THE DEMON'S LEGACY
Chapter 8
Bane watched Barsad with laser focus as they sparred in the gym. What Barsad lacked in physical stature he made up in quickness and cunning in a fight. Bane matched his lieutenant's flawless footwork move for move. Sometimes Barsad danced around too much; Bane often warned him of expending unnecessary energy, but Barsad found it difficult to curb his enthusiasm when up against his commander. Of course, he never bested Bane—no one ever did—but Barsad reveled in the challenge, always making their matches interesting and worthwhile.
"Get him, Papa Baba!" Henri squeaked excitedly.
The boy was there in Bane's peripheral vision, off to the right where he wriggled on the edge of a chair. Henri's encouragement made Bane grin slightly, drawing Barsad's annoyance.
"Hey, kid," Barsad panted. "You should be cheering for me. I'm the little guy here."
Bane's righthand glove flashed out, catching Barsad on the cheek and making him curse. "Focus, brother," Bane taunted good-naturedly. "And mind your language."
"Ha-ha-ha, Unca John!"
They floated around the mat, jabbing, feinting, ducking, attacking, counterattacking, their bare chests glistening with sweat. Henri continued to cheer them on until he decided they were taking far too long.
"My turn!" the boy said.
"Patience, Jin," Bane commanded.
"My turn!" Henri cried more stridently, standing now.
Bane ignored him, driving quickly in on Barsad, forcing him back toward the edge of the mat. There Barsad defended and held his ground.
"Now, Papa Baba!" Henri demanded angrily.
Barsad's devilish grin goaded Bane.
"You will not think it so amusing," Bane growled, "when you have a child of your own."
Barsad faded right to avoid another blow, forcing Bane to follow.
"My turn!" Henri shouted, his small voice echoing in the gym.
Bane heard the child's feet on the mat as he rushed toward them.
"My turn!"
Indignant, Bane started to turn before Henri could reach him. Bam! Barsad's punch snapped Bane's head to the side. Bane glared at him.
"Focus, brother," Barsad mocked.
"My turn!" Henri charged between them, flailing at Barsad. "Fight me, Unca John!"
Bane lifted Henri off his feet to carry him back to the chair, the boy's fists striking at the air.
"Put down, Papa Baba! Put down!"
Jaw tight, Bane ignored the child's writhing attempts to break free.
"Jin!" Bane snapped to pierce his son's outcries. "I told you that you must sit and wait, did I not?"
"Fight Unca John."
"No, not after you disobeyed me." He sat Henri down in the chair and held him there with a hand on one shoulder and a rebuking finger near the boy's angry face. "Patience. That is what you require."
"C'mon, Bane," Barsad said. "He's only two."
"Two." Henri held up as many fingers.
"Silence, brother," Bane growled, never taking his eyes from Henri. "You will sit here, young man, and you will wait till I say you can get up."
Henri's brow lowered, and his lips formed a petulant pout. "No, Papa Baba. I fight."
The child managed to shift his weight and go limp enough to slide off the chair, but he could go no farther with his father directly in front of him. Scowling, Bane swatted the seat of Henri's shorts.
"You will not defy me, boy."
Henri's angry expression melted the minute his father spanked him. Never had Bane struck him. The shock of the moment had more effect than the spank itself. Henri's temper tantrum dissolved into instant tears and one cry, followed by a long intake of breath during which Barsad muttered, "Oh, shit, here it comes," before Henri's subsequent wail nearly deafened Bane, filling the gym.
"Your mother left because of such behavior," Bane said, again putting Henri back in the chair. "Would you like me to leave you as well?"
"No," Henri warbled as the tears fell in a torrent.
Though his son's sorrow pained Bane, he kept his tone steady. "Then you will sit here until I am done with Barsad. And if you do that and quit crying, I might consider letting you fight. But not one twitch, Henri Temujin. Understand?"
"Yes," Henri said, quivering. "Want Mama."
"You had promised to be good, remember?"
"Yes."
"And we are never to break promises, are we?"
"No."
"That is correct. We are honorable men. And what do honorable men say when they have done something wrong."
"I…" Henri hiccupped. "I sorry."
"Very well." Bane let go of the child and stood. "You must learn from your mistakes, my cub."
