Two
The palace’s north-facing veranda received slanting sunlight from the east at this time of year. Stanchions threw long, thin shadows while morning light sifted through decorative screens, reflecting an intricate pattern onto the sandstone tiles. Amidst this contrast of light and dark stood Maysam, dressed in flowing black abaya and a salmon-colored hijab, having arisen from a wrought iron table. An austere Arabic man who appeared close to her age also stood near the white table. At the unexpected sight of him, Bane stiffened, and a rush of anger raced through his veins, clenching his fists. Was this Melisande’s father? No, surely Maysam would have found a way to keep her spouse away from this meeting.
“Assalamu ’alaykum,” Bane greeted them with a slight bow.
“Wa ’alaykum us salaam,” the man responded, his expression fraught with something close to revulsion at the sight of Bane’s mask.
In contrast, Maysam swept around the table with a broad, welcoming smile, her eyes so like Melisande’s, shining with happiness like two burning coals. Considering the strictness of Islam, Bane was surprised when she took his hand in both of hers, saying, “I am so pleased to see you, Haris,” using the Arabic name which she had bestowed upon him when they had first met some twelve years ago.
“Maysam,” the other man sternly growled, trying to hide his outrage at her boldness.
Without freeing Bane, she shot a look over her shoulder. “Forgive my brother, Haris. Ayman forgets that you are, to me, as cherished as a family member. Now please sit down. You have eaten, yes?”
“Yes, ma’am. Thank you.”
Ayman sputtered, “Sister, I must protest. Your husband—”
“My husband is not here.”
“Which is why I am.”
“Not any longer. Your presence is unnecessary.”
“It is most certainly necessary.” Ayman’s face had turned an indignant plum color.
Still standing, Bane interjected, “I don’t wish to dishonor you.”
“Never could you do such a thing,” Maysam assured, her stare remaining upon her sibling. “I must remind my brother of the debt we both owe you.”
A muscle twitched along Ayman’s jawline.
“Now please, brother, leave us.”
Maysam’s iron resolve in the face of religious tenets made Bane smile behind the mask. It was plain to see where Melisande and Talia had gotten their stubbornness and courage.
With a warning glance at Bane, Ayman grumbled something to himself before finally obeying his sister. Bane had no doubt that Ayman would remain somewhere close at hand.
“Please, Haris,” Maysam gestured to a chair.
“Thank you.”
Once they were both settled at the little table, Maysam started to pour tea into her cup, but then caught herself and halted. Bane knew she did so out of consideration for his inability to drink through the mask.
“I am so happy to see you again,” she smiled. “Though it has been many years since we first met at that horrible clinic, in some ways it seems just like yesterday, no doubt because of Talia’s letters. As you probably know, she has kept me abreast of the happenings in your life. She has shared pictures with me as well.”
Bane tried to hide his concern over such things, for if Maysam’s husband discovered that Melisande had given birth to an infidel’s child, there was no telling what measures would be taken to assure that Talia would never attempt to claim any sort of birthright.
“Don’t worry, Haris.” Maysam’s eyes fairly twinkled with conspiracy. “I would never endanger Talia.”
Bane shifted his weight, sheepish. “Of course not.”
“She got her hands on her father’s satellite phone the day after you departed and called me. She was saddened to learn that you had left that morning without saying good-bye. But she said to tell you that she understood why.” Now sadness and anger darkened her mild expression. “She told me the reasons behind your departure. I am so sorry it came to this. She is heartbroken as I’m sure you are as well.”
To hear someone actually express sympathy and understanding, especially one so far removed from the situation, touched Bane.
“Of course,” Maysam continued, “she pleaded with me to send for her, to let her join you here. But I asked of your instructions to her before leaving because I knew you would not want her to abandon her education. It took some prodding on my part—she is a stubborn one, is she not?—but she finally admitted that you had insisted she stay in school.”
“I fear she will continue to look for other ways to abandon her studies, if for nothing else than as a way to punish her father.”
“Then we must continue to be insistent with her.”
Bane frowned. “I won’t have much influence now.”
“You are mistaken, Haris. You will always have influence over her. She loves you very much; you know that. And she always will.”
“As I love her.” The words slipped off his tongue too easily. He cleared his throat. “Her father will not approve of her staying in contact with me.”
“Perhaps not, but if he is adamant there are ways she can conceal such things; she could contact you through me, for example.”
“I don’t want to drag you into any of this, ma’am.”
She smiled indulgently. “You must call me Maysam.”
“I have already taken too many liberties simply by coming here.”
“Nonsense. When I first offered my assistance many years ago and so many times since, I meant it, and I am so pleased that you have finally accepted. You do me great honor.”
“I’m sure your husband would disagree, especially if he were to see me.”
