The Desert Falcon

Chapter 19, A Thief in the Night

Several months transpired, as I applied myself to my lessons earnestly. I had obtained proficiency in speaking, writing, and translating the fundamentals of Chinese into Persian, which remarkably, was something I had not expected given my precarious cirumstance.  I had to admit my speech was far better than my writing. I was now able to converse comfortably with my tutor and soon set upon understanding the cultural traditions of the Zhou nation.  Nothing amounted to a failed diplomatic truce than to inadvertently insult those whom we wished to establish alliances with.

While I had become accustomed to setting upon the rather ambitious goal of learning an entirely new language, I had not begun to ease myself into the new role of the Sultan's consort.  I had made no apologies nor efforts to conceal my profound disdain for such a position and to my dismay, the Sultan found sport in subduing me until I was wanton with need.  My submission to his sensual prowess only angered me so and confused me further, before I fortified my defenses the following morning, only for them to be overcome once more as the Sultan summoned me to his chambers.  

While I was not caught up in satisfying the Sultan's dark, carnal desires, I spent my days studying, hoping that this would provide the strongest avenue for my escape. It was one of the few opportunities I was allowed reprieve, so it came as a surprise when the Sultan began to join me occasionally. 

This day was no different. I was startled, once more, by the presence of the Sultan himself, as he sat upon the cushions, casually observing me, his green gaze boring into me.  Even as I turned away, I could feel the burning intensity and the lingering heat in his glare, as he took his time observing me so, as if he had every right to peruse me so intimately in front of the bevy of guards, servants, eunuchs, and my attendants all discretely blending within the room.

"Do not mind me," Sheikh Rashid spoke, as he rested upon the cushions beside me. I wanted to remind him that he was hardly a man whom one could easily ignore, but I remained silent instead.  Perhaps, if I ignored him, I could pretend he was not here.

Yes, I thought, dispassionately.  And camels take to the skies.

Imai, Hamza, Miriam, and Zamia all watched, disconcerted by the Sultan's presence here. Their collective, heightened anxiety was more out of the will to please him rather than from the ruthless cruelty he possessed. Fatimah also sat beside me with her sewing, her flickering, widening gaze betraying her sudden astonishment of the Sultan's presence.

Normally, my attendants indulged in afternoon gossip and mischief, for they did not find my lessons all that entertaining.  Sometimes Fatimah would sew, but on days when the Sultan greeted us with his presence, their demeanor became more subdued and withdrawn, as if they were suddenly made aware of their station.  I did not see them as any less than I and none of them appeared discomforted by my familiarity with them. It was the Sultan that put them at unease.

Fatimah's expressions betrayed her.  I observed her fear and the tension that stole about her.  I realized quickly she had not yet overcome the knowledge that the Sultan had wished her dead. It occurred to me that she might wish to be anywhere but here.

I could not fathom how Fatimah was feeling.  With my concern growing, I momentarily paused in my writing to give due consideration at hand.  Even a horse would not feel entirely comfortable in the presence of an abusive and cruel tormenter and as soon as Fatimah turned her gaze towards me, I nodded my head in silent acknowledgement that she was free to leave us.

Fatimah bowed, before silently departing from our presence, as she gathered her things to leave, a look of gratitude and ease returning.  Of course, Sheikh Rashid noticed, but not of her movements, but the silent nod of direction I had bid her.  I had hoped it would have gone amiss, but I was quickly realizing, nothing about me escaped his notice.