The Sultan's Spy

Chapter 16: Learning

Tariq raised his eyebrows. "That's hardly a revelation. You don't have that death scent assassins carry, and there aren't many types who take on different identities the way other people change clothes, so I get that. I get that you work for the Sultan and his family which you've made abundantly clear. What I don't get is why. What makes you think they're worthy of your loyalty? Why do you fight so hard for people who don't know anything of hardship?"

Eliska crossed her arms over her chest. "I'm loyal because I've seen over and over again what they've done for this country, for its people. You talk about the family like you know something without ever having spent time with them. Can you honestly point out anything the Sultan or the family has done that has negatively affected you, or everyone, without there being a damned good reason for it? And how do you know they don't experience hardship? How much time have you spent in the palace?"

"You act like you know them."

"You don't think I know who I work for? And I grew up in the palace. I've seen and heard more than you'll ever know."

He took a step forward, frowning now. "Try growing up in the heart of the city, poor, with a widowed mother, then come back and tell me you've seen more than I have."

She held her ground, chin up. "You act like you're the only one to have dipped themselves in the darkness, who spend time in the underbelly of the city. I've lived that life for my job."

Tariq snorted. "And you had your nice cozy palace to return to. I never had that luxury."

"And it's obvious you have a chip on your shoulder because of it. Just because people haven't gone through the same things you have doesn't make them a different species from you. Pain, death, weakness, and suffering come to us all, regardless of where we're born."

"The difference is you had money and stability to offset it. We didn't."

"Money doesn't buy you everything."

"No, but it can buy you protection from things others have to deal with. Rich people, they can never understand those of us who had to fight for a living."

Eliska met his hard eyes and knew nothing she said was going to make a difference. Tariq was certain he was right, right down to his bones. She looked away, angry and disappointed he couldn't see that there wasn't so great a difference between them. It shouldn't bother her, not when he was only a temporary part of her life, but it did.

It was hard living with someone who obviously thought people like her were corrupt, soft, and worth less than people like him.

"Believe what you like," she said, moving to shove past him. All she wanted to do now was focus on her job. She had reports to read, and plans for tomorrow to figure out. And when the thought that she was running away, hiding in the women's quarters where Tariq wouldn't enter, well she squashed it right off.

But Tariq shifted so instead of bumping his shoulder as she passed, she ended up running straight into his very solid chest. She stopped, her eyes on the cotton covered expanse of muscle, suddenly aware of how translucent the thin, white fabric of his undershirt was. He hadn't bothered with an overshirt, just a kaftan worn over it and what looked like hastily donned trousers.

Eliska slowly lifted her eyes, gaze sliding over the curls of hair showing above his shirt, the curve of his Adam's apple, his square jaw before finally reaching his eyes again. "You're in my way," she said, though even to her, her voice sounded weak.

"And here I was thinking we were working together now," he said quietly, his head lowering towards her.

She could see his eyes coming closer, feel his heat enveloping her, but as much as part of her wanted to throw caution away, she couldn't forget her duty, her family, her training. She sidestepped him, slipping around so he was no longer between her and the women's quarters. "It's late," she said, not quite meeting his eyes, cheeks stained red. "We both need sleep."

Before he could protest or draw her in any further, Eliska started off, careful to keep her pace unhurried and her head high. She didn't want him to think she was running from him. She just knew better than to entangle herself with someone while working, especially a criminal. It wasn't that he was affecting her either. She just wasn't used to being around a man she wasn't related to all the time. At least, that's what she kept telling herself.

Only when she was at the door to her area did she glance back at him. Tariq stood where she'd left him, arms folded, eyes burning into her. The gaze made the colour in her face darken even as she did her best to hold his gaze. She wasn't about to be cowed by anyone, no matter how nice of a body they might had.

The last thought undid her, and Eliska turned abruptly to march into the women's quarters, unable to take his gaze any longer. She headed straight for the small table she was using as her desk, plunking herself into the chair and fishing her reports out of her robes. She'd focus on work like she was supposed to. Her job was important. Far more important than her, Tariq, or anything else.

Eliska's control wavered and she bit her lip as she came to the first page, having half-forgotten about the report on him her family had sent. She sighed and decided she might as well get it over with. Her cheeks were already hot enough a little more wouldn't hurt. And it just might help cool...

She shook her head and concentrated on the words. Tariq hadn't lied when he'd said he'd grown up with a widowed mother. It was just her, him, and his little brother. His brother, Qamar, died when he was only seven, leaving a ten year old Tariq and his mother.

Eliska winced as she continued to read. His mother had died a year later. It seemed life had been determined to pile grief upon grief for Tariq, especially when he was so young. She supposed he had a right to be bitter, to hate those who hadn't suffered as he had.

The next paragraph had her eyebrows going straight up. He'd been taken in by Lord Zakki, lived and been trained to become one of his closest assistants for four years. But the end of it had her chest constricting again. Zakki had been ruined by a rich merchant, the man using unscrupulous means to take over his land and house, everything except his title.

There was a gap of a few years after that. Eliska didn't know what happened then, but couldn't imagine it was good, not for a young man of only fifteen. Tariq didn't reappear again until he was nearly twenty. By then he'd already earned a reputation as someone who could fix any problems brought to him, for the right price.

Nowadays he was well known in the underworld, someone who could get things done legally or illegally as needed, someone who knew how to arrange situations and manipulate people. The only thing he refused to involve himself in was slaving and slavers. All others were welcome.

Eliska couldn't help being impressed when she got to the list of some of his accomplishments, the ones most often attributed to him at least. If he really had orchestrated the revelation of the brothel of drugged girls, had stolen a one of a kind bracelet off a lady at a party, and had sold a merchant back his own horses after Tariq had stolen them in the first place, he'd be more help than she thought.

He'd also be more dangerous.

She sighed. The more she learned about Tariq and the more she got to know him, the more she wondered if getting herself involved with him had really been a good idea. But it was too late for regret now. She'd made her bed and now she'd have to lie there. With another sigh, Eliska turned to the rest of the reports. It was time to put her fake husband from her mind for the night, but knew it wouldn't be so easy.