FROM THE ASHES
Chapter 3
The sprawling palace compound where Talia's grandmother lived lay west of Jaipur, India, near the Thar Desert, near a nondescript, dusty town. Barsad was very familiar with the region as well as the palace, for he had lived there for many years in the employ of Maysam's warlord husband, Siddig El Fadil.
Barsad had been comfortable in his job, working his way up to head of security, but over time he had become bored, as he often did when he remained in one place for any length of time. Then Bane had come along, freshly excommunicated from the League by Rā's al Ghūl, Talia's father. Bane had sought Maysam's help to find work, and she had introduced him to Barsad, who had just resigned his position to return to life as a mercenary. Bane had joined him, and together they had gone to fight in the Kargil War in Pakistan.
Boredom had not been the only thing that drove Barsad from the palace. During his time there he and Maysam had risked a brief affair, and though they had ended it sometime before he left, there had been the possibility that her husband would discover the liaison. If he had, Barsad knew his life would have ended very, very badly. But after Siddig died, Barsad returned to the palace regularly with Bane and Talia, a place of leisure. And a refuge after the disaster in Gotham.
Now, as the chauffeured car that transported him with Talia and Bane neared the palace compound, Barsad smiled to himself at the prospect of seeing Talia's grandmother. Maysam was a beautiful woman of dark complexion and mysterious, honey-brown eyes. In her seventies now, time had barely diminished that beauty. Yes, there were a few lines and some silver hairs, but those only added to her distinguished bearing.
"I know what that smile is about," Talia's voice from the rear seat pulled Barsad from his reverie.
Bane chuckled, causing Barsad's face to redden.
"You're both full of shit," Barsad said to deflect the attention.
With a glance at them before looking back out the windshield, he noted that Talia was holding Bane's hand. The sight pleased him because it gave him hope that their romp in the sack had renewed their relationship. Barsad preferred to be around Bane when he was content rather than when he behaved like the surly beast that he had been for so many recent months.
"So," Barsad boldly said to keep the focus off himself, "are you two sharing a bedroom this time around?"
"That won't be appropriate in Maysam's home," Bane said.
"Appropriate?" Barsad laughed. "You slept together enough here before; it won't be news to Maysam."
"I was in the guesthouse then," Bane pointed out. "These past months we have slept in the main palace, brother, in separate bedrooms. Surely you haven't forgotten this in one short week."
"Jiddah won't mind," Talia assured. "She may adhere to her conservative religion, but she's never expected us to."
"See, Bane? Talia agrees with me."
Bane scowled. "I don't see how any of this is your concern, brother."
"It is my concern, you stubborn s.o.b. Call me sentimental, but I like to see you happy for a change. Makes my life easier, you know."
"Perhaps we should have left you back at 'Eth Alth'eban," Bane grumbled.
Barsad exchanged a conspiratorial grin with Talia. "Where you go, I go, brother. Nothing's ever going to change that. Talia's orders, after all. Gotta obey 'em, just like you." He winked at Talia, happy to see her smile again. Maybe this was the beginning of her recovery.
Barsad's first priority since being initiated into the League was protecting and supporting the League's field commander, Bane. From their early days together in Pakistan where Bane had saved his life for the first time, Barsad had grown to love the cantankerous hulk like a brother, and as an extension of that relationship Barsad cared for Talia. He couldn't always say he loved her, though, and that was because of her tumultuous history with Bane. Since meeting Talia after the death of her father, he had mixed feelings about her. Unlike Bane, he privately viewed her as often selfish, manipulative, and almost arrogant, and in some ways abusive when he considered the way she toyed with Bane's feelings during the Gotham operation. Most of the time, though, he understood why Bane still cared for her; she could be warm and loving, especially when she was at Maysam's home. And she certainly was easy on the eyes and no doubt a siren between the sheets. He wouldn't be a man if he hadn't had thoughts of being in bed with her…not that he would ever mention such fantasies to anyone, least of all Bane.
Bane did not mind Barsad's cheekiness during their ride to the palace; he was used to it after all these years and expected nothing less. But that did not mean he had to show amusement, only tolerance. He preferred to focus on Talia right now and enjoy the fact that she was holding his hand, especially since she had initiated their contact.
