THE DEMON'S LEGACY
Chapter 4
Diya Panjabi's home was cramped and dark, located on the second floor of a tiny three-story dwelling made of mud bricks, typical for the village. Nyssa reached the door via a pale blue, steep exterior staircase with no railing and with small steps that would prove a challenge for her mother once she grew elderly. Nyssa often tried to convince her mother to move to a ground-floor dwelling, offering to buy one for her, but her stubborn parent always refused.
"This has been my home since I was born," she always said. "This is where you were born, daughter. I am comfortable here."
The home itself had only two windows and received sparse light due to the proximity of the neighboring buildings. While the structures protected it from the broiling Rajasthan sun, they also stole any breeze. Two rooms made up the interior—a modest bedroom and a larger room that served as kitchen, dining room and living space. A pair of fans whirred away in the latter room, and the television Nyssa had bought her mother a few years ago had some Indian cooking show on. The scent of dum aloo and galaouti kebabs made Nyssa's mouth water and reminded of her childhood. She was shocked to see her mother now at the stove.
"Maji!" she scolded, setting down the bundle of unsold goods brought home from the bazaar. "Why are you out of bed? I'll do the cooking. Haven't we already discussed this?"
Diya was twenty years older than Nyssa, but the hard years of her life, the heartbreak over the desertion of Nyssa's father and his later death, had taken its toll by adding ten years to the leathery skin of her round face and to her dark eyes as well. But her smile at the sight of her daughter took away some of that wear.
"I am feeling much better, betee." With a bamboo spoon, she shooed away Nyssa's solicitous hands.
"I don't care if you are. Sit down at the table and let me finish this."
Her mother chuckled. "My daughter is no cook."
"True enough, but it looks like everything's almost done anyway. You've always had good timing, Maji. When I was little, you would be just setting the food on the table when I'd come home from playing with my friends."
"It was you who had the timing, betee. Your nose was keen and you had the appetite of a boy." She glanced toward the unsold merchandise. "It looks like you did well today."
"Well, everyone is eager to help you, so they buy," Nyssa shrugged, "whether they really need anything or have the money."
Her mother turned back to the stove. "I remember they were not so eager to help me when I was young." She sighed. "But that was a different life. I am glad they no longer judge me for it. And many who did are dead now."
"Sit down, Maji. Please. Let me finish."
The fact that her mother obeyed proved she was not as well as she claimed.
As Diya eased herself into a chair at the two-person table, she gave a dry laugh, "If sales are so good, perhaps I should be sick more often and let my beautiful daughter sell my wares. No doubt the men of the village used sympathy for me as an excuse to loiter around your stall."
"Whatever works, Maji."
"You always knew how to use your beauty to your advantage."
"And so did you. If I recall the story correctly, that's how you snagged my father's attention." She glanced over her shoulder. "And speaking of him, I saw Maysam El Fadil today. There was a boy with her. A cute little thing who wanted one of your dolls."
Her mother chuckled. "Yes, he loves to take them apart, Maysam tells me. Typical boy—destroy instead of build."
"He said he takes them apart to make them better."
"He is a precocious one."
"Who is he?"
Now her mother's smile vanished, and she began to fidget with the plate in front of her. "I don't ask such questions of Maysam El Fadil. No one with any sense would."
"Maji, you do know his name, right?"
"Of course," she mumbled.
"Henri is not an Arabic name, as you know. And how strange that he has the same name as my father. So who is he?"
"What does it matter?"
Nyssa shrugged one shoulder. "I'm just curious. Aren't you? Maysam seems to love the boy very much, so that leads me to believe she's close to his parent or parents. Why else would they have a child living in the palace who obviously is of mixed blood, judging by his name and appearance, I mean?"
"I hope you didn't ask any impertinent questions of Maysam or the child."
"Of course not. You didn't raise an idiot, did you?" She offered a humoring smile and a wink before bringing the food to the table.
"Don't stick your nose into El Fadil business. It will only bring trouble to both of us."
Nyssa said nothing more about the boy during the meal, for she wanted to avoid upsetting her mother or opening old wounds. But later, when night had invaded their home and her mother lay asleep in her room, Nyssa remained awake on the sofa, thinking about the encounter in the bazaar.
