The Desert Falcon

Chapter 9, The Oasis

            By the time I arrived back at my apartments, late into the night, I was exhausted. I ignored the curious looks of the other harem women's servants, no doubt eager to go back to their mistresses to whisper news of the fact that I had come back early, as if that was something to be ashamed about. Instead, relief swept through me, but it was short lived. How long it would last, I did not know and thoughts of such would only plague me to my death. I was greeted by a disapproving and knowing Mareena who nodded to the sultan's guards in acknowledgement that she would proceed from here. They were not permitted to enter into the harem and I was promptly passed off to a large-bodied eunuch who walked beside me.

Fatimah was the first to rush towards me, as Mareena disappeared. The door closed behind me and I all but collapsed in the middle of the sitting room, a riotous mixture of emotions toiling within—anger, confusion, restlessness, fear, relief, shock, elation—all culminating at that one moment to bring me to my knees.  My limbs felt heavy, my body giving way under the pressure of the tense fear that swept through me. The earlier surge of energy had all but dissipated in the tranquility of familiar surroundings.  The cool night felt nice against my overheated skin as I glanced at the rich tapestry and intricate patterns of the Turkish-woven carpet with interlaced gold stitching, in an absentminded fog.  My mind rushed to gather my thoughts as the danger of Sheikh Rashid's presence passed away.

Fatimah looked at me, her dark eyes wide with concern and fear.  Uncertainty in her tone marked how unfamiliar she felt in easing my discomfort of what may have occurred between the sultan and I. "What happened?" Her voice was quiet, as if she was afraid I would combust into tears, as if I did not have a stronger constitution than that. She feared for me and that brought a measure of pain to my heart.

I could not seem to speak, the words stuck in my throat. Fatimah got up and grabbed a goblet, filling it with water, before pressing it into my hands.  I registered the warmth, a small comfort of an ally. "Here, drink. It may help. I had not expected you back until the morning."

"You would not have expected me back at all, if I had stayed until then," I responded, when I got my voice back, my indignation evident in my voice. Fatimah grabbed the goblet and set it down beside her.

"Did he...?" Fatimah trailed, looking uncertain. Her cheeks reddened at the intimate implication. That was something she would have to acclimate quickly to, for the servants and the women in the harem were not shy about such topics, since their entire existence predicated upon the pleasures they could impart to the sultan at his command.

It was remarkably disheartening.

I shook my head, bringing my thoughts to the current predicament. "No. He did not get the chance, before I pulled the dagger to his prized possession."

Fatimah's eyes grew impossibly wide with shock. I recanted the story as Fatimah listened attentively, inquiring with an incredulity on the events that occurred. I imagine it would carry far more excitement than the gossip that I had returned early should the other women here know of what happened. She could not believe her ears and I knew it was taking a bit longer to register all that I had done. I got up and moved to the bed. I looked around after a while. "Where were you sleeping?"

Fatimah pointed to a corner of the room and I frowned. "I was sleeping there—"

"Sleep on one of the beds in the other room," I explained. "The apartment is spacious enough that you do not need to be sleeping uncomfortably on the floor."

Fatimah shook her head. "I could not, I am but a—"

"A what?" I challenged. My gray gaze glittered with a harsh challenge. "We are but both servants in different ways."