As he made his rounds, Tarek toughened his resolve against reacting to injury. Each consecutive solider made it easier. Until he saw Anant.
“Oh, God!” Tarek had forgotten. Selfish, conceited idiot, he had
forgotten
that Anant had saved his life. He rushed to Anant’s side.
Anant was unconscious. His helmet had taken the brunt of the mace swing, but the left side of his face was in terrible shape. His cheek was swollen, his left eye was misshapen, and it seemed as if the distance between his eyes had widened.
The air caught in Tarek’s throat.
The physician overseeing the injuries caught Tarek’s reaction and tried to reassure him.
“He’ll survive,” the physician said. “He’s very lucky—I think he’ll keep his eye.”
“Will he… be disfigured?” Tarek thought of Anant’s deep, masculine handsomeness, so alluring when coupled with his shy blushes.
The physician sighed. “He’ll live. That’s all I can promise you right now.”
Tarek nodded. “Do whatever you can. Help him.” He stared at the physician. “He is a friend of mine.”
“Oh!” The physician seemed flustered. “Shall I take him into the palace then? The other commanders who sustained injuries are there. The accommodations are better.”
Tarek narrowed his eyes. “Anant is a commander. Why isn’t he with them?”
“He said he wanted to stay with his men.”
Tarek stared at Anant a long time before answering. “Bring him to the palace. Do everything you can.” And he left the courtyard to finish his inspection.
W
ITHIN A MONTH OF BEGINNING THEIR FLUTE LESSONS
J
ANDU
realized how he could improve Abiyar’s concentration. Jandu had been initially confused by the boy’s strange split-personality when it came to practicing music. On the one hand, he always seemed interested, and he enthusiastically attempted every challenge Jandu presented him.
On the other hand, he often scoffed at the instrument, calling it a “stupid girl’s toy” and “beneath him.” He glanced nervously at the guard who was assigned to him, and every time the guard looked back, Abiyar straightened, pushing out his chest, tightening his facial features as if annoyed.
Finally, Jandu just excused the guard by asking him sweetly to step outside. At moments like this, Jandu’s feminine body served him well. He fluttered his eyelashes.
The guard didn’t even bother to hide the fact that he stared at Jandu’s breasts. “I am not allowed to leave him alone.” But he looked tempted. For a month, he had stood through Abiyar’s lessons with a bored, pained expression on his face.
“He isn’t alone,” Jandu said. “He’s with me.”
“It’s all right,” Abiyar said. He stood and narrowed his eyes at the guard. “Wait for me outside.”
“As you wish, my lord.” The guard ogled Jandu one last time, and then stepped from the room.
Jandu’s mouth curled into a smile. “Right. Let’s see how practice goes without an audience today.”
Jandu made himself comfortable on the sitting room settee. Abiyar sat beside him, folding his thin legs nervously. His awkward body, his desire to please, and his brash bravado appealed to Jandu. Since meeting Abiyar, Jandu had heard most of the palace rumors that circulated about the boy. People considered Abiyar girlish and weak. His brothers disliked him. Jandu had even heard several of the women in the bath house accuse the boy of being a faggot.
Which, of course, only made Jandu feel more protective of his young protégé. From the way Abiyar nervously glanced at Jandu’s breasts and blushed with any close contact, Jandu truly doubted Abiyar was a homosexual. But his reputation was in dire straits. Jandu wanted to help resurrect it.
“Show me what we learned yesterday,” Jandu said, handing the flute to Abiyar.
Without the guard, Abiyar’s playing improved greatly. Even he seemed shocked by his own performance. Jandu realized that at this rate it wouldn’t be long before Abiyar’s natural musical abilities would surpass Jandu’s own limited skill.
Halfway through the day’s scales, a servant girl knocked quietly at the door and delivered a plate of food for lunch. Abiyar dove into the bread and cheese hastily.
Jandu shook out the flute and cleaned it with a cloth. “You’re very good, Abiyar,” he said. He froze, realizing his error in calling the lord’s son by his first name.
But Abiyar didn’t seem to mind. He smiled sweetly, too grateful for the rare compliment to be concerned with decorum.
“I told you I like music,” Abiyar said. “And you are a good teacher, Janali.”
Jandu smiled. “Tell me about some of your other teachers. Who is your weapons master?”
“Master Devdan,” Abiyar said, mouth full of bread and cheese. “He is the most renowned Triya warrior in all of Afadi!”