The child was significant. She just knew it in her bones. His name…could it betray a secret? No, she was thinking crazy. Henri Ducard was dead, as was his wife, years ago, according to the stories. And their daughter, Talia, was also dead, well before that boy was born. Or was she? A body had never been found in the aftermath of the Gotham siege. The Gotham police commissioner claimed Talia had died in front of him after the truck she had been driving crashed. But Commissioner Gordon had not remained at the site of her demise for long that day. There had been no one else around until later when the citizens emerged from their homes, saved from nuclear annihilation by the Batman flying Bane's bomb out to sea. The League's men surely had removed Talia, alive or dead. The global community believed her dead, and Bane as well.
But, in the gray world of mercenaries, Nyssa had heard rumors from three years ago when the terrorist known as Al Thi'b, the Wolf, had been killed. Although the Americans claimed responsibility for the operation, mercenaries who sometimes operated in the murky world of Islamic radicals claimed the American story was not completely true. Shortly before Al Thi'b's death, the Saudi terrorist had been contacted by someone offering the sale of a ballistic missile as bait. If that part of the story was true, there were few people or organizations in the world who could or would deal in such weaponry, the League of Shadows being one of them. Al Thi'b wouldn't have met with the seller without first having proof of the missile's existence. Who would be so bold except the League's commander to flaunt such a weapon? It smacked of Bane, but if he lived, why would he work with the Americans, and, equally important, why would the Americans have worked with Bane? Some sort of deal, of course; what else could it be? Something that mutually benefitted both sides.
So if Bane indeed lived, perhaps Talia did as well. Maybe she was still the Demon's Head of the League. Perhaps that little boy with Maysam was Talia's child. Who else could Maysam love as much as she obviously loved that boy? And who was the father?
Years ago, when Siddig El Fadil had died of a heart attack, a rumor flew through the village that a beautiful young woman who looked very much like Melisande had attended the funeral. The ceremony had been private, of course, so who knew if the whispers were true? But it caught Nyssa's attention when she had visited her mother a short while after Siddig had been buried. She had rarely considered that she may have half-siblings. If the woman at the funeral was indeed Melisande's daughter, then she had to have been born in prison. Surely the father wasn't just some random inmate; if so, Nyssa doubted the El Fadil household would have allowed Melisande's daughter to attend the funeral, even if Maysam had insisted it be allowed. And the fact that this woman didn't appear until after Siddig was dead further stirred Nyssa's curiosity that the mystery woman might indeed be her half-sister. Siddig El Fadil's shame over Melisande secretly marrying the infidel Henri Ducard had led to his daughter's imprisonment. No way could he have known Melisande was pregnant at the time he had banished her. If he had, the gossiping villagers had little doubt that Siddig would have terminated the pregnancy, or worse. But with Siddig dead, that meant Melisande's daughter could safely visit her grandmother without fear of her grandfather's vengefulness.
Over the years, Nyssa had eventually pushed aside her curiosity. Discussing the possibility of having a half-sister only caused her mother pain. Nyssa hated her father for being responsible for such sorrow. Her own pain she could bear but not her mother's. Yet when Nyssa learned of her father's death, waves of conflicting emotions had drowned her. Unexpectedly, she had been consumed by grief. All the what-ifs revisited her from her years growing up in the village. And learning that her father had been the head of such an infamous organization as the League of Shadows further intrigued her about how her life would have been different if her father had stayed with them. The little girl in her had hoped that perhaps one day she would meet him, that they might finally have a relationship. But the Batman had ended any such hope.
What of Talia's relationship with their father? According to Commissioner Gordon, Talia had claimed to be finishing her father's work with the Gotham siege. If true, she must have had a meaningful relationship with their father. The thought used to make Nyssa jealous and angry. How could her father love Talia while completely forgetting his first daughter? And had he bothered to tell Talia that she had a half-sister? Or had he been too embarrassed by his abandonment to admit such a thing?
Nyssa sighed and wished she could sleep. Her father was dead and perhaps her half-sister, too. Why should she lose precious sleep tonight thinking about them?
The boy. Henri.
