Wind and wildfire mages.., p.36
Wind & Wildfire (Mages of the Wheel), page 36
“How?”
He touched his nose to her chin. “Be with me. Like you did at the protests. At my side.”
“As an adviser? Like a Vizier?” She could barely make her voice work.
“No,” he said, laughter bright in his eyes. “Not like a Vizier. Like a Queen.”
She huffed, searching his face. “I am not a Queen. I am not…” This was what Behram had done to her. Panic swirled in her belly. “Please don’t do this to me.”
“What am I doing?” he said worriedly.
“Behram did this.”
“No, Behram had you arrested,” he said, lingering anger coloring his voice. “I love you. I want you to be exactly what you are. Exactly what I admire, what I have admired from the moment I met you. Do not be anything else. Please. Except mine. Be that as well.” He stroked her waist, once, twice, and again, his hands restless, his gaze more so.
“Even if I agreed, you cannot believe your father will ever let you marry me.”
“For you, I would endure a hundred more lashes with that cane. And it is the Council I need to convince. Not my father. They can occasionally be outmaneuvered.”
“I don’t believe you at all,” she said, eyeing him. “And if you think I’ll just stand by while you get beaten with a cane you are mad.”
He looked at her with adoration just before he caught her mouth in his, tugging her body hard to his. The angle was awkward, but she did not care. She thought of his kisses entirely too often to deny even one.
“I know, and you cannot imagine how that knowledge makes me feel,” he said.
“You cannot simply spring that on me. I have to think,” Dilay said. How could she think?
“All right,” he said. She wanted to tell him how she felt, how her heart ached any time she thought of him with anyone, thought of never seeing him again. But this…
She turned a little more, and tucked her head into the slope of his neck. It was perfect, to lean into his embrace, feel him clasp his hands together against her back. He rubbed his chin against the top of her head, his beard snagging in her hair.
“I worked very hard on those braids,” she protested, but did not move. He made a throaty sound, cupping her head with one hand, and his fingers traced the knot of them. Then he dug his fingers in and claimed a pin, which he pulled free. Before she could protest, he found another, and she let him continue, her pulse a hard thump in every limb. She closed her eyes, tucking her head into the curve of his throat as he continued his work with both hands. The braids tumbled against her shoulders, and he combed them with gentle fingers. She shuddered in pleasure at the touch, his fingers against her head, the warm grip of his hand on the back of her neck.
“You didn’t like them?” she had to say something, his intense silence was stifling.
“I have wanted to touch your hair from the moment I met you.” He buried his nose in it, taking the strands in his hands with another sound that made her body weaken.
“Oh.” She slipped her mouth against the side of his neck, not a kiss, more like a warning. His hands urged her closer, and she did kiss his skin. Little pecks, tasting the salt of him, inhaling the inexplicable way he always smelled so clean. Like fresh air and soap. Somehow, addled as she was, she did not care that the open arch to the stairs loomed at her back, threatening. Anyone could walk in on them. Doing this.
“I miss you so much when we are apart,” he said.
She slid her hands up to his face and tilted it toward hers to kiss him. He responded ravenously, his hands returning to her hair to hold her to him. He gave a short, sharp moan that made her ache. She pressed harder against him, her whole body to his. He scooped an arm under her hips and lifted her up, using his other hand to shove her entari and caftan out of the way so she could kneel over his legs.
“Me too,” she said, breathlessly, aroused and embarrassed to be straddling him. She looked at him, heat rushing into her face, and his eyes were wide and dark as he looked back.
“Dilay.” His voice dropped in pitch, a husky timbre that made her languid. Her hands pressed against his stomach of their own accord as she touched her brow to his. She tugged apart the clasps on the lower half of his entari, finding the caftan beneath and bunching it out of the way. In the deepest dark of her thoughts, she knew she wasn’t acting sensibly, but she did not care.
Omar turned his face into the slope of her neck, whispering encouragement as her fingers found skin, and the top of his salvar. Light flickered awake on his skin when she curled her fingers underneath the waist of the salvar. His head lifted.