“Then you are in good hands.”
“Of course.” Abiyar fiddled with his diadem. “I only have the best.”
A warm, balmy breeze smelling of roses wafted in from the window, and Jandu leaned back, enjoying the feel of the air on his skin. His midriff was bare, and the air tickled his naval.
“Has Master Devdan started training you with shartas?” Jandu asked.
Abiyar’s eyes widened. “Magical weapons? What do you think he is, a prophet?”
Jandu laughed. “Regular humans can use them too.”
“No they can’t,” Abiyar said. “That is a myth.”
“They can,” Jandu insisted. “You just have to concentrate. There are two skills needed in learning a sharta. You must first learn how to summon it, and then learn the counter-curse, to withdraw it. Some are more difficult to recall than others.”
This piqued Abiyar’s interest. He turned to Jandu enthusiastically. “How do you know this?”
Jandu burned with a desire to show off in front of Abiyar. His mind was filled with so many magical weapons, it would startle even his own family. The years of training with Mazar formed an arsenal the likes of which most armies in Marhavad had never seen.
But if there was any one thing Jandu could do to completely blow his cover, it would be to unleash a magical weapon. He leaned his head back against his hands and sighed.
“I know a lot of things.” He left it at that.
◆◆◆
In December, Abiyar began an intensive course of archery with his weapon’s master in preparations for the upcoming New Year’s festival. Jandu drilled Abiyar for details about his training, but Abiyar seemed almost shy about his master. Jandu would have given anything to meet this Devdan and to see some sparring. As it was, he was always stuck indoors, with a flute, or in his rooms, listening to Rani talk endlessly. And while Rani was good at giving Jandu the inside scoop on the scandals of palace life and rumors from around Marhavad, Jandu truly missed his old life, talking strategy and weapons and being around horses and swords and other men. Even Keshan, who eschewed violence and was more refined than other warriors, still sparred and shot targets in his free time. This passive life wearied Jandu.
One morning it was too brilliant outside for Jandu to sit indoors any longer. He left a message with Abiyar’s servant, Bir, that he wanted to meet Abiyar outside for a change, and Bir reported back that the boy had archery practice that morning in his private courtyard. Jandu could instruct him there.
Jandu went to meet Abiyar at the scheduled time, but Abiyar was late. Abiyar’s target of hay and cloth stood at the end of the courtyard. There were stone steps that led to Abiyar’s rooms, and on the edge of the stone balcony Jandu found Abiyar’s bow, carelessly abandoned like an unwanted toy.
Jandu lifted the bow to examine it. It was a heavy compound bow with a deep curve, and made of wood, sinew and bone, lacquered in a beautiful black diamond pattern. Pleasure rushed through Jandu’s arms just holding it. Since the age of ten, there hadn’t been a single day that Jandu hadn’t shot an arrow. Now it had been months. Jandu twanged the string automatically.
He looked around, but no one was in sight. He promptly loosened the bowstring and adjusted its length. As he heard footsteps coming around the corner of the balcony, he quickly restrung the bow and put it on the steps.
Abiyar emerged, a large chunk of bread in his hands.
Jandu sat on the steps and pulled out his flute. “You’re late.”
“I was hungry.” Abiyar stuffed the rest of the bread in his mouth and then reached down to pick up his bow.
Abiyar twanged the bow. Both of them reacted to the change in tone. Jandu smiled.
Abiyar studied his bow, then Jandu. “Did you do something to it?”
“I adjusted your brace height, that’s all,” Jandu said. “Your string was too short.”
With newfound trust, Abiyar sat next to Jandu on the brick ledge, careful not to sit on Jandu’s long red zahari. He held his bow out before him proudly.
“It looks different,” Abiyar said.
“The lower brace height will push the arrow longer and faster. And the tauter string will result in less slap and a smoother release.”
Abiyar studied Jandu’s face. “Where did you learn this?”
Jandu watched Abiyar from the corner of his eye. “I was once a charioteer for Prince Jandu Paran in Prasta.”
Abiyar’s eyes grew wide. “You? A woman?”
“Why not? I’ve always been good with horses and weaponry, woman or not.”
Abiyar’s expression turned dreamy. “I hear Jandu is the best archer in all of Marhavad.”
Jandu grinned. “He is.”
“What’s he like?”
“He’s incredible.”
“Is it true that he can hit a target from 300 yards?” Abiyar asked.
Jandu nodded. “Once I saw him hit a target 350 yards away.”