The name couldn't be simply a coincidence, just as her coming back to the village and meeting him in the bazaar couldn't be simply a coincidence. There was a reason behind the timing of it all. She needed to find out what that reason was. She needed to know if her half-sister truly was dead or alive. And if Talia was indeed dead, then that meant Nyssa was now heir to the Demon. Was it a position she wanted to pursue, her birthright? It was a question she had toyed with ever since her father's death.
One corner of her mouth curled into a smile. Her father had taken so much from her mother, from her. Perhaps it was only fitting if she tried to claim what had once been his.
###
Talia set her dessert plate on the small table between her and Maysam, every last morsel of mafruka devoured. She gazed out over the palace courtyards in the haze of late evening, watched a distant flock of starlings wheel and plunge against the backdrop of purple sky before darting away toward the village. Picking up her coffee cup, she blew gently against the dark liquid as she noted her grandmother's troubled expression. She had just returned from seeing Abrams out.
"Is something wrong, Jiddah?"
Maysam snapped out of her trance, but her frown remained. Bane also watched her closely from his chair near the veranda railing. Barsad raised his eyebrows with interest from where he sat on the other side of Maysam. Next to him, Sanjana stared down at her coffee cup, as if not hearing Talia's inquiry.
"No," Maysam said. "Nothing's wrong. But there is something I want to say, an apology for my behavior at dinner."
"Apology?" Talia echoed.
"Yes, for what I said to Aaron about Diya's daughter. I shouldn't have dismissed his concerns, especially in front of others. I apologized to him just now, and I want to do the same to all of you."
Barsad came to her aid with an amused smile. "Abrams didn't think twice about what you said, I'm sure. He's a crusty old bastard. He'd never think badly of you."
"All the same, I'm sorry."
Sanjana had lifted her head when Maysam first said the word apology, and now she blinked with surprise at the older woman before returning her attention to her coffee. Then she leaned over and spoke quietly into Barsad's ear. Barsad stood.
"Well, we're going to say good night." He took Sanjana's hands to help her extricate her unwieldy body from her chair. "We're both exhausted."
"Thank you for dinner, Madam," Sanjana said demurely.
Standing, Maysam said, "I'm glad you both came."
Bane had also stood, and he gave Sanjana a warm smile and nod as she passed by into the dining room with Barsad.
After their footfalls had died away, Talia said, "I wonder if Sanjana will ever stop calling you Madam."
"Perhaps she never will," Bane said. "She is a respectful girl, as she should be to Maysam."
"Because I'm old?" Maysam teased with a small smile.
Bane grinned. "I never said that."
"Well, I am old. Old and foolish to have treated Aaron the way I did."
"Jiddah." Talia touched her hand on the arm of her wicker chair. "It's not a big deal. None of us took it as an insult toward him. And neither did he, I'm sure."
Maysam sighed. "He is a skittish one, though. I fear hurting his feelings."
Talia laughed. "He's a bit tougher than that, Jiddah."
"Don't let his hard outer shell fool you, hafida. He is a sensitive man. That is why he is so deeply scarred and why he protects himself emotionally."
A spark of mischief danced in Talia's sapphire eyes. "Sounds like you've given this a lot of thought."
"Don't tease me about this again, hafida."
"But why not? It's so fun."
"Habibati," Bane gently chided Talia, eyebrows raised. "Leave her be."
"But they're so cute together, don't you think? And they could have such fun."
"You speak as if I am a teenager," Maysam said. "I am an old woman, older than Aaron. Why would he want anything to do with me in the way you are thinking?"
"And how am I thinking?"
"Perhaps," Bane rumbled, "it is time for us to retire as well, Talia."
"You aren't dead, Jiddah, and neither is Abrams. There's still more for you in life."
"There is plenty for me already—I have my great-grandson and my loving granddaughter to keep me busy, even if she does sometimes stick her nose in my business."
"Yes, you've devoted your last two years to our child, and we love you for it. But we would also love to see you happy in other ways. You deserve a good man, and Abrams is that."
"I told you, he is not interested."
"You don't believe that. He's just mortally shy, Jiddah. Give him some more time. I know he cares for you. He just doesn't know how to show it and whether he can because of working for you."
Maysam snorted. "You are a foolish girl."
"I think she's right," Bane said.
Maysam stared at him in surprise.
"Abrams does care for you."
"He has spoken to you of this?"
"Of course not. But I know what I see when he looks at you. I, too, am a man, after all." He winked.