Henri kept crying, but quieter. "Want Mama," he whimpered.
As Bane turned back to Barsad, Barsad's gaze went from the boy to his opponent. Near a whisper, he said, "Well, that shocked the hell out of him…and me."
"One must do what is necessary, brother. I took no joy in it. But new tactics are called for."
Barsad brought his guard up, lowered his head and rounded his shoulders to make a smaller target. "I think you made an impression. You broke the poor little guy's heart. He's sitting there in a puddle of tears."
"Let us finish our work, Barsad."
The two continued their bout for another five minutes, but Bane's heart was no longer in it, and Barsad landed several ringing blows.
"You took advantage of the situation, brother," Bane grumbled as he removed his gloves. "But that is what any wise opponent would do. Tomorrow will be a different story."
Barsad grinned. "We'll see."
Bane turned back to his dejected son, who was no longer sobbing. Henri's cheeks still glistened, and snot had made a mess of his lips and chin. The corners of his mouth drooped, his eyes large and sad as he looked at his father. An artful ploy that Bane refused to allow to work on his emotions as he knelt in front of his son. Using the towel from around his neck, Bane wiped the child's face and offered a small smile of encouragement.
"There. Much better," Bane said. "Now, would you like to fight me?"
Henri hesitated as if to punish his father, but his desire to participate won out, and he nodded. His wounded pride, however, kept him stoic.
"Very well. Come." Bane took Henri by the hand and led him to the middle of the mat where he got on his knees. "You may fight, but not out of anger. Men who fight out of anger are no more intelligent than a wounded bear. We fight to sharpen our skills and our wits. Do you understand, little cub?"
Henri nodded with lukewarm enthusiasm. Bane scowled mildly and tipped his son's chin up.
"I said, do you understand?"
"Yes, Papa Baba," Henri mumbled.
"That's right—you will answer your elders whenever they speak to you. There will be no sullenness and disrespect."
"Yes, Papa Baba."
"That's my boy. Now, let us begin."
"Kick his butt, Henri," Barsad said, sitting in the chair Henri had vacated.
The boy offered a half-hearted punch against his father's raised hands.
"C'mon," Barsad urged. "Is that all you got, kid? Let him have it. Move your feet. Try to get behind him. There you go. Keep going. Hit him harder now. Both fists. Bam, bam! That's it."
Barsad kept coaching as Henri's confidence returned. At first Bane thwarted him, hoping to stir the boy's spirit. Then, as Henri came to life and began to enjoy himself, Bane allowed more of his son's blows to strike him in the chest and arms, even a few to the face, which succeeded in making the child smile again. By the end of their match, Henri was laughing in triumph. Bane grabbed him in a bear hug, as if to keep from being outmatched, and they tumbled together to the mat. Henri tried to break free but surrendered to giggles, causing his father to chuckle.
Watching them, Barsad couldn't contain a smile. Easily he remembered his early years with Bane, years of few laughs or smiles from his commander. Barsad had always tried in his brotherly way to prompt levity from Bane, but it had often been a chore. Even now, when away from Talia and Henri, Bane could still be on the dour side, but the darkness would retreat whenever he reunited with his family. So, at times like these, Barsad enjoyed witnessing Bane's pure happiness. God knows he has a lifetime of happiness to make up.
Barsad stood from his chair and pulled a white t-shirt over his head. "All right, you two. I'm heading upstairs for a shower. I'll see you later."
At the door, looking back, he saw Henri sitting triumphantly on his father's broad chest, laughing as if the earlier trauma had never occurred. Barsad grinned and shook his head before stepping into the hallway.
Still distracted, he nearly bumped into Maysam who was coming down the hallway. Red-faced, he apologized.
"Well," she said with a smile, "it sounds like my great-grandson is enjoying his time with his father."
"If you'd walked by a few minutes ago, you wouldn't have thought so."
"Oh, no."
"Yeah. Henri had a bit of a meltdown, and Bane actually spanked the little guy."
Maysam gasped. "That poor baby. It must have broken his heart."
"Yeah, you'd have thought the world had ended, but he's okay now. He and Bane are wrestling."
"Good."