“Wow.” Abiyar shook his head. “I’d love to meet him.”
“Maybe you will some day.”
Abiyar looked at Jandu with sudden intensity. “Did Jandu teach you any other tricks? Archery tricks, I mean? I’m not so good at hitting small targets.”
Jandu took a deep breath to calm his heart down. “I may be able to remember a few things.”
Abiyar handed Jandu his bow. “Show me something.”
The urge to show off was overwhelming, but Jandu resisted.
“Why don’t you shoot at the target instead,” Jandu put the bow back in Abiyar’s hand, “and I’ll tell you what I see.”
Abiyar enthusiastically scooted off the ledge of the courtyard and took aim. He hadn’t pulled the string back before Jandu was on him, standing behind him to gently correct his posture.
“Look, you’re shooting in a wind, so open your stance,” Jandu said. He moved Abiyar’s body an inch to the left. “Keep your feet placed shoulder-width apart and your toes slightly outward, otherwise you’ll lose your balance when you shoot.”
Abiyar pulled his arms back, to show him his stance. Jandu frowned, realizing that Abiyar had way too much bow for a boy his age. It might have been appropriate for a grown man, or one of his stronger older brothers, but for Abiyar, it was too powerful. His arm shook as he pulled back the string.
“Do you have another bow?” he asked.
“Only this one. My father gave it to me.”
Jandu understood that he would only insult Abiyar if he suggested a lighter one. “Well, your accuracy is ruined partially because your arm is lifting on release. Pull the string straight back until it touches your lips.”
Abiyar clumsily pulled an arrow from the quiver on the ground and, with much fiddling, notched it into place. He shakily pulled back the string as Jandu had showed him, and fired the arrow just right of the target’s center.
Jandu beamed a bright smile. “You see?”
“Wow! That’s amazing!” Abiyar jumped up in joy.
“And if you always draw the string back the same way, you should have no problem repeating that shot.”
Abiyar fumbled for another arrow, but this one he shot too low.
Jandu shook his head. “You’re not paying attention to your body. Your chest is collapsing when you shoot, so you’re losing all your back tension and not getting a fully developed draw.”
Abiyar adjusted his position.
“No!” Jandu shook his head. “Look, give it to me…” Jandu took the bow and quickly drew back the string.
“Janali!”
Jandu loosed the string, and the arrow shot directly through the previous arrow Abiyar had shot.
Jandu turned to see Suraya scowling at him. “Yes?” he said sheepishly.
“What the hell are you doing?”
Jandu handed the bow to Abiyar, who stared at the arrow Jandu had just shot, awestruck.
“Nothing.” Jandu gave Suraya a big, lying smile.
“What?”
“Just helping Abiyar.”
Suraya crossed her arms. “Come here, little sister.”
“But—”
“—Come here.”
Suraya grabbed Jandu by the ear and led him around the corner of the building. She pushed him against the wall angrily.
Suraya narrowed her eyes. “You’re a woman now, Jandu. Act like one!”
“I’m trying.” Jandu sighed. “It’s hard.”
“You’re a music teacher, not an archer,” Suraya told him.
“But he had his string all fucked up—” Jandu started.
“Who cares?” Suraya snapped.
Jandu straightened. “I care. I don’t want him to be unprepared. He’s a Triya, Suraya, and the son of a lord. Some day he is going to be in a battle. If he went out like he was today, he would be killed.”
Suraya sighed loudly. “Be that as it may, I don’t think you should be teaching him anything but music. Anyone could have walked by right then, not just me. You act strangely enough in the women’s quarters as it is, we don’t need any more attention drawn your way.”
“I know.” Jandu looked away, realizing she was right. Practicing archery with Abiyar had been the most fun he’d had since arriving in Afadi. Jandu scowled, and then returned to Abiyar’s courtyard.
“Change of plans,” he said glumly. He sat on the stone steps and pulled out his flute. “Time for music.”
Abiyar’s shoulders sank in disappointment. “But you could teach me—”
“—I can’t teach you anything,” Jandu snapped. He sighed. “Your weapon’s master is the one to instruct you. What do I know? I’m just a music teacher.”
Abiyar was young and brash and often wrong, but he wasn’t a fool. He stared at Jandu a long time, and then said, “You got in trouble didn’t you?” Abiyar smiled. “So teach me another song. And don’t make it a love song, please. If you teach me another one of those I’m going to puke.”