Dilay brushed the fingers of her free hand over a pool of light that pulsed against his throat, meeting his gaze. Light spun in his eyes as well, and a furrow creased his brow. She smoothed it with her thumb and started to withdraw her hand from his waistband. Omar caught her by the wrist, his other hand cupping the back of her neck, as he pressed her body to his and her hand into his salvar.
“Omar,” Dilay cajoled in a near whisper. If his limit was already tested, grabbing at his most intimate places was not going to help. Despite her rational thoughts, her fingers twitched against the heat of his abdomen.
“My magic is all right”—he brushed his lips over hers—“but I will not be all right if I am denied what I want one single time more.”
“Oh?” she hummed, curling her fingers until their tips brushed the hot, silken skin of his erection. She gripped him. “What do you want?”
His breath rushed and caught, his muscles going taut beneath her. He swore.
“Efendim, I am sorry to disturb you,” Ruslan called from well down the twist of stairs. Wise man that he was. Dilay’s head snapped up, and she yanked her hand away. Omar grabbed for it and missed as she scrambled off his lap and onto the bench.
“If the palace isn’t burning down I will kill him.” Omar hunched forward, jamming his spectacles on and crossing his arms over his knees to hide his undone clothes. Dilay fumbled her hair into a quick braid, to at least appear somewhat in order. Ruslan arrived at the top of the stairs, oozing reticence, and looked entirely too relieved to see them sitting, awkward and stiff.
“Yes?” Omar asked in a remarkably cool tone of voice. Dilay wasn’t certain she could speak at all. Ruslan held out an envelope as he approached, like a truce flag. She recognized the seal on the back, the mark of the tribunal court.
“A decision has been made in the Merchant Guild dispute. A messenger just delivered this.”
Omar straightened and took it, and Ruslan’s gaze flashed to his bunched-up entari then away. Dilay fidgeted with the cuffs of her sleeves.
“Thank you.” Omar started to rip it open before Ruslan had even bowed. He unfolded the paper within and read it, then rubbed his hand over his face and muttered a curse.
“Who?” Dilay asked, though she suspected his reaction was enough of an answer.
“Semih Kadir.”
Thirty-One
DILAY WAITED IN AN ALCOVE across from the Council Hall, where Omar had gone to inform his father of the decisions of the tribunal. Her own father was likely entrenched at a teahouse somewhere, venting his fury to anyone who would listen. People passed her little hiding spot, but only a few noticed her, and only briefly. While she waited she repinned her braids, though not as tidily as she would have done with a mirror and a comb. It would have to do. She doubted she would go in front of the Council now, with this new development. The leadership of the Merchant Guild was a much more pressing issue to the Council than an errant teacher and her wild ideas about public schools.
She stared at the doors, wishing she could hear more than the rise and fall of muffled voices. What would it be like to be able to be present at these meetings? Where the decisions that affected the lives of everyone in Tamar were made? That was so out of reach even she could never have dreamed of such a thing. But…if she agreed to Omar’s proposal, would she be allowed in? Could she maneuver the Council? Influence them? Dilay huffed. She had not even swayed the tribunal with laws and truth, how could she hope to move the Council in a direction they did not wish to go?
Omar made it sound easy. Could he teach her? Dilay leaned against the back wall of the alcove, staring at the Council doors and trying to imagine herself inside. Dressed in heavy silk and brocade, with jewels, quiet and proper and subdued like the Queen Sultana. She tried to imagine fighting Viziers the way she had fought the Headmaster and Proctors at the University. That was nearly impossible.
Guards inside the hall opened the doors and stood outside as the men inside got to their feet.
Dilay’s alcove was offset from the doors, so she did not see Omar until he was near the hall, walking beside Mazhar just behind their father. The Queen Sultana was not there at all. Did that mean sultanas were not allowed in? She folded her arms over her chest. No. She could not imagine that. Being a ruler barred from participating in ruling.
Omar’s gaze darted over the hall. Did she see disappointment? Was he looking for her? Warmth filled her, both for the hope that he looked for her the moment he could, and for the heat that lingered from their…discussion in the tower.