Maysam blushed.
Bane got to his feet. "Now, I must retire. We must retire." He held his hand out to Talia, who frowned at him but accepted his hand and stood. "Thank you for dinner, Maysam."
Maysam embraced him. "I'm so glad you're back, Haris. We have all missed you so much, especially Henri. He worships you."
"I'm pleased to be back." He kissed her cheek. "Good night."
###
"Poor Barsad," Talia said as she and Bane walked down the long hallway toward their suite. "He was trying so hard during dinner to draw Sanjana into the conversation."
"It is a difficult situation for Sanjana. I have suggested to him that he take her away from here, to dwell elsewhere, but you can imagine what he said to that."
"Before he devoted himself to Sanjana, he devoted himself to you, his brother. You know nothing will ever come between you two, not even the mother of his child."
"It should not be this way," Bane grumbled. "The girl deserves a better life."
"Maybe, but it seems to me her life was far worse before she came to the palace."
"Indeed, but still, she will always be in Maysam's shadow here at the palace."
Talia glanced over her shoulder to make sure no one was within hearing distance. "Do you think she suspects Barsad's old affair with Maysam? Could that be adding to her discomfort?"
"Women are uncannily intuitive," Bane quietly said. "But I surely hope she continues to be ignorant of that part of Barsad's life. It would crush her. And I can't imagine she could allow herself to remain at the palace."
"But Jiddah is…well, older now."
"Of course Sanjana would not fear a rekindling of the relationship, but, as a woman, can you honestly say such a revelation wouldn't disconcert you, especially when she already feels intimidated by Maysam?"
Talia frowned. "True, it would add to the awkwardness. But if Sanjana does suspect or find out, I think it wouldn't have the same effect on her if Jiddah and Abrams were together."
"Perhaps."
They reached their suite and entered through the door at the near end, one which led into the spa. This door, like the other one farther down the hall, was guarded by one of the League's men, part of the small security force that lived at the palace since Talia had come to reside here full time.
The spa was lit dimly by a few of the recessed lights in the low ceiling. Their dull golden shine danced upon the placid water of the rectangular pool. None of the myriad of scented candles were lit, so the smell of chlorine dominated the room. Talia and Bane had made love many times here, both in and out of the water. Bane used the spa even more than Talia did. She often found him relaxing in its warmth in the evenings after dinner, for it soothed his aching back. Afterwards, she sometimes spoiled him with a massage. She always did whatever she could to relieve his pain. But tonight Talia knew without asking that he would not indulge himself; she could tell by the looseness of his arm around her how tired he was from his mission and his long journey home.
They passed through the Romanesque spa and down the hallway. A guard stood in front of Henri's bedroom door, and he smiled white teeth in his dark face, a smile that always coaxed the same from Talia. This was Mohammad Adeyemi—known as Yemi—a burly Nigerian who had been rescued from the pit prison with Bane, an old friend who had once saved Talia's life when she had been an infant. Since becoming a member of the League of Shadows, he continued to protect her as the head of her personal security and now Henri's as well. Officially, Yemi's detail was to protect Bane as the Demon's Head, since Talia no longer held any position in the League after becoming pregnant and relinquishing command to Bane. But Bane made it clear to Yemi and his men that Talia and Henri's safety was their priority, not him.
"He hasn't stirred," Yemi whispered.
"Thank goodness," Talia murmured. "Thank you, Yemi. Have a good night."
With a sly grin and a glance at Bane, Yemi said, "You, too," then left them.
Talia peeked into Henri's room, Bane's gentle hand upon her shoulder. She watched her son sleep, listened to his deep breaths fluttering against the pillow. So innocent, so sweet. If only he was as placid while awake.
Bane kissed her softly on the cheek and embraced her from behind. She sighed and touched his hand, so relieved to have him here to take some of the pressure of parenthood from her. Life was simple and secure when he was near. Their family was complete, that sense of protection she remembered in the vaguest of ways from long, long ago in prison when her mother still lived and Bane was her father, brother, and best friend. More of a feeling than a memory, really, for how clear were the memories of a five-year-old?
Afraid Henri might sense their presence and awaken, Talia pressed back against Bane to encourage him to retreat. His stirring manhood made itself known. She loved how much he still desired her, even as tired as he was.