“Although my husband is currently away on business, trust me when I say he would have no open objection to you being here. He knows I have never forgiven him for what he did to our daughter, and he knows you helped her as much as possible when you were both in that terrible place. I kept none of that from him; in fact, I have used it as a weapon against him many times, so often that perhaps now he truly does regret his actions. But, of course, such regret is hollow to me with my daughter long dead.” She sighed and lifted her gaze from where it had fallen into her lap. “Talia, however, remains hidden from him. Perhaps when he is an old man I will be able to speak of her.”
Bane’s fingers twitched. If he had his way, Siddig El Fadil would not live to see old age. But, as usual, he cautioned his impulses, for unknown to Siddig, some of his funds found their way indirectly to Talia. After Rā’s al Ghūl learned of the warlord’s part in Melisande’s imprisonment, the powerful leader of the League of Shadows would have exacted his revenge without mercy if not for Maysam’s staying hand. The clever woman had placated Rā’s with a promise to have some of her husband’s assets funneled to the League in secret, an ongoing source of money. This arrangement not only benefited the League but also allowed Maysam a modicum of revenge on her spouse by supporting Talia financially.
In an even softer voice, Maysam continued, “When Talia escaped that horrible place and came to me, I realized why you had refused my offer of freedom that day I met you.” Her smile trembled. “You told me it was because of Melisande; you didn’t want to abandon her. But after I learned of Talia’s existence, I knew that it was also because of Talia. And Allah be praised that you did return to her, for without you she never would have escaped.”
Unused to such flattery, Bane could not look at Maysam, his attention roaming instead across the black and white floor tiles, swept clean and washed, reflecting the sunlight.
“She still has nightmares about that day,” Maysam said, “the day of her escape. Has she told you that?”
Unsure of his voice, Bane simply shook his head, remembered his own nightmares of that day. It pained him to hear of Talia’s hidden torments; of course she would have kept such things from him; his brave habibati.
“But her nightmares aren’t about herself, Haris. They are about you, about looking down during her climb and seeing your attackers overwhelm you. She saw your good-bye upon your lips; she said you never cried out, never begged for mercy from your attackers. She said you were like a lamb to slaughter.”
Bane’s lips twisted wryly beneath the mask; he had certainly never been likened to a lamb before. But of course his Talia would use such benevolent imagery; he was no monster to her.
“It is a terrible burden that she will always bear, knowing how much her freedom cost you and what it continues to cost you.”
“I’ve tried to discourage her from thinking that way,” Bane said. “But I know I can’t stop those feelings, no more than I can stop how I feel about Melisande’s death—I wish I could have saved her, I wish I could have saved them both. I’m sorry.”
Maysam placed her warm hand over his and waited until he dragged his gaze back to her. “You have already apologized to me too many times over the years, Haris. No more. There is no need.” She withdrew her hand. “Now let us speak no more of the past but instead of your future.” She settled back in her chair. “You are no stranger to the reality of my husband’s enterprises. Such enterprises require trustworthy, trained men. Talia has told me of your leadership qualities as well as your superior physical skills. But because I know you would be loath to work directly for my husband, I instead would have you work for me, as one of my personal bodyguards. As it turns out, one of my men will be leaving soon, so your timing is fortuitous.”
Surprised, Bane took a moment to consider his response, not wanting to offend in any way. “Your offer is a generous one. I am deeply honored. But, in truth, I think it would be best if I kept my distance from your husband. I am neither a forgiving nor a tolerant man. I hope my declination does not offend you.”
With a dismissing wave of her hand, Maysam said, “Of course not; I understand, and I appreciate your candor. But won’t you consider it at least as a temporary post until I am able to find other employment for you?”
“If you have no other options at this time… Yet surely your husband’s men could provide me with contacts to known mercenaries, for I am afraid that is all I am suited to in this world.”
Maysam’s solicitous expression displayed her maternal side. “Haris, both Talia and I know you are so much more than merely a hired gun. You must give me time to investigate other avenues of employment. If I had known about your situation sooner—but of course how could any of us have known?—I would already have acquired other alternatives for you.”
“Sister,” Ayman’s gruff voice turned them both toward the door. “Barsad is here to see you.” Ayman looked pleased with this interruption, no doubt wanting to show Bane that he was not always cowed by his sibling.
Irritation twitched one of Maysam’s eyebrows, and she seemed about to speak in anger toward her brother, but then a sudden thought banished the harshness, and her glance touched upon Bane. “Thank you, brother. Please have him join us.”
Surprise momentarily immobilized Ayman, and only a directing look from Maysam was able to send him back inside.
“Perhaps,” Maysam said with a smile that stirred Bane’s curiosity, “the alternative we were hoping for has just presented itself.”
When Ayman reappeared at the door, escorting another man, it was clear that he would no longer leave his sister alone. Bane sensed that his intent was not out of fear or distrust of this newcomer but instead out of familiarity—he would not allow his sister to wield any power over him in front of someone who knew them. Tolerating it before a stranger had been difficult enough but easily forgotten once the stranger was gone.