Thinking back to last night, Bane privately smiled. Their lovemaking had gone on until dawn when he had fallen asleep, sated and happy for the first time in seemingly forever. Awakening a couple of hours later, he was alone in Talia's bed, for she had gone to take a shower. He had considered joining her but instead slipped away to his own room, giving her space and forcing no expectations upon her.
Basking in the warmth of his own shower, reluctant to wash away her scent, Bane had reflected upon their romp. She had surprised him in many ways. After their initial coupling where he allowed her to dictate, he found himself taking over, and Talia encouraged him with a whispered, "Take me," breathed between kisses. He found that he had to slow himself down and curb his ravenous appetite, fueled by a desire to reclaim her as his own, to make her forget about Miranda Tate's lovers, especially Bruce Wayne.
As they had prepared to leave 'Eth Alth'eban, he had wondered if their night of passion was to be a passing fancy, a mere interlude like the other nights they had spent together after she had begun her life as Miranda Tate. But now, hearing Talia talk of sharing a room at the palace, he felt a boyish stirring of hope, of romantic foolishness, that perhaps last night was a new beginning.
Barsad had abandoned teasing Bane and had embarked on a safer pastime—engaging their chauffeur, an Indian in his late forties. When the League's private jet had landed at a remote airstrip some thirty kilometers from the palace, Barsad had been glad to see Faran waiting for them. Breaking with the acceptable practice of the driver being alone in the front of the vehicle, Barsad had sat in the passenger seat, something that both pleased and discomfited the chauffeur lest he be held responsible for Barsad's position. Barsad had known Faran for many years now. In fact, he had recruited the man from the slums of Jaipur to become the palace chauffeur, just as he had found others for various positions in the household—all poverty-stricken people who owed their lives and the lives of their families to the benevolence of Siddig El Fadil and his wife.
Hiring the poorest of the poor had been Maysam's idea. A shrewd plan. The employees' financial situations ensured that they would do anything to maintain their jobs and thus their families' survival. Because of that, they were willingly loyal, and if they did indeed maintain thoughts of being anything else, they knew enough about their employer to understand that punishment wouldn't simply mean a return to the slums—it would mean a torturous death for themselves as well as all those they held dear.
"How is your family, Faran?" Barsad now asked.
"They are well, sir. Thank you."
"And everyone at the palace? Anything happen since we've been gone?"
"The master has returned."
Barsad scowled at the thought of Siddig's brother, Amir, who had taken over his older brother's position upon Siddig's death. Barsad had never liked Amir the Snake—as he and Amir's enemies called him—mainly because of the way he had treated Maysam in the past. Some of Amir's behavior toward her had been orchestrated by Amir's wife, Iba. When the woman had grown even bolder in her efforts to kick Maysam out of the palace and out of the family's finances, Bane had taken matters into his own hands, literally and figuratively—he had strangled the life out of Iba. It was a clear message to Amir that if he didn't want the same thing to happen to him he should leave Maysam in peace, to live out her life in her husband's home. Of course, Amir had no proof that Bane was his wife's murderer, but he got the message nonetheless and begrudgingly allowed Maysam her own space in the palace.
"Does Amir know we're coming back?" Barsad asked Faran.
A tiny grin appeared in one corner of the driver's mouth. "Yes, sir."
"I bet he's thrilled." Barsad returned the grin.
"Oh, yes, sir."
Barsad chuckled. Sure, Faran was loyal to Amir, but that didn't mean he liked him. The same could be said for most who knew Al Thu'ban.
Barsad's amusement, however, hid the concerns he had about Amir ultimately selling Bane out to those who hunted him for his crimes in Gotham. The only thing that kept Amir in line was the knowledge that exposing Bane would also expose himself and his own crimes to the authorities. Well, perhaps not the only thing. There was one thing Amir feared even more than losing his empire and jeopardizing his family's legacy—Bane. Barsad figured Bane was in fact the only man Amir feared. A son of a bitch, Barsad considered, but not a stupid one.
"The mistress is pleased about your return," Faran was saying. He glanced at Barsad. That tiny grin again. "All of you."
"Is that so?"
"Yes, sir. She did not want you to leave in the first place. She's been very sad and quiet these past days. When I took her into Jaipur the other day, she did very little shopping and came home early."
Talia said, "That's certainly not like her. Jiddah does enjoy her shopping."
"Yes, ma'am. But she has been worried about you since you left. You know how she is."
"Well," Bane rumbled, "she doesn't have to worry. We are back where she wants us."
"Yes, sir."