“I am here,” she whispered into her power. He looked again, and she stepped forward into the frame of the alcove. His posture relaxed, and he smiled. Dilay tried to ignore the way it made her own body do the same. She could imagine that. A man who was excited to see her even if they had been separated no more than a candlemark. Mazhar followed Omar’s line of sight and saw her too, and some of the warmth fizzled away when he said something to Omar that made his face tense.
When most of the Viziers had moved on, down the hall toward the main palace, Omar crossed the hall to her. He had a look on his face she liked, as though he were considering backing her into the shadow of the alcove for more kisses. But there were people still in the hall, and of course they knew exactly where he was and who he was talking to.
“What happened?” Dilay asked, instead of reaching to pull on him as she wanted to do.
He indicated the hall with a jerk of his head and Dilay stepped out to walk beside him, though she left a respectable distance between them. Hopefully enough of one that no one suspected she had been in his lap not so long ago. Dilay banished the heat in her face with a wisp of magic.
Three Viziers stood chatting together by the doors to the Council Hall, but their conversation stopped when she and Omar passed. Dilay reached up to brush a strand of hair behind her ear and dropped her chin to stare at the floor. She probably looked strange next to him.
“They see what you want them to see,” Omar said, without looking at her or them. “You have done far more with far less than anyone in this palace, remember?” He smiled without looking at her and Dilay nodded. Of course.
“What should they see, when they look at me?” Dilay asked as they turned down a hall that she believed would return them to the Sultan’s wing, where all the private rooms were.
“If it were up to me, they would see a Queen,” Omar said, when it appeared the hall they were in was empty. Dilay cast him a little smile, which he returned. “But you know who you are, Dilay. The trick is to never allow them to forget it.”
“So wise for someone who would not even leave the palace for fear of his father not so long ago.”
“I apparently only needed the right incentive,” he replied. They exchanged a glance that warmed Dilay like a summer breeze.
They walked in silence the rest of the way, though she didn’t know where they were going. After another turn they arrived in the hall where his rooms were, which is where he stopped. Dilay looked up at him uncertainly.
“I thought”—he pushed the doors open and motioned her inside with a tilt of his head—“you might like to plant a tree.” He whispered the last in her ear as he shut the doors behind her. Dilay turned to face him with her brows raised. It was not exactly what she wanted, but it seemed a silly thing to say out loud.
“Do you know how to plant a tree?”
“No idea,” he said jovially as he unbuttoned his ornate silver entari and tossed it over a chair. “Although I imagine one has to engineer a pit.”
“A pit?” Dilay laughed, following his example and shedding her own entari. Omar stepped into the sitting area and crossed to the glass doors, which were already open, revealing that the little fig tree had made a magical appearance on the stone veranda beyond. He ducked his head out to examine the sky as he rolled the sleeves of his caftan up to his elbows.
“If we hurry, we can beat the rain,” he announced.
She stopped to lay his entari flat over the bench, so it did not wrinkle, and did the same with hers. He observed her, smiling guiltily when she raised an eyebrow at him.
“What do we need?” he asked when she came up beside him.
“A shovel would be helpful. Unless you care to dig with your hands.”
“I have something better.” He walked out into the garden and she followed. As he stepped out of his shoes, she picked up the fig tree and handed it to him. “Where should we put it?”
“Somewhere the Queen can see it from her rooms. And where you can.” Dilay reached down to tug her slippers off. He wandered into the garden and she followed, watching as he glanced between the doors she suspected were his mother’s and the grand-looking room at the very end of the garden that was surely the Sultan’s.
After a few turns and repositions he stopped and set the pot on the ground.
“Here,” he announced, looking pleased. Dilay bit her lip to stifle her laugh and nodded.
“And the shovel?”
He gestured, and Dilay looked toward the far end of the garden, seeing Ruslan as he walked toward them. He did not appear to be carrying a shovel. She turned a scathing look on Omar.
“You did not call him here to use his magic for you.”
“Of course I did,” Omar said, as though it were the only solution that made sense. Dilay cast Ruslan an apologetic glance when he arrived.