Pulling Henri's door silently shut, she whispered, "I'm going to wash up for bed. Would you mind pouring me a glass of wine?"
Bane sensually kissed her neck, making her body tingle. "Your wish is my command. Don't be long, my dove." Then he freed her and headed down the hallway.
Talia watched him, noting how his usually-lumbering steps were often lighter whenever he was aroused. Distraction eased his aches and pains. She was glad to be responsible for it. Whatever she could give him, she would. After all, no matter how much she did for him, she could never repay him for his lifelong devotion.
In the obscenely large bathroom, she washed her face and brushed her teeth, thinking about her grandmother and Abrams. She wished there would be a breakthrough in their relationship, especially now with Barsad so close to becoming a father. Though her grandmother never said anything about how Barsad's relationship with Sanjana affected her, Talia knew there was still a lingering nostalgia in her grandmother over the torrid affair she had had with Barsad years before he had met Bane, back when he worked for the El Fadil family. It was not that her grandmother still carried a torch for Barsad but instead, Talia surmised, it was merely a natural loneliness from seeing those around her in love, especially a man whom she had once called her own. Talia was confident a relationship with Aaron Abrams would fill the hole in her grandmother's life.
Talia frowned, knowing Abrams was a tough nut to crack. Bane had confided to her what Abrams once told him in prison, before Talia had even been born. There had been a prisoner, called the Vulture, who had befriended Bane directly after Bane's mother had died, when the boy was most vulnerable. Unbeknownst to Bane, the inmate was a pedophile. Abrams had told him to be cautious around the Vulture on more than one occasion. From what Abrams had said, Bane later realized—after the Vulture tried to rape him—that Abrams's warnings had come from personal experience with a similar deviant, though Abrams never clarified or elaborated. Seeing Abrams every day and witnessing his tightly guarded ways, Talia figured his behavior even now was influenced by the abuse he suffered in the past. Though Abrams was comfortable with Yemi, Bane, and Barsad and had forged a strong friendship, he had never confided the secrets of his youth to any of them. That life, and Abrams's life in the pit, were memories he refused to revisit. Perhaps he feared that entering an intimate relationship with Maysam—or any woman—would lead to uncomfortable questions about his past.
Lately, Maysam talked more and more about trying to get closer to Abrams. She often pondered aloud her confusion over why Abrams refused to explore their relationship, especially when his body language revealed his interest in her. On more than one occasion, Talia considered telling her grandmother what she and Bane suspected about Abrams's past, but she held her tongue, not wanting to say something so intimate about her friend, especially when she had no confirmation that he had indeed been abused and certainly had no permission to do so even if she had proof. Instead, Talia had couched her reasons for his distance with mere speculation, safe things like a broken heart or even a sexual dysfunction, hoping this would satisfy her grandmother. Yet, Maysam's wistful search for answers continued, and it wounded Talia's heart.
"What is taking you so long, habibati?" Bane's voice startled Talia.
In the mirror, she watched him approach from the doorway, naked and still aroused. The sight of his stiff, bobbing member instantly stirred her, initiating a rush of molten heat from within her.
"I was thinking of Jiddah and Abrams."
Bane's tree-like arms slipped around her, and he buried his nose in her long, dark hair. "It is true Abrams moves with the speed of a glacier, but rest assured he is moving inevitably in Maysam's direction. Patience, little mouse. Look how long I had to wait for you, but it was well worth it. Your grandmother will think the same in time." He pulled her against him, not allowing her to turn and face him. "Now, no more talk of romance except our own."
His hand lazily unzipped her pants, dipping inside. She wore no underwear to hinder his exploration. Another gush of liquid desire, coating his fingers as he made her writhe slightly and close her eyes. His other hand tugged her pants off her hips, and they folded like an accordion around her bare feet. He growled softly and kissed her neck, sending further tremors of delight through her.
With the inescapable fortitude of a mountain, Bane pinned her against the white marble vanity, a willing captive, her hands braced along the far edge of the sink. She loved it when he took charge. It was almost always this way when he returned from a mission, as if he felt the need to dominate and reclaim her. Sometimes she would pretend to resist, just to increase the sexual tension and his determination, but he always won, bending her to his will, the only man who ever could.
