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Prodigal Daughter
—
“I knew your luck would return,” Yasmin’s mother Vinca crowed happily. “I’ve been praying and lighting candles ever since the sultan abandoned you.”
They were in the family villa, in what Vinca still referred to as Yasmin’s room. For the last ten minutes, she’d been going through Yasmin’s closet, pulling out old garments she’d thought could be rescued. Those she clucked over less were tossed onto the bed. Those she deemed irredeemable she returned to the shameful depths.
Resigned to letting her take charge, Yasmin perched on an empty corner of the mattress. “Iksander didn’t abandon me.”
“He practically tossed you into the street. And for what? To take a human as his kadin! Don’t get me started on that male he and she share as their consort. What sort of name is Connor for a djinni? He might as well be foreign too.”
“I believe he is foreign. I met him briefly. He struck me as very kind. His heart chakra was immense.”
“His heart chakra,” Vinca repeated dismissively. “When I was your age, males didn’t carry on with males.”
“I’m sure they did,” Yasmin said. “You just didn’t hear about it.”
“I’d rather not hear about it now!”
In spite of her own feelings on the matter, Yasmin laughed. “Don’t pack that,” she objected, tugging a gown from her mother’s hands.
“But you look beautiful in pink. And the gold embroidery is fantastic.”
“Pink is girlish. I’d rather be taken for the adult I am.”
“I suppose,” her mother said then recovered her brighter mood. “It was nice of Lady Toraman to invite you as her companion. You’re sure to meet important people. Maybe even a nice djinni. If this weekend works out, you can quit that ridiculous career you’ve insisted on.”
Yasmin rubbed her temple. Her mother assumed the invitation to the party was genuine. Yasmin didn’t disabuse her. For one thing, she took client confidentiality seriously. If she told the truth, her mother might guess what the job concerned. For another thing, Vinca always made her feel a little cowardly.
“I know,” her mother said, noting her discomfort if not its precise cause. “You think I’m getting ahead of myself. If I am, I don’t see how you can blame me. You’re a wonderful girl—smart and gifted and lovely inside and out. You deserve a husband you can be proud of every bit as much as your old harem mate.”
“Safiye wants a husband,” Yasmin said. “I want my own future.”
“There’s no reason your future can’t include a worthy male. Your friend obviously knows that. Stefan Dimitriou is an up-and-comer. Last year he was elected Speaker for his province. Admittedly, it’s only Edgeward, and that’s the back of beyond. The position, however, is responsible.”
Her knowledge surprised Yasmin. “You’ve followed Dimitriou’s career?”
“Certainly. Your father likes to read up on politics. Lots of people in our circle find Dimitriou interesting.”
Her parents’ circle included fellow area merchants, most of them prosperous.
“What else do they say about him?”
“You’re really curious?”
“I’d like to know who I’m going to meet.”
Her mother laid down the rose red tunic she’d been folding. “Well, they say he’s very intelligent. A bit of a lady’s man but willing to settle down—as I expect Lady Toraman means to prove. Quite a few believe Dimitriou wouldn’t have gotten us into the awful trouble Iksander did. They claim he’d have found a way to prevent Empress Luna from cursing our poor city.”
Yasmin felt as if the breath had been stolen from her lungs. She couldn’t say exactly why her mother’s words disturbed her, only that the reaction was powerful.
“Really?” she said once she’d recovered. “They talk about Dimitriou in those terms?”
Her mother shrugged. “No sultanate lasts forever.”
This statement shocked her anew. “Mother, Iksander is good man. He cares about his people. He and his friends risked their lives for ours many times over. He’s devoted to everyone’s well-being.”
“I’m just repeating what I’ve heard people say.” Her mother could tell Yasmin disapproved. Her expression turned stubborn. “It’s possible to have too much progressiveness. Honestly, Yasmin I don’t know why you’re defending him.”
“Because I know Iksander. I’ve seen up close what he’s made of.” She took her mother’s hand and squeezed. “You know I’m clever, right? You’ve said yourself I’m lovely inside and out. Please be careful around djinn who talk like that. I don’t think they’re as light of spirit as you and Father are.”
