. Perhaps he’d enjoy an apartment in the city.”
The sultana didn’t realize Connor was an angel. Georgie opened her mouth to correct her then stopped at the last second. She knew Connor’s real nature was a secret. She shouldn’t be confiding it. Her mind felt thick, as if she were half asleep. She barely noticed the ink sleeve on her left arm tingling. Huh. Her tattoo usually only did that when some magical threat was near.
“You’re compelling me!” she exclaimed, abruptly more awake.
The harem girls who’d gathered behind them gasped in unison.
“Of course I’m not,” the sultana denied tranquilly. “I am the valide sultana. That would be unseemly.”
She looked Georgie right in the eye. Contradicting her felt not simply wrong but impossible. Was Georgie mistaken? Iksander’s mother seemed so honest . . .
“You are,” she insisted, her natural stubbornness rising. She began to shove up her sleeve, to bare the spot where the hidden protective symbol must be glowing. Though the Solomonic star was likely to offend them—being a reminder of past enslavement by the historic human king—at the moment she didn’t care. “Look here. I’ll prove it!”
She didn’t get a chance.
“Heavens,” her acquaintance Yasmin interrupted, bustling in from the hall. “How cranky humans are when they haven’t had their tea! Why don’t I take this one somewhere quiet and serve her some?”
If the sultana was suspicious of the girl’s timely interruption, she recognized it as suiting her interests. “Perhaps we have had enough excitement for one morning. No doubt my son’s friend would appreciate an interval to consider the opportunity we’ve offered.”
She certainly didn’t seem embarrassed by Georgie having caught her out. Then again, it was her word against a foreigner’s.
Georgie managed to hold her tongue until Yasmin seated her on a comfy cushion in her own quarters. “I didn’t imagine that! She was trying to spell me to move in here.”
“I believe you,” Yasmin said, “though I didn’t sense it myself. Her magic must be subtler than I realized.”
“Is she supposed to do that?”
“Hardly.” Yasmin was engaged in pouring hot mint tea. The cups were colored glasses with silver-handled holders to prevent burns. “It’s quite unethical to compel the girls in her care that way, though it might explain how she keeps them in good order.”
“She’s not keeping you in good order,” Georgie said.
Yasmin smiled and lifted her steaming glass. “I’m a fair hand at magic myself.”
The vapor from her tea formed a pair of cat ears above her head.
“You’re the talking cat!” Georgie exclaimed in a lowered voice.
Smiling still, Yasmin nodded her agreement.
“Well,” Georgie said. “That’s a trick I’m not sure I’d have the nerve to try. I’d be afraid of getting stuck that way!”
“Changing form isn’t strange to djinn. I am curious, though. Why didn’t you simply fight the sultana’s charm? Your human magic is superior to hers.”
“Stronger maybe, but it’s not like I have experience. If I tried a spell, I’d be afraid of it going wrong. Anyway, I can’t get into a wrestling match with Iksander’s mother. I love him.” This got easier to say every time. Georgie rubbed her lower lip. Probably that meant something. “Sorry,” she added. “Maybe I shouldn’t say that in front of you.”
“I’m not in love with him,” Yasmin said.
Perversely, Georgie wondered if this ought to annoy her. The harem girl was remarkably dismissive of Iksander’s appeal. Shaking that off, she leaned across the low tea table. “Why do you suppose the sultana wants me to stay? I’m an outsider. And human. I’d think she’d be eager to see the back of me.”
“I can’t be sure, but the reason could be what she said. She loves her son and wants him to be happy.”
“You don’t believe that’s why. Or not totally.”
“The sultana runs the harem. Having multiple agendas is practically her job. At least if you’re living here, under her thumb, she’ll have some influence over you.”
“You don’t want me here. You warned me to turn her down.”
Yasmin shrugged. “Perhaps I enjoy your freedom vicariously.”
Georgie’s instincts told her this wasn’t the whole story. “It’s more than that. You brought a bunch of clothes you thought would help me seduce Iksander. You made sure I know he doesn’t visit you often.”