"You know, I think Bane forgets that kid is only two. He expects him to be rational and focused. Those things aren't usually in a two-year-old's repertoire."
"Yes, he does have high expectations for his son. But don't you think that is better than the alternative?"
"Of course, but I still think he goes a bit overboard, like Henri's in training for the League or something."
"Well, in some ways he is, don't you think? I mean, considering his parents."
"Sure. I guess I'm just worried Bane won't let the kid be a kid, you know?"
Maysam chuckled. "You're forgetting that Henri has a great-grandmother to spoil him and let him be a child."
"That's true." Barsad waggled his eyebrows as he teased, "Maybe you're the reason Henri's so unruly."
"That comes from his parents, John."
They shared a laugh.
Barsad glanced along the lengthy corridor. "What are you doing down here anyway? Were you looking for one of us?"
"No, actually. I was on my way to meet with the chef to discuss this week's menu."
Besides the gym and swimming pool, the lower level of the palace contained the kitchen as well as the living quarters for servants and the rooms that housed both Nashir's security force and Bane's men.
"Do you think," Barsad said, "after you're done, we could chat for a minute in private? I need your help with something."
"Of course. I'll meet you in the salon in half an hour."
"Great. Thanks."
Maysam started to turn away but paused with a smile that warmed Barsad. "And, John, I think it's sweet how concerned you are about Henri. Don't hesitate to say to Bane what you've just said to me. You keep him balanced in everything else. He will respect your opinion." A hint of wistfulness faded her smile a bit. "You will make a wonderful father."
Few people could make Barsad blush, but Maysam was one of them.
"Let's hope so," he managed before turning in the opposite direction.
###
The salon was an intimate space, smaller than other rooms on Maysam's floor. The décor was deep reds and golds, with scarlet and white Persian rugs trimmed in black, and vases filled always with fragrant flowers from the gardens or greenhouse. The heavy velvet drapery over the single window was now halfway open to allow in the afternoon sunlight, filtered through a gauzy white sheer.
When Maysam's husband had been alive, he had allowed her perfect privacy here. It was only for her and those she deigned to allow in. After Siddig had banished Melisande to the pit prison, Maysam had spent countless hours in here by herself, sobbing. She had even slept on the couch for the first several nights afterwards, until her husband demanded that she return to his bed in the suite that Bane and Talia now inhabited.
Sipping tea and waiting for Barsad, Maysam smiled and chuckled low in her throat as she remembered the time she and Barsad had made love in this room. Although her husband was in Egypt at the time, it was still a dangerous risk they had taken. But that danger had served to heighten their passion that night. Maysam's smile, however, faded as quickly as it had come when she thought of Barsad making love to Sanjana.
It was foolish to be jealous of the girl, Maysam knew, but she could not help occasional flares of resentment. Feminine pride and competitiveness pushed her to wonder if Barsad ever compared her lovemaking to Sanjana's, and whose did he find more satisfying? Maysam scoffed at herself.
"Stupid old woman," she muttered and blew on the hot tea in her cup.
Sanjana was a beautiful girl. If Maysam had known that Barsad would end up living at the palace once again, she may have considered a less attractive servant than Sanjana. True, she had hired the girl mainly as a kindness to Hisham, yet she had, after all, needed a new servant of her own after the previous one had been disposed of for indiscretions related to security issues with the El Fadil family. Still, perhaps she should have put Sanjana to work in the kitchen instead of taking her on as her personal servant.
Maysam sighed with lingering regret. Yes, she had no one to blame but herself for Barsad's relationship with Sanjana. The first night he had returned to live at the palace after leaving the League's desert base in Saudi Arabia, she had ordered Sanjana to his room. Maysam had wanted to give Barsad a welcoming gift, and it had also been her way of testing the girl's loyalty and obedience right away, for she had only just hired Sanjana the week before. No sense keeping her around long if she could not do the difficult things. Yet how difficult could it be to sleep with John Barsad? The way Maysam looked at it at the time, she had been doing the girl a favor, for who else would ever want her after being sullied by the brother of her ex-fiancé?
"Oh, John," Maysam sighed and shook her head as she remembered his rejection of her gift and his explanation: "It just wouldn't seem right for me to be whoring around right down the hall from you."