Once inside the walls of the palace compound, Faran drove up to one of the archways of the Diwan-i-Khas, the private audience hall. He parked as close as possible so the occupants of the car could slip out without being exposed to any eyes in the sky from drones or other surveillance means.
In the archway, back just enough to remain out of the boiling August sun, a solitary figure stood, garbed in traditional Muslim dress, only her face and hands exposed. Barsad smiled at the sight of Maysam.
Though Maysam appeared serene as the passengers left the car, internally she was eager and impatient to hold her granddaughter again. Seeing Talia lifted the weight of anxiety Maysam had felt since her granddaughter had departed a week ago.
Talia hugged her as if they had not seen each other in a year. With eyes closed, Maysam tightened her embrace.
"I'm so pleased you have all returned," Maysam said, giving her a final squeeze before they parted. "My family is back together again, just as this old woman prefers. I had been spoiled having you here for so long before." She touched Talia's cheek, instantly feeling younger and stronger with her near. "I'm glad you convinced Haris and John to return with you," Maysam added, using the Arabic name she had given to Bane years ago, a name that meant protector.
Maysam reached for Bane's hands, clasping them, feeling his amazing mixture of both power and gentleness, something she knew was reserved only for herself and Talia. His eyes crinkled with delight, as did hers. They refrained from embracing, however, outside the privacy of the palace in front of a servant like Faran. No, such public familial displays by a Muslim woman to someone not of her blood was something even Maysam did not allow. But privately she treated Bane with all the warmth and love she would show if he were her son. Indeed, she loved him as a son and told him that often, knowing it greatly pleased him. Seeing him lying near death in her home all those weeks had devastated her, though she had done her best to remain upbeat and positive for Talia's and Barsad's sakes.
"Welcome home, Haris," she said.
"I regret we must burden you further with our presence."
"Nonsense. Your presence is a gift."
"I was referring to Barsad," Bane quipped.
His unexpected humor made all of them laugh, including Barsad, who again turned red in the face. Maysam took his hands, those very familiar hands, ones she still remembered caressing her body long, long ago.
"We both know better than to listen to Haris on this, John."
She enjoyed the happiness in Barsad's heavy-lidded eyes; "bedroom eyes," Talia had once called them during a private conversation. Glacial blue, with a quick ability to twinkle, especially when he was teasing those whom he loved. His even temper and good nature were qualities that had attracted Maysam to him those years ago. Her husband had been unpredictable, quick-tempered, and often ill-humored, so John Barsad had offered a startling contrast. In fact, it was Barsad's level-headedness that had caused Siddig to hire him, that along with Barsad's reputation for marksmanship. Maysam had been around guns ever since she had married Siddig, but she had never seen anyone as skilled as Barsad. He had saved her husband's life multiple times as well as her own once.
Maysam squeezed Barsad's calloused hands before freeing him. "Let us get out of this heat, shall we? Faran will have your bags brought in."
She led them across the marble floor of the audience hall, the elegant crystal chandeliers unlit and unneeded with the day's sunlight through the multiple archways. A cross breeze ruffled Barsad's hair, and unexpectedly he remembered Maysam's fingers trailing through his hair long ago when they were lovers. To keep his memories from delving deeper, he admired the hall's sandstone-colored walls and ceiling with its elaborate cream-colored trim. A few regional artifacts decorated the walls but otherwise the space was unadorned.
A courtyard opened before them, surrounded by protective walls three-stories high, designed to look like buildings but in reality just facades. This space they crossed quickly, exposed to the brutal sun. Passing through an open gateway, they entered another, more open courtyard that faced the palace.
Six stories high, the palace stretched to either side, as if welcoming them with open arms. Its stone masonry gleamed a pale yellow against the deepening blue of the sky, trimmed in white with dark maroon around its many windows, the railings of its various verandas painted the same maroon or white. The palace was centuries old, its architectural style a mixture of Rajput and Islamic with occasional hints of European influence, such variety revealing its expansion over time under the tastes of different owners. It had been in Siddig's family for several generations, acquired through the blood and treasure of their enemies.
Armed security forces were stationed throughout the palace complex on any given day, but now that Bane and Talia were back, Barsad knew such forces had been doubled both inside the compound and out, including men from the League of Shadows. Moving past two such guards at the palace's main doors, the four entered the cool environment of the palace.