“Hardly ever,” Yasmin emphasized. “Only once for most of us. While the kadin lived, the sultan was too devoted to dally here.”
“I’m not Najat. Iksander and I don’t have the same relationship.”
Yasmin seemed to struggle within herself. “You could if you wanted to.”
Georgie sat back. This was what Yasmin was angling for: for Georgie to replace Najat in Iksander’s affections. Why became the question then. “Was the night he spent with you that terrible?”
“Of course it wasn’t. How can you suggest it? In the darkest of his troubles, Sultan Iksander was considerate of our pleasure and well-being.”
Should Georgie demand to know what Yasmin wasn’t telling her? Despite being tempted, maybe she’d indulged her rudeness enough already—on top of which the young woman seemed determined to evade straight answers.
“Thank you for the tea,” Georgie said instead. She unfolded her legs from the floor cushion. “I should return to the palace before Iksander starts worrying.”
This excuse earned Yasmin’s approval.
“Oh yes,” she said, rising to see her out. “The last thing a sensible woman wants is to distress a good man who adores her!”
~
CONNOR HAD A CONUNDRUM. Iksander hadn’t precisely smothered him and Georgie since they’d arrived. He had, however, been protective of their safety. Thus far they’d gone nowhere without him or some uniformed, armed escort. Given that he’d been busy with official business, they’d had a lot of those. Though Connor understood the sultan’s caution—and was thankful for his care—the constant babysitting was beginning to chafe on him.
He wanted to explore the parts of his city that maybe weren’t perfect.
Since Georgie had snuck out unannounced, Connor decided to leave a note.
OUT FOR A WANDER. WILL BE CAREFUL.
PLEASE HAVE A HAPPY, PRODUCTIVE DAY.
Signing “Love, Connor” gave him a warm feeling. Opening his heart to new people was pleasurable. He placed his note on the pillow beside Iksander. Then he washed up, dressed, and slipped out.
He used his angel mojo on the guards, who let him out of the palace without asking where he was going. His guilt over ignoring what he knew to be Iksander’s wishes was tolerable. If Connor’s creator allowed him to run free, surely the sultan could loosen his reins a few inches.
Iksander’s palace sprawled atop the city’s highest hill. The winding street Connor followed down it forced his thighs and calves to wake up. The day was already bright and warm, but this neighborhood of the upper classes had barely begun to stir. Their white residences were grand but pretty, with flowers blooming in the windows and palms rising from walled gardens. Servants were about, naturally. Many smiled at him as he passed. One young boy who’d been sleeping by a gate with an orange cat jumped up like he’d been stung.
He immediately ran back in the direction Connor had emerged from.
Connor chuckled to himself. Maybe the boy was Iksander’s spy, dashing off to inform the guards of his unapproved getaway.
That wasn’t true probably. Though he wasn’t human, Connor had an imagination like one sometimes.
Because the sultan had supplied him and Georgie with pocket money, Connor purchased breakfast from the convenient street vendors. Their hand-squeezed orange juice was so fresh it was like swallowing the sun, their meat pastries so fragrant he collected a small mewing entourage of cats. The city had a lot, he noticed, and Iksander’s people took care of them. Feeding the loudest tom the last of his meal, he found himself on a promenade overlooking a broad harbor.
Here, gulls wheeled lazily above clear green waves. The birds had no trouble spotting fish. The sandy shoals beneath the water were pristine enough to glow. Along the seawall, two children played a game of tag that involved shifting from two legs to smoke form. Connor saw no parents on watch nearby, but the boy and girl were as light-footed as the street cats. Figuring it couldn’t hurt, he sent them a gentle blessing of protection.
While he was at it, he blessed the gulls as well.
His surroundings were so beautiful he experienced a sudden longing for Georgie and Iksander. Though he didn’t mind being alone, he’d have liked sharing his pleasure. Back when he was a formless scintillation of energy, he wouldn’t have guessed specific people could add so much to his happiness.
I hope the three of us stay together here, he thought, stopping short of praying. In this extra-magical city, prayers could have extra influence. However much he evolved, he always wanted to let others steer their ships. That seemed basic to his nature—his North Star, he supposed.
