Obsidian: Retribution (Book 2)

Nineteen: The Weavings of Fate

The silk merchant looked ready to piss his pants as he waited. Considering his age and size, the man might also have himself a heart attack and die in his own urine if he were to reject the silk robe he was trying on. In which case it would ruin the priceless Cakoran wool carpet he'd had to kill its former owner to obtain and force him to attend another auction that could cost him another hundred thousand silas to replace it with something of similar size and quality. That, and there was no way to be sure if he would like the new one as much.

"The green is a great match for your eyes, my lord di Amarra, if I may say so," said the merchant whose name he had written down somewhere and therefore allowed himself to forget.

As it happened, My Lord di Amarra was thinking the green a shade too dark and the gold embroidery too yellow. A pity, given the intricate stitching was close to perfection and the silk Makena's finest. The merchant had taken a great risk in producing said robe hoping to sell it to him for the future coronation of Azram as the next salar, had gone so far as to use real gold threads to create this spectacular garment only he could afford. For him to reject it, the loss of investment could be catastrophic enough to result in the death of both man and carpet. A dilemma of rather epic proportion given his life these days.

Deo di Amarra, however, wouldn't be caught dead in this thing that looked like what he imagined Commander Sa'id might buy for his prehistoric first wife to use as a bedroom curtain––may he rest in peace.

The solution, Deo di Amarra decided, was therefore to buy the robe from the merchant for two-thirds of the asking price and sell it to Azram for twice the cost. It would turn out a good profit. His thoughtfulness and loyalty would be noted, appreciated, and paid for. Azram would show up on his coronation day in a hideous robe extravagant enough to piss off the poor and add more fuel to the flame already burning in Rasharwi. A coronation day in two years' time, yes, but one to be remembered for centuries to come if things were to go according to plan. He should, by all means, thank the merchant for this contribution.

He did so in the end, and did not neglect to congratulate himself for this heroic act that saved his priceless carpet from desecration, among other things. He also made a mental note to never conduct such business in his own home again. People should die on their own carpets, not his.

The knock on the door he had been waiting for came in a timely manner. He excused the rest of the staff and summoned his most favorite apprentice in for a private meeting. The most favorite given the Sparrow was no longer in his service, of course. That information had never been a secret to anyone. Reputation and skills aside, Hasheem was determined, intelligent, attentive, and an entertaining company to top it off. He was also an important piece of the puzzle without which his plan would have never moved forward.

That, and Hasheem was pretty to look at. The Sparrow could have made that robe look good, Deo was certain. The two of them had made a fortune off silk merchants and jewelers in the past five years over that fact alone. If you wanted something to become the next trend in fashion, you put it on the Silver Sparrow, for a fee. Hasheem's idea, actually. That kid didn't just know how to strip the clothes off clients, he knew how to strip the content of their purse and pay him extra for it. Five hundred thousand silas was a small investment for someone as profitable as the Silver Sparrow of Azalea, with or without the fact that he had been handpicked by Fate as the key piece in this war.

Still, had it not been for the premonition given to him on the day they met, he might have passed on the opportunity, especially when it was sure to upset Sarasef. He could still remember it, how the plan that had been stalled and thrown off course upon the arrival of the woman Zahara eighteen years ago had begun to move once again the moment he saw the Sparrow. Sure, there were other values attached to Hasheem he couldn't deny. He did like the boy, for one thing, but what he needed done didn't allow such feeling enough weight to be taken into account.