“Would you rather wait while he attempted to figure out a shovel?” Ruslan murmured to her when they stood shoulder to shoulder. Dilay sputtered a laugh, and Omar cast them a suspicious glance. Thunder rumbled, close enough that urgency crept into Dilay’s thoughts.
“Here.” Dilay put her hand on the grass next to the pot, checking the spot against views from the many rooms that surrounded the long, narrow garden. Ruslan ducked his head and knelt and Dilay moved out of the way. He scratched a sigil in the earth, pressing his palms to the spot she had selected. She took another step back when she felt his magic roll over the ground, itchy at the sensation. The ground heaved apart, and he manipulated it with motions of his hands, scooping dirt out to widen and deepen the hole.
“That should be fine, Ruslan, thank you,” Dilay said as he sat back on his heels.
“I will bring coffee to your room, Efendim.” He stood and bowed to Omar.
“Should we ask for a dampening so you can tell me about the Council?” Dilay asked.
Omar closed his eyes briefly, and she felt a brush of his magic, then he shook his head. He sat on the opposite side of the hole from her, folding his legs in front of him. Dilay winced for the grass and dirt stains that would likely ruin his expensive salvar. She tugged the pot toward her and showed Omar how to remove the fig from it.
Omar pulled the pot away, leaving Dilay holding the little tree. “My father is pleased with the decision. Altimur Pasha had begun to fall out of favor with him. Despite the opinions of the city, the palace viewed him as too sympathetic to the common man. More troubling, for me at least, is that I have also inadvertently handed Kadir Pasha the path to Grand Vizier.”
“What?”
Omar set the pot on the ground. “When I asked for annulment, my father suggested Behram to take my place, so that Zehra would not be shamed, nor her father.”
“Oh,” Dilay said. Behram would be livid. Had he known at the tribunal? When he had paraded her history in front of everyone? Anger burned away her concern for him. Was he intent on making himself unredeemable in her esteem?
“I did not mean to do that to either of them, and now Semih will be next in line for Grand Vizier with almost no one powerful enough to contest him. And, Osman has disappeared.” That surprised Dilay, and she could see regret on Omar’s face. They had looked happy when she’d seen them all at the tribunal. Laughing together. Friends. “Some think Altimur Pasha sent him away to let rumors spawned by the tribunal debacle die down. Some think he ran.”
“What do you think?”
“It isn’t like Osman to run. But I cannot know for certain. Behram said things that would be difficult for Osman to live down.” Omar pursed his lips in thought. “The Council is divided on their feelings. Very little was accomplished besides quibbling. They will not convene today about your schools, I’m afraid.”
Dilay picked at the roots of the fig, teasing them apart. “I did not think they would, once Ruslan brought the tribunal notice.”
“It will happen, I promise. How is Yusef?”
“Edgy.” Dilay set the fig in the hole. “Hold here.” She indicated the trunk. Omar obeyed, and she carefully corrected him to make certain the tree was straight. She scooped dirt into the hole around it, and Omar held the tree with one hand to help. “I will speak with him tomorrow and tell him what happened. I believe he’ll understand.” She pressed the dirt to compress it around the tree and sat back to admire it, brushing hair out of her face with her fingers.
Omar made a little sound like a laugh, and reached forward to brush at her cheek. She flinched away in surprise.
“You have dirt there,” he said.
“And you are remarkably clean for someone who’s been planting a tree.” She reached over and dragged her dirt-stained fingers across his face. He grabbed her wrist and hauled her toward him, and Dilay scuffed dirt onto his pristine white salvar as she laughed. She braced her hand against his thigh as he tried to tug her closer, flicking more dirt in her face. Dilay wiped her hands on his caftan and he made a startled sound of protest, grabbing both her hands and pulling her to him. The look on his face, pure, unfettered joy, made her bright with her own. And love. She loved him. It was not a new realization, it had been warm inside her for some time, it was simply that she settled into it in that moment. Realized it would not go away, or be forgotten, no matter how complicated things would be for them.