“Is sir interested in entertainment?” a polite voice to his left inquired.
Connor turned. A lithe young man had come up to him. Twenty or so, he was very tan, his blue eyes prematurely creased from squinting at the sun. His black outer robes were good quality but plain for a djinni.
“Entertainment?” Connor repeated.
“I am acquainted with many friendly ladies,” the young man informed him. “Beautiful ladies, such as the sultan himself would not hesitate to know.”
Connor laughed. He must look like a wealthy tourist in the clothes he’d borrowed from Iksander. “Thank you, but I have friends already. I have devoted my heart to them.”
“Wine then. Or magical substances to expand the mind. Whatever you wish, I—Kerem—can help you obtain.”
“I’m afraid I’m not in the market for any of those things.”
Kerem, apparently, wasn’t easily dissuaded from go-getting. “My office is close. I am skilled at fortune telling. I’ll read your tea leaves for free.”
Connor had never had his fortune told. As a former celestial messenger, he wasn’t certain he had one. Though he suspected Iksander would recommend against agreeing to this proposal, his interest was piqued. “Your office is close?”
“A small walk only. We’d be there in two wisps.”
“All right,” Connor said, “but I’ll pay you for the reading. I don’t think you should work for free.”
Kerem’s “office” was a narrow storefront whose entrance he shut from the street by pulling a black curtain. Inside were a cloth-covered table, two mismatched velvet chairs, and a single burner for making tea.
While the djinni prepared a pot, Connor admired the glass herb jars that filled his wall of shelves. Though unlabeled, they smelled lovely. Soothing, he thought, settling into his impromptu adventure.
“Here.” Kerem placed a flowery English-style cup and saucer on the table in front of him then sat in the opposite chair. “Drink up while it’s hot.”
A sip informed Connor the tea was delicious. “Mm,” he said and finished it.
Kerem took the cup back from him. Whatever pattern the leaves formed provoked a scowl. Was the young man’s expression part of an act, or did he truly read something peculiar?
“What do you see in there?” Connor asked.
Kerem tilted the cup to a different angle and frowned harder. “This is impossible. The leaves are refusing to tell me anything.”
Connor didn’t want him to be upset. “Perhaps I don’t have a fortune. I am an unusual man.”
“Everyone has a fortune.” As Kerem shifted his gaze to him, his irises began to glow. Djinn were prone to this happening under strong emotions. Remembering belatedly that his eyes could also betray his race, Connor set his intent to shield. This seemed to increase the djinni’s determination to probe him.
“Give me your hands,” the man demanded.
He didn’t wait for permission, taking Connor’s wrists in a fierce double grip. His fingers were hot and hard. Connor’s bones tingled not with attraction but magic.
Goodness, he thought. He’s trying to work a spell on me.
“Perhaps you shouldn’t do that,” he cautioned. Djinn had tried to charm him before without success. When he attempted to tug away, Kerem’s hold tightened.
“Tell me what you want.” The compulsion Kerem pushed through his voice deepened it. More power ran up Connor’s arms. Despite the current’s strength, he felt no urge to obey. Beads of sweat popped out on the djinni’s brow.
“World peace?” Alarmed by the djinni’s reaction, Connor laughed nervously. “Naturally, I’d only want that if it’s what people wish. Hu- djinn do seem to incarnate for different reasons than having easy lives.”
Kerem leaned forward across the table, his eyes truly burning now. “You don’t need to dissemble. Tell me your deepest yearning. Your secrets are safe with me.”
By now, Connor was certain this wasn’t true. “Please stop spelling me. I don’t want you to hurt yourself.”
“My will is set. You must reveal your desire!”
Djinn believed certain acts would turn them ifrit—a dark version of a genie they thought went to hell after death. Murder qualified as a damning sin, but would Kerem’s forcible use of magic be considered severe enough? That Connor didn’t subscribe to fire-and-brimstone philosophies didn’t matter. The djinn’s mindset drove them.
“Please stop,” he repeated. “Your immortal soul isn’t worth whatever you’re attempting.”