She’d chosen words designed to get through to her. When her older brother Ramis was seventeen, before he embarked on his life of crime, he’d killed a friend out of jealousy. Though the family disowned him as soon as he necessarily turned ifrit, the shame of his fall still burned. Yasmin’s mother wouldn’t take talk of dark spirits casually.
A single family member turning demon was sufficient.
“You’re being dramatic,” Vinca said, though she didn’t sound confident.
“Perhaps. Just don’t mistake a longing for the past as an actual good idea. Who knows if things really were as picture-perfect as your friends remember.”
Vinca laughed. “You sound like your father.” She imitated his deeper voice. “‘Vinca, sometimes young folk are worth listening to.’”
“Father’s a wise man,” Yasmin said with exaggerated solemnity.
“You only say that when he agrees with you.” Her mood restored, Vinca shook her head at the colorful heap of silk she’d piled up. “I should get these clothes to the servants. Make sure they have sufficient time to magick them into resembling this year’s fashions.”
“Don’t push them to overdo it. It’s only one weekend.”
“You know Aysa. She’ll consider it a personal affront if you aren’t dressed to equal any djinniya there.” Vinca patted Yasmin’s shoulder before she could say more. “Change into something nice for dinner. Your father’s so excited to have you and Balu home. Tonight will be like old times for him.”
Knowing this was probably true, Yasmin rose to give her mother a little hug. “Thank you, Mama. You and Papa teach me what good marriages ought to be.”
“Well.” Her mother blinked in bright-eyed surprise. “I wish you one as happy, sweetie. That goes for your father too.”
~
Dinner was like old times, warm and jovial and silly with family jokes. Yasmin enjoyed it more than she expected. Yes, her parents—especially her mother—wanted her to be a person she no longer was. Nonetheless, that they loved her she couldn’t doubt. Unlike some harem member’s families, the Baykals wouldn’t reject her just because the sultan withdrew his favor. Perhaps her parents did feel the loss of honor, but Yasmin was their treasured daughter. They’d always welcome her.
It was late before they walked out to the villa’s garden to say goodbye. The night was clear and starry, the temperature a kiss cooler than djinn skin. Because she now had a trunk full of clothes to carry, her father pressed her to accept the loan of a rug and driver to fly her home.
“I won’t refuse,” she said. “I’m too full of good food to smoke.”
Her father smiled and clasped her face fondly. “You could sleep here tonight.”
“Lady Toraman wants to leave early in the morning. I’d rather not have to rush.”
“I worry about you living by yourself in that neighborhood.”
Yasmin had a small apartment above her office, which her father had visited. “You know my knack for security spells. I’m as safe in my little nest as I’d be anywhere.”
“But—”
“No, Papa. I like being on my own.”
“At least let Balu go with you tomorrow. Edgeward Province is so close to the In-Betweens. Things go funny out there sometimes.”
“We talked about this,” she said as patiently as she could. “Balu wasn’t invited. And Lady Toraman will have guards.”
“I could pretend to be your guard,” Balu said, wanting to go for different reasons than protecting her. “No one has to know I’m your brother.”
Though Yasmin understood his yen to join the detecting mission, she was wound tight enough on her own account. She didn’t want to risk him doing something impulsive and blowing their cover.
“It’s just a house party. Nothing bad is going to happen.”
“Goddess grant something good will.” For once, Yasmin’s mother was on her side of an argument. She patted her daughter’s shoulders and kissed her cheeks. “Don’t be nervous, sweetie,” Vinca said for her ears alone. “You’re as good as anyone. Be yourself and you’re sure to shine.”
Yasmin hugged her in thanks for the encouragement.
“I’m ready, miss,” the driver announced politely from a flat stretch of grass. “Whenever you’d like to leave.”
Her trunk was loaded in the center of the family’s best antique: a silk-wool Persian with a large blue and cream pattern. The edges were already folded up for the flight. Taking her father’s hand for balance, Yasmin stepped over the box’s side. The cushions were new, she noticed, and cushy to sit on.
“Take care,” her father said as the carpet began to lift.
“Good luck,” Balu added with a wave.
“I packed one pink outfit,” her mother called. “It’s not too girly. You’ll thank me, I promise.”
Yasmin laughed. Of course she’d packed something pink. Yasmin’s stubborn streak hadn’t come from nowhere.