“Barsad,” Maysam said, both she and Bane having stood upon the man’s arrival, “please join us.”
The smile that had started upon Barsad’s thin, defined lips—a smile for Maysam, of course—had instantly vanished when he saw Bane. The man’s hooded, pale blue eyes quickly masked his surprise at seeing not only a stranger alone with Maysam but one of such disturbing appearance. More than surprise actually; alarm, instinctive and strong, so strong that he took a step toward Bane before catching himself.
“My apologies, ma’am,” Barsad said with a slight bow. “I wasn’t aware you had a…visitor. I can come back later—”
“There’s no need,” Maysam insisted. “In fact, your timing is perfect.”
Confusion wrinkled Barsad’s high, broad forehead.
“Please, gentlemen.” Maysam gestured to the chairs, returning to her own.
Remaining on the veranda, Ayman was wise enough to at least sit apart from the other three, enough to placate his sister who wisely made no attempt to banish him a second time.
Barsad settled between Bane and Maysam, his focus always on the former. Protective, almost defiant…and certainly not intimidated by the muscular stranger. Obviously one of her bodyguards, Bane figured, slightly taken aback not only by the man’s lack of fear but by the way he viewed the mask—not with repugnancy but with intense curiosity, almost fascination. Not an Arab, Bane thought, though the man’s Arabic was fluent; no, not even European…a westerner it would seem, perhaps American. Thinking of the few Americans whom he had known, Bane wanted to dislike him but found Barsad’s obvious courage compelling. He guessed him to be younger than he but not by much. An obvious soldier in bearing and style, though currently dressed casually. A pistol at his hip, angled away from Bane’s reach.
“Barsad, this is Bane, the man who arrived last night.”
Without hesitation, Barsad offered his hand. He took note of Bane’s leather wrist brace as Bane accepted his strong grip.
Maysam poured a cup of tea for her latest guest. “Barsad has commanded my husband’s security forces for the past five years. Unfortunately he is also the man of whom I spoke when I told you one of our men was leaving soon. It seems life here has become a bit too mundane for our soldier of fortune.” She said it with a smile of regret, though not begrudging the man’s decision.
“In this case,” Barsad said, tasting the tea, “mundane is a good thing, yes?”
Maysam chuckled and blushed slightly, surprising Bane and providing a glimpse into her past when she was once Melisande’s age. “Yes, it signifies peace and prosperity. Two things that make Barsad uncomfortable.”
Now it was Barsad’s turn to chuckle, and Bane realized the man was more to Maysam than just a mercenary. There was a definite friendship between them, a warmth. This alone put Bane more at ease with the stranger.
“So he is to leave us soon. Bound for the north, to Kashmir, is it not?”
“Yes, ma’am.” Caution had returned to Barsad’s heavy-lidded eyes.
“Perhaps Bane and I could convince you to take him with you. He is in need of work. And knowing your resourcefulness, Barsad, I’m sure you will be doing something lucrative in Kashmir. Otherwise, why would you leave this beautiful sun and warmth?”
All amusement fled Barsad now, though he was judicious enough not to voice the whole truth of his inner reaction. “It was my understanding from what you told me before his arrival that our masked friend would be serving you, ma’am.”
“That is what I had hoped. But it seems the…climate here would not be suitable to him. He comes from a mountainous region, don’t you, Bane? No doubt the mountains of Kashmir would be most agreeable to him.”
Bane felt no more at ease with this potential scenario than Barsad apparently did, but he did not want to hurt Maysam in any way or seem ungrateful, especially in front of her ever-watchful brother. So he maintained his silence, content to observe the two and let this conversation play out without his interference or opinion.
“Bane has years of experience in the field,” Maysam continued lightly, as if convincing a chef to take on a new cook. “International experience. Combat experience. Multiple languages. You will find him very much a man after your own heart, Barsad, I assure you.” Maysam turned her focus to Bane. “I have no doubt Barsad would have fit in well with the men to whom you are accustomed, Haris. And you will not find a better shot, at any range, with any weapon.”
One corner of Barsad’s mouth twitched with good humor. “I will have you know, Bane, that Maysam has a reputation in this region for matchmaking. It appears her skills reach even into the ranks of the paramilitary.”
When Maysam laughed, her cheeks coloring once again, neither man could keep from joining in.
“Forgive me,” she said. “I don’t wish to force either of you to do something you are not comfortable with. But you both know me well enough to trust my judgment surely?”
“There are few whose judgment I trust more,” Barsad said with that almost private smile between them, one that made Ayman clear his throat unhappily.
“Then you will think about it? Both of you? And perhaps later, after such consideration, you can discuss it between yourselves.” Her arched eyebrows lifted hopefully, and the smile came again. “Without the presence of a meddling old woman, yes?”
Feel free to post both places. I really enjoyed your reviews at FF.