Kerem’s face went dusky red with strain. “Almost . . . got it . . .”
Whatever the young man thought he had, he didn’t. His eyes rolled back without warning, his spine stiffening so sharply his chair toppled. He fell to the floor in a seizure, his limbs shaking violently.
“Good Lord,” Connor gasped. He dropped to his knees beside the jerking man, afraid to touch him in case his angelic energy made the reaction worse. He wasn’t used to feeling panic; he experienced it so rarely. Should he call for help? A doctor? Would one who could assist be near enough?
He needs a good sorcerer, he thought.
As luck would have it, he knew exactly where to find the best in the city.
“Hold on, Kerem,” he said, though he wasn’t certain the man could hear. “I’m flying you to help.”
Despite passing for a djinni, Connor couldn’t smoke like one. What he could do was levitate. He gathered Kerem up, ran out the curtained door, and catapulted into the air.
If he’d stop to think about it, he took off like Superman.
Because he was naturally happy, he enjoyed the swift journey.
But he couldn’t do anything about that, and really why should he try? He made his face convey urgency as he landed back in the palace grounds. He needed the half dozen guards who were jogging over to take him seriously.
“This man is ill,” he said. “He needs immediate attention. Please fetch Joseph the Magician.”
Iksander’s security was so well trained they didn’t need to speak. Their leader snapped his fingers and two smoked off. That done, he addressed Connor politely. “This way, sir. We’ll put this man in the guard post for the time being.”
The guard post was a simple room off the yard Connor had alighted in—positively Spartan by djinn standards. The fortuneteller was unconscious but still breathing. They’d just laid him on a bench when three smoke forms streaked through the open door.
Joseph’s transformation from cloud to djinni was the crispest.
Connor had met the sorcerer once before, at a dinner for Iksander’s friends the night they arrived in his city. The tall, dark-haired man had been savvy enough to guess what Connor was, a discovery that made him wary but not afraid. As a member of the sultan’s inner circle, he was very much trusted. Calm as well. As soon as he had feet to take him, he strode smoothly to where the sick man lay. His head jerked straighter when he saw Kerem’s face.
“He’s one of ours,” he said.
“One of yours?” Connor asked.
Joseph pressed his lips together. “Give us a bit of space,” he instructed the guards’ captain.
“Shall we bar the door?”
“Yes,” he confirmed. “This situation may require discretion.”
“I’m discreet,” Connor said before he too could be ordered off.
Joseph looked at him with steady honey-colored eyes. “As you wish.”
With a casual crooking of two fingers, he magically waved a small stool closer. He sat and took Kerem’s hand—not to comfort the unconscious man but to study the flow of energy in his palm.
“He’s all right,” he said after a few moments. “Or he will be after he’s slept a day or two. He seems to have fried his circuits, probably by shoving too much power through them. What was he doing when he passed out?”
Connor explained the situation as succinctly as he could.
“He wanted to know your deepest desire?”
“It seemed more important to him than telling my fortune. I don’t know why. I’d never met him before today.”
Joseph hummed thoughtfully.
“Who is he?” Connor asked.
“A palace magician. Not a bad one either. He’s worked with us for years.”
“Why would he pretend to be a simple street sorcerer?”
Though Joseph shook his head, Connor sensed he had a theory. Rather than push him to reveal it, he shared his own.
“When people know what you want, sometimes they can use it as leverage.”
Joseph’s grimace suggested he’d hit the mark. “Kerem is a particular favorite of the valide sultana.”
“Iksander’s mother?”
“Yes.” Joseph rubbed his thighs uncomfortably.
“I don’t understand why that’s significant.”
“Neither do I. Yet.” He met Connor’s eyes again. “Let’s move this man to the infirmary. I don’t believe he’s in serious danger, but they’ll look out for him.”
Joseph seemed reluctant to discuss his thoughts in the comatose man’s presence.
“He hasn’t turned himself dark over this, has he?” Connor felt compelled to ask.
“Not that I’m aware. He may be lucky your resistance blocked him before he went too far.”
If Kerem were cognizant on some level of what they said, Joseph’s tone was a warning for him not to try again.