Maysam led them to a resplendent, red-carpeted staircase, Talia beside her. The two women chattered between themselves as they ascended. Servants who saw them quickly diverted their eyes.
When they reached the second floor, they squeezed into a small elevator that took them to the fifth floor—Maysam's domain.
"We'll have some refreshments," Maysam said, "while we wait for supper. You can relax from your travels."
She led them to her salon, a room more intimate than most in the palace. It had only one window, and that bore heavy draperies of red and gold that kept out the sun in the mornings. Now the curtains were thrown open, revealing the evening sky, which had just begun to blush a pale pink. Scarlet Persian rugs covered the floor, trimmed in black with varied white designs. Burnt-orange-colored walls matched the cushions of the furniture, which bore broad stripes alternating with red. The wooden chairs were inviting, large enough for someone even of Bane's size. Vases throughout the salon displayed colorful sprays of floral arrangements and greenery.
"Sanjana should be here any minute with something cool for us to drink," Maysam said as she settled gracefully into a chair. "Or would you prefer tea?"
"Something cold sounds more appealing," Talia said, sharing a loveseat with Bane while Barsad sat in a chair across from Maysam, a small table between them.
"I hear Amir is home," Barsad said, trying to keep the sneer from his voice.
"Yes, John. But don't worry," Maysam fought a coy smile, "he won't be having supper with us." She sighed and looked to her granddaughter. "I must say again how glad I am you've returned to me. But I'm sorry to hear of the reason."
"No need for concern, Jiddah," Talia said. "I'm sure the nightmares are a passing thing. Bane worries about me too much; I hope he didn't alarm you when he called."
"He worries because you are too stubborn for your own good," Maysam said. "Like your mother. You mustn't scold Haris; he did the right thing by bringing you back to me."
"But I fear for you if you're connected to us."
"We've discussed this many times before. I am just as safe as you here," Maysam insisted. "Between my security and the safety measures put in place by the League, nothing will harm us. You will stay here as long as you need to."
"Speaking of the League," Talia eagerly changed the subject, "there's something I need your help with, Jiddah."
"Talia," Bane growled, instantly knowing what she was about, having expected this once back here with Maysam.
"I was trying to convince Bane to take command of the League," Talia rushed on. "I believe I should step down. It would be best for everyone."
"There is no need to include your grandmother in this decision," Bane said. "This is a League matter."
"I disagree. I discuss all personal matters with Jiddah, and this is as much personal as business. Don't you agree, Barsad?"
Eyes flitting to all three of his companions in turn, Barsad struggled to answer, his mouth moving like a fish out of water. The very subject had blindsided him.
Maysam recovered first, a small, relieved smile enlivening the corners of her lips. She had never wanted Talia to assume her father's mantle, nor had she approved of Talia's suicide mission in Gotham. "Why do you think you should relinquish your position, hafida? Because of your injuries?"
"There are many reasons," Talia said. "The main one being that I'm no longer worthy of such a position. Bane, however, is."
"There is no one worthier than you," Bane said, restraining himself from taking her hand, afraid that touching her would give her power over him. "But this is not the time to discuss this."
Talia hesitated, took in Bane's disgruntled expression, Barsad's shock, and her grandmother's hopefulness, and knew she had accomplished what she needed for now. She was confident of at least her grandmother's aid in her cause. Barsad, however, was a wildcard. Of course he would support Bane's ascendance, yet he would also be reluctant to back such a thing if Bane himself was dead-set against it.
"Very well," Talia said with bowed head, feigning contrition.
A gentle knock at the door drew Maysam's invitation. A serving girl entered, one Barsad had never seen before. This fact, coupled with the young woman's quiet beauty, drew his interest as she carried a silver tray with glasses and a pitcher across the room. Setting the tray on the table in front of Barsad, she proceeded to pour lemonade into the glasses.
Maysam spoke in Hindi to the servant: "Thank you, Sanjana," then to her guests in English, "Fresh squeezed from our own trees, of course."
Though Sanjana's plain loose clothing robbed Barsad of fully enjoying the rear view as she bent over, it was easy enough to imagine she was slim and shapely.
"And did you squeeze them yourself, Sanjana?" Barsad asked in Hindi, grinning.
Though members of the household rarely spoke to the servants of things other than their duties, Barsad had never been one to look upon the staff as invisible, inferior beings; his American heritage rebelled against such prejudices and hierarchy. This practice, however, would be altogether unexpected and shocking to a servant, and Sanjana's dark face revealed just such an expression as she straightened from pouring the drinks. Her large coffee-brown eyes flicked to him for only an instant.