Deftly his fingers unbuttoned the first couple of buttons on her blouse, enough to make it easy for him to drag it over her head. His fingers trailed through her mane, then down between her shoulder blades. As he pressed her torso toward the sink, she tilted her pelvis to offer what he desired, to encourage him. Between her thighs, his skillful fingers continued to tantalize her, making her impatient. She already panted in anticipation, his warm manhood pressed against her buttocks. She arched herself even more, wanting his cock between her legs, wanting to reach for it but unable to because of the vanity against her belly.
Finally his erection rubbed against her swollen heat. Talia moaned and tried to move, in vain.
"You are trapped, my love," he murmured hoarsely in her ear. "Like a beautiful butterfly in a spider's web. A spider who wishes to devour you."
He rubbed his penis against her womanhood, torturing her further. He smeared her warmth the length of his erection. She bent closer to the sink, opening herself even wider to him, like a flower as the sun rises. His other hand fondled her dangling breasts. How she wanted to touch him, to quench her own thirst. But he was unrelenting in his pressure against the vanity, and finally he glided inside her, nearly lifting her off her feet, her toes curling.
His hands took hold of her hips, and he began to move, first with shallow thrusts, but not so shallow that he would drift outside of her and need to begin again. But he was cognizant of how uncomfortable her position was against the marble, so his thrusts soon went deeper, harder, faster. More than once she lost her footing, but the pinning force of his body kept her anchored.
In the mirror's reflection, animal passion contorted his face, his eyes pressed shut in concentration, his mouth slightly open to emit grunts of pleasure. No mask to deprive Talia of his handsome visage. Even the scars from the surgeries failed to detract from his looks. She longed to run her fingers through his short, unkempt brown hair.
Bane's fingers dug into her hips. His speed, his urgency accelerated, and Talia gripped the faucet fixtures to brace against him. The edge of the vanity bruised her hip bones, but the pain only served to heighten her own excitement. As if sensing she was about to lose the ability to keep him from forcing her headfirst into the mirror, he snaked one arm between her belly and the vanity, locking her against his driving pelvis. Deeper, deeper until she cried out in ecstasy, knuckles turning white as she clenched the gold fixtures, no longer able to look in the mirror, to see anything. Instead she just felt—felt his power, her surrender, their consummation; heard their mingled outcries, echoing against the glass and marble.
He caught her as she collapsed, kept her tight against him while he shuddered out his last, his breath leaving him in one long exhale. Slowly, reluctantly he withdrew, wrapped both arms around her limp form. His legs trembled, and he succumbed to their weakness, drawing her with him to the cool floor where they sat together. Talia sighed and remained in his arms, sitting between his hard-muscled legs, his slimy, sated member against her. She leaned against his chest, and he kissed the top of her head.
"How I've missed this," Talia murmured, her finger trailing across his bulging pectorals. "I wish you would never have to leave us."
He kissed her lips. "If I had my wish, you would be with me always, my dear, you and our difficult boy cub." Mischief glinted in his eyes. "Your company is far more appealing than Barsad's."
She smiled her appreciation, welcomed another kiss, then relaxed against him once more.
Bane hugged her close, breathing in the bouquet of her hair and the lingering scent from their union. "Let us take a shower, habibati, and wash ourselves clean before bed. I will need my rest if I am to entertain our son all day tomorrow, as he will demand. And I can see how very tired you are, perhaps more so than I."
"Yes," she sighed. "I don't think I ever had a tougher mission during my years in the League than what I face now, raising a child."
Bane chuckled. "Well, at least I will be here for a while to relieve you."
Her frown came again, bringing with it the melancholy she had been experiencing for the past few weeks, since Bane had left. But how to explain it to him? She preferred not to burden him with her troubles, though her grandmother insisted she speak with him about it. She remembered how he had probed her gaze earlier, upon his return, and asked if something was wrong. Of course he knew something was amiss; he was always so in tune with her, as she was with him. If she tried to keep her feelings to herself, he would find a way to pry the secret out of her, so perhaps her grandmother was right.
As Bane helped Talia to her feet, she thought of Henri's latest act of defiance. Perhaps when she showed Bane the evidence, he would thoroughly understand the level of her frustration. If anyone could change Henri's behavior, it was his father. Talia had nearly given up.