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Although they exchanged an occasional lingering glance, he could not reach her so easily at that time. She was hurting from the loss of her close companion, her confusion a wary divide between them. He sensed her mind was focused on their arrival, her hands moving to stroke her mount often the only clue that she was aware of her current whereabouts.
He wanted to lead her away from this path, hide her away in a secret place and make her happy, mesh their bodies together and see the passion flare in her eyes the way it had the night before. But he knew it wasn't the right thing to do. That was merely his selfish desire forcing his thoughts, his attachment to her causing him to put his own feelings first. She needed to do this, for her country, for herself. But he would protect her in her cause, no matter what.
Sibias approached her while she was talking quietly with her warrior Xerxes, and blatantly asked her how she fared. She eyed him knowingly and answered him with one word, before turning her attention back to Xerxes. Sibias's further attempts at conversation were rejected. Even so, he wore an unbearably smug expression, smiling whenever he caught Amshazar's eye. He had evidently convinced the Aleemite guards he was innocent of all knowledge concerning the incident the night before. Amshazar avoided him and his constant companion, the slave Patrino. He knew that if he were to speak with Sibias while in his current mood, it would end in a brawl.
As the day wore on the winds lifted a desert storm, hampering their progress. In the heat of the day the overcast sky and the swirling dust seemed a cruel reminder how quickly things can change. The mounted guards from Aleem formed a barrier at the side of the caravan, riding close upon each other, their shields raised to protect their empress and her entourage. Thankfully it did not last long and the desert demons were not drawn to them.
When the dust storm dissipated, he noticed that the tight group of Aleemite warriors gathered around the Empress masked a hidden conversation. The mood amongst them was changing. He could sense the warriors’ anticipation rising and when he looked closer, he saw that Elishiba was directing them, gesturing back across the caravan as she gave instructions. What it was that she was planning he could not tell, but her warriors seemed pleased to act on her directions, their eyes glinting and their posture proud.
Amshazar smiled to himself. If Sibias thought he would make her meek through his actions, he had surely been mistaken.
* * * *
Mehmet yawned, tapped her fingernails on the wooden arms of her ornate chair, and then fidgeted again with the large jewel-encrusted armband that rested a mite too heavily upon her wrist. The courtiers also shuffled restlessly upon their seats, assembled as they were on a platform to see the arrival of Hanrah's bride.
It was close to evening. It had been the middle of the afternoon when the watchman had raised the call, reporting that the advance rider was on the horizon. She would have spent much longer in her bath if she had known they would take this long to complete the last stage of the journey. Were they dragging their heels, afraid to face their destiny under Karseedian jurisdiction?
The notion satisfied her immensely.
She smoothed her hair and checked her jeweled hands, pleased with her appearance. The daughter of Ramsis would be tired and disheveled after her journey in that wretched contraption. Mehmet had hated to travel within its confines and was pleased to pass it on.
Hanrah shuffled at her side. Dressed in the finest robes made especially for the occasion, he sat hunched over in his stately chair, brooding. His eyes flitted nervously and he bit into his fingernails as he waited for the arrival of his betrothed. Beyond him, she could see the much finer figures of his half-brothers amongst the gathered courtiers, their mothers preening beside them.
"Sit up straight,” she hissed, when she caught sight of the smug glances from her late husband's many concubines. They waited like gannets for her son to fail, but he would not. Oh no, not with her guiding him.
Hanrah did as he was told, shuffling in his seat. He stared fixedly at the palace gates, which would be opened when the caravan reached the heart of the city, but she could tell his mind was elsewhere. With that wretched slave boy he'd set his sights on, no doubt. Not for long though, it was only a matter of time until her men hunted the slave down and fulfilled her execution order. She was about to comment on Hanrah's sorry attitude when a fanfare sounded.
She could see movement outside the gates as they swung open. The Lhastari citizens pressed forward, craning their necks to witness sight of the Aleemite surrender.
Karseedian palace guards pushed the crowds back, ushering the prize through. Mehmet broke into an amused smile when she saw the Aleemite guards were clustered around the camel bearing the curtained traveling box, their shields raised, as if they could protect their empress even now. Fools. She was merely a key. Once Mehmet had hold of the key, the door would be open to them, then the key would be disposed of. A simple and fl
awless plan.
She noticed with reluctant admiration that the Aleemite warriors looked more outstanding then their own, riding proudly as they did in their polished silver breast shields. It was a fine piece of armor. Worthy. She might consider adopting that particular part of their culture, once she swallowed Aleem into their kingdom. Or maybe not. She didn't particularly want reminders, once the deed was done. Apart from the wealth of fine lapis lazuli treasures and its powerful location on the trade routes, there was little else she wanted from Aleem. As far as she was concerned, it was a small and undeveloped country.
When she took control she intended to raid the place, then keep the country and its inhabitants under her jurisdiction—as a buffer against enemies for their land—with a handful of loyal Karseedians stationed there. It's what her husband had dreamed of and attempted for many years—just as his entire lineage had before him. They hadn't been as clever about it as Mehmet had, though. They charged in like enraged animals. Claiming ownership of the land by claiming the Empress Elishiba was a much simpler way to enter and take whatever they wanted.
She sought Sibias amongst the crowd, but he was evidently in the rear. A massive warrior with a shaved head headed the entourage. He was an attractive man. As the caravan drew to a halt at the foot of the steps to the platform, the warrior with the shaved head gestured to another Aleem guard, who climbed down from his horse and approached the waiting courtiers, bowing at the bottom of the steps, as if requesting permission to approach.
Hanrah looked at his mother for guidance.
She shrugged one shoulder. “Perhaps he has been instructed to present some token.” She waved her hand dismissively and Hanrah gestured the guard forward.
The guard ran nimbly up the steps.
Mehmet frowned.
The Aleemite had his hand on the pommel of his sword in a manner that unsettled her. Surely they had not sent an assassin? That would be suicide for the rest for them.
The guard stared directly at her as he ran up the steps, confrontation evident in his very stance.
Tension crackled in the air. Hushed whispers of concern rose amongst the gathered courtiers.
Mehmet's hand went to the amulet that hung between her breasts, ready to protect herself if needs be. The palace guards caught her glance and adopted a battle-ready stance.
The Aleemite guard's head was tightly bound in his headdress. She could see only his eyes glittering from the folds of white cloth. When he reached the top of the steps, he dropped to one knee in deference.
She rested easier. She saw no gift in his hand and sighed heavily, annoyed. “Pull back the curtains, let us see my son's betrothed."