Understanding the constraints on the servant, Talia scolded, "Barsad, don't tease the girl." In Hindi, she said, "You must excuse our American friend, Sanjana. He can be crass." But a hint of amusement sparked in Talia's eyes when she glanced at Barsad.
After Sanjana had made her quick exit, Barsad chuckled to himself and said, "I've never seen her before, Maysam. Someone new?"
"Yes, just this week." Her lips pursed with enjoyment. "You like her?"
He pretended to be disinterested by shrugging and reaching for a glass. "You might look for ones that aren't pretty. Might tempt your brother otherwise."
Maysam chuckled. "Ayman knows better. His wife would make him regret it for the rest of his life."
"Well, what about Amir?"
Maysam's mirth died immediately. "Amir knows not to interfere with anything that belongs to me."
Amused, Barsad glanced at Bane. "I'm sure he does." He sipped the cool, tart drink, thinking of Sanjana's full lips. He banished her from his thoughts, though, for somehow in Maysam's presence such erotic ramblings seemed entirely wrong and disloyal.
"Speaking of Ayman," Talia said, "will he be joining us for supper, Jiddah?"
"No, I want us to be alone." Maysam knew this would please all of them, for Ayman—a staunch traditionalist—had never approved of her close relationship with Bane and Barsad, and conversation with him present always curtailed many topics. "And speaking of supper," Maysam turned to Bane, "I insist that you eat with us, Haris."
Her request did not altogether take Bane by surprise, for she often petitioned him to remove his mask and share meals with them. Normally he ate in private before or after the others, and merely sat at table for the social aspect, for he had no desire to reveal his damaged visage to Maysam lest he ruin her appetite nor did he want to encourage needless solicitations from her.
"I think it best we maintain our usual practices," he gently but firmly said.
"Nonsense. We are beyond such foolishness. It is shameful pride on your part, Haris. As your hostess, I insist you eat with us."
"Maysam, I respectfully—"
"Oh, for Godsake, Bane," Barsad interrupted without malice, "let's not rehash all this for the hundredth time. Just do as she asks. She saw you without your mask when you were in a coma. How many times do we have to remind you?"
"Yes, brother," Bane grumbled with a dark glare, "but she was not sitting down to eat."
Talia touched his arm then took his hand, surprising him and instantly calming him. "They're right, Bane. Please. We all wish you would. And considering all that Jiddah has done for us, don't insult her by refusing her request again."
"My refusals are never meant as an insult but as a favor."
"Of course," Maysam soothed. "But there is no need. Please, Haris, indulge an old woman."
With everyone's stare intent upon him, Bane growled to himself, squirmed, hesitated longer. Talia squeezed his hand. "Very well," he muttered, barely audible if not for the mask's mechanical amplification.
"There, was that so hard?" Barsad teased.
Bane glowered at him. Barsad chuckled, and Maysam smiled. Only Talia's kiss to the back of Bane's hand consoled him.
"Jiddah," Talia said, eager to change the subject for Bane's sake. "No doubt you've prepared our old rooms, yes?"
"Of course, my dear."
"Well," Talia glanced at Bane, saw that he realized where she was going, hope extinguishing his unrest over the previous discussion, "if it's acceptable with you, Bane and I would like to share a room. Or am I speaking out of turn, Bane?"
Stunned, Bane nearly stammered when he answered, "No, habibati, of course you are not."
It was Maysam who appeared the most stunned, mouth slightly agape for a moment before she recovered her composure. "Well…I…yes, yes, of course it's acceptable."
"Are you sure?" Talia asked. "We don't want to cause any trouble for you with Ayman or Amir."
"This floor of the palace is my domain," Maysam said. "I shall please my guests however I see fit."
"Well," Talia said, "if you are certain…"
"Of course." Maysam smiled warmly. "I'm happy to accommodate you both. In fact, you may have the suite of rooms that my husband and I used to share." Something sparkled in her eyes when she glanced at Barsad's surprised face.
"There's no need for such extravagance," Bane said. "We will be happy with one of the rooms we've used before."
"Nonsense, Haris. I insist." Maysam stood. "Now excuse me for a moment while I instruct Hisham and Sanjana to prepare the suite for you."
