Twenty-Seven

 

If she slipped a blade out of her wrist sheath, she could reach up and sever his Achilles tendon. Both of them, if she was quick. Throw a handful of sand in his eyes as she jumped to her feet, and run. Anahita's instincts urged her to do just that, but she knew she could not. Not yet. For if half the marketplace gossip about this man was true...she could not risk leaving him alive.

Running could wait until after the deed was done. Until then, cold calculation would occupy her mind, as it always did. Haidar and Asad had taught her well.

In the meantime, she allowed herself the small fantasy of choking him with the very shoe he'd balanced on the back of her neck. Watching his face grow red, then purple, then blue as he gasped for air that would never again reach his lungs...

"Take her to the women's tent, where they can prepare her for our wedding. If she pleases me tonight, you can carry word back to your master on the morrow. If she does not..." The foot pressed against her neck, making it hard to breathe. "Perhaps I will make her head MY gift to the Sultan, and the next gift the Sultan sends will be more acceptable."

The sheikh did not know how wrong he was, but Anahita had no desire to enlighten him just yet. His time would come, and she would enjoy it. For now, she forced her face to appear blank as Haidar and Asad took her arms and hauled her to her feet. She itched to brush the dust off her embroidered gown, but that, too, could wait. Some servant could deal with the damage when she returned home. She would not wear this again, if she could help it.

She would have enough to do, finding another way to break Philemon's curse. Once this current task was complete. First, she had to grind Basit's face in the dirt.

Asad thrust her through the flap of the largest tent in the camp, from blazing light into darkness. It took her a moment for her eyes to adjust, which was time enough for Haidar to drop a bag of her things at her feet and inform the women of their sheikh's orders for her.

Then the tent flap closed entirely, leaving her alone with what looked like a hundred women, curious about the newest of their number.

Anahita relaxed. She knew her place in a harem – even this one. She allowed the women to lift her dusty robe off, and pretended not to notice their exclamations at the quality of the work or the quantity of dust on it.

"She's so small!"

"He'll break her on her first time."

"She looks terrified."

"Such a pretty tunic. Are the jewels real?"

Anahita let their words wash over her, not uttering a word except to nod occasionally if someone asked her a question. A new bride in a new home was supposed to be nervous. Never mind that she outranked all of them – once she married their sheikh, her place would be his to dictate. So she surrendered to them for now.

"Should we tell her? Warn her, maybe?"

"Can't risk it."

"She should save herself if she can. What if she suffers the same fate as Inbal?"

Inbal, a girl who could not have been older than ten, Anahita discovered, had had her tongue cut out for saying something that displeased the sheikh.

Anahita resolved to avenge the girl.

"Make her so beautiful he cannot resist."

"Oh, isn't the silk lovely? So fine, you can see quite through it!"

"That will not last the night."

Women washed her with cool water, then applied perfumed oils to her skin, before helping her into her wedding clothes – the contents of the bags Haidar had brought. Sheer silk so thin that in the right light, you could see through it, but only her husband would see that, in the privacy of his tent tonight. She fastened the bells onto her bracelets herself, while two small girls did the same with her anklets. A thin chain of bells clipped to her belt, and her dance clothes were complete.

"Do you think they will succeed?"

"They must! This cannot go on."

"Don't forget to oil her hair. You know how grabby his hands can be. At least give her a chance."

They combed, curled and oiled her hair, a luxury Anahita had not allowed herself while they travelled. Hair oil seemed to pick up every speck of dust in the desert, but tonight its glossy sheen would catch the light once she took her veil off. She knew she was too plain to attract him with her beauty – even Philemon had said so.

"Wish we dared poison the wedding feast. He and his favourites alone will eat it – this poor mite won't eat a bite."

"Better that way. What would he do to her if she vomited her food at his feet?"

"Don't even think it. Whoever does the deed will have my thanks."

"And mine."

"Who is it, do you know?"

"One of the men. They all want the honour of delivering the final blow."

"Of course they do. They know what it means."

Over the gossamer silk, they placed another heavily embroidered robe the blood-red colour of her marriage bed. Jewels had been sewn into this one – dark rubies that glittered in the light, drawing attention to the curve of her breasts beneath it.

"When will it happen?"

"After the feast, when he takes her to his bed."

"Actually IN...?"

"Shh, she looks scared enough. Don't frighten her further. It must be tonight."

The matching jewelled veil completed her bridal clothes, covering Anahita's hair and all but her eyes.

"Doesn't she look a vision?"

"He will not be able to resist."

"Good."

A gentle hand landed on Anahita's shoulder, and she met the pitying eyes of an older woman. "It's all right to be afraid, chick. All brides fear their wedding night. Just stay silent, lie back, and submit to whatever he wishes. It will be over quickly."

Anahita's heart sank as the woman didn't say the final line of bridal advice she'd heard so many times in her father's harem: "You might even enjoy it." No one here enjoyed Sheikh Basit's attentions.

No wonder they were plotting a coup tonight.

A coup that could not succeed if the sheikh was already dead at her hands.

Did she have the right to take vengeance away from these women? Stolen from their fathers, husbands, families, to serve his pleasure?

Ah, but none of the women would deliver the blow. And she had her answer.

She didn't need a man to save her. Anahita would save herself. And all of them. The moment that arsehole put his foot on her neck, he'd sealed his fate.