It had made her love him even more. Such an honorable man. It had always been one of the traits that most attracted Maysam to him. She was not stupid enough to believe that Barsad had not slept with other women after they had broken up, but the fact that he refused to do so under her roof had filled her with pride. Of course, she had not anticipated Barsad falling in love with Sanjana, but she did appreciate over these past years how he never displayed overt physical affection for the girl in front of her.
Nearly three years ago, the arrival of Aaron Abrams and later the birth of her great-grandson had distracted Maysam from dwelling on the relationship between her servant and her former lover. But there had still been private moments, usually after seeing Barsad and Sanjana walking through the gardens hand in hand or quietly talking close during a shared evening get-together with the others, when Maysam felt a prick of jealousy and antipathy, times when she considered letting it slip in her servant's presence that she and Barsad had been lovers. But she blamed the vindictiveness on loneliness, a loneliness she had never felt before Barsad's interest in Sanjana. And then she would scoff at herself for being weak.
Maysam was unsure when her interest in Abrams had formed. At first, she thought it was simply the result of her sadness about Barsad, and so tried to dismiss it. But she found herself watching Abrams closely when he was unaware of her scrutiny, noticing that he was a handsome man beneath his cragginess and gruffness. True, he lacked Barsad's sharp wit and liveliness, but Abrams had other qualities—honesty, loyalty, a quirky sense of humor, a quiet strength…and that intriguing mystery of his past and what had formed him prior to the horrors of the pit prison. She found herself wanting to heal him, yet how could she heal him when she had no idea what truly ailed him? And he refused to allow her to get close enough to find out, though she sensed that a part of him longed for intimacy.
She and Barsad had never discussed her attraction to Abrams. True, Barsad teased her from time to time, but she dismissed it. She could tell, beneath the teasing, that Barsad was encouraging her to pursue Abrams, and she loved him for his ability to read her loneliness without her ever having to shame herself by voicing it to him.
A gentle knock on the salon door pulled Maysam from her thoughts. She set down her cup and saucer.
"Come in."
Barsad entered, dressed in a fresh white t-shirt and jeans, his hair damp from a hasty shower after his workout. How she would love to watch him and Bane sparring, but of course that would be inappropriate for a woman. Maybe, she considered, when Henri was in the gym, it would be acceptable for her to sit with him, to take charge of him while his father worked.
She stood and smiled at Barsad as he crossed the room. His return smile was strained and brief, his eyelids looking heavier than usual.
"Is something wrong?" Maysam asked. "You look troubled. Is Sanjana all right?"
"Yes. She's taking a nap. She didn't even wake up when I came out of the shower." He absently rubbed his hands against his hips.
"Sit down. Would you like some tea? It's fresh."
"No, thanks."
Maysam had a feeling from his slight frown that he wished for something stronger than tea. She expected him to sit on the opposite end of the long couch from where she settled, but instead he sat in the chair farthest from her. Something leaden seemed to roll around in her stomach.
"What is it, John? You said you needed my help with something."
"Yeah, I do." Instead of relaxing back into the chair, he sat on the edge, slowly rubbing his hands together. He cleared his throat. "It's about Sanjana. Well, you and her."
"What do you mean?"
"Well…you know how awkward she feels around you; I mean, in a social setting."
"She is a bit timid, yes, but that's understandable since I am her employer. It's a strange balance for her, I'm sure."
"Yeah, but…it's not just that. I mean, the worker/employee thing. It's something else."
Maysam's eyes widened with dread. "You didn't tell her, did you?"
"About us? Oh, hell, no. I mean, it's not like I'm ashamed or anything, but as a woman I'm sure you understand why I'd never say anything to her about it."
"Of course." Maysam relaxed. Her blood chilled at the thought of Sanjana inadvertently speaking to one of the El Fadil servants about her affair with Barsad. Nashir might overlook it since it was so long ago and because of the warm relationship he had with her, but the rest of the family would not, and she would be thrown out of the palace. She was too old to suddenly be uprooted.
"But sometimes I think she suspects something happened between you and me," Barsad continued. "You know—women's intuition. I think that's the main reason why she feels uneasy."
"Surely she's not jealous of an old woman like me."
"I wish you'd stop calling yourself old. You aren't." Barsad sighed and ran a hand through his hair. "I've been trying to think of ways to put her at ease."
"Perhaps if she were no longer under my employ. I've been managing with Hisham. I could continue to use him, or I could hire a girl from the village."
"I've asked her about that, and I think once the baby is born she'll probably agree. But, as you know, when she stopped working because of the pregnancy, she didn't feel right about living here for free, especially when I'm away. It's a matter of honor. Because of her background, she doesn't feel like she belongs in a palace."
"She is the mother of your child. There is nowhere else she should be than here in your home."
"I agree, of course, but she thinks we should move away."
Maysam sat up straight. "What?"
"Don't worry; I don't plan to do that. You know I'll be here as long as Bane is."
"As you should." Maysam tried to keep anger out of her voice. The very thought of Barsad going elsewhere to live wounded her. How dare that girl try to take him away from them, from her?
"Sanjana says she feels insignificant. I don't want her feeling that way. I feel like I'm responsible somehow, so I want to find a solution. Unfortunately I've only come up with one."
"What is it?"
He frowned and spoke softer. "I think maybe I shouldn't spend as much…social time with you, alone, I mean. Like this."
Maysam's indignation flared again, tightening her lips, but she fought to keep Barsad from detecting it. "I see."
Barsad's shoulders slumped. "It's not what I want, but…"
Maysam forced herself to remain calm. "Why don't you let me talk to her? I can assure her—"
"She's too intimidated by you. And, if she does think something happened between you and me, I doubt she'll believe what you say. I need to be able to show her that I'm devoted to her. She thinks you're more important to me than she is. Of course you know I don't quantify my relationship with you that way. You're both important to me, but in different ways. Sanjana can only imagine one way."
Though she knew she should remain on the couch, Maysam moved to sit on the coffee table in front of Barsad. She took his hands in hers and offered an understanding smile. Her touch increased the anxiety in his blue eyes, and she knew she had to put aside her selfishness and petty jealousy and help him. If not for Barsad, she would never have survived the loss of her daughter. She would do anything for him.
"John," she murmured. "Tell me what you need me to do."
He smiled sadly and drew her hands to his lips, kissed them, then let her go. "I'm sorry, Maysam. I am."
"Just tell me."
Barsad hesitated, his frown deepening, his eyes wandering the room before returning to her. "At least for a time…I'll just see you when you invite us to eat together, or if it's all of us together—with Bane and Talia, I mean—for something social. And if Sanjana doesn't want to come, I'll decline the invitation. Will that be okay?"
"Of course." Her heart wept as she nodded.
"And once the baby comes…let's just wait till Sanjana asks for your help. I hope she does, and I think she will, at least after a while when she's feeling more confident. And you don't need to buy anything for the baby."
"Oh, John…"
"Or if you do, you can always have me give it to Sanjana, like I bought it. I'll know it came from you." He offered a small, conciliatory smile.
Maysam had so looked forward to cuddling and caring for another infant. She had hoped against hope that Talia would become pregnant again, but she was still waiting. And the way Henri was testing Talia, Maysam feared he would be her last great-grandchild.
"Very well, John," she said, struggling to return his smile. "I will give the gifts to you."
"Thanks." Barsad reclaimed her cold hands. "This won't be for long, I'm sure. Once the baby is born, Sanjana will be so overwhelmed, she won't have time to worry about crazy things like this. She'll need your help with the baby when I'm away, and I think she'll realize how nuts all this is. She'll feel more comfortable and appreciate you."
Maysam nodded without confidence. "I hope so." And though she tried to stop herself, she said, "I shall miss you."
"Oh, don't say that. I'll be here. We'll still see plenty of each other." He grinned. "Besides, you have Abrams to distract you."
"I'm sure I don't know what you mean."
"Really? You're gonna pull that on me?" He chuckled. "How long have we known each other? You can't fool me."
She stood and turned away to hide her blush. "Aaron Abrams has no interest in me."
"Don't be too sure of that. Any intelligent man would have an interest in you. Are you saying Abrams is a fool?"
Maysam returned to the couch and took up her teacup to hide her appreciative smile. "I don't know what he is except a closed book, and he refuses to open it to anyone."
"Don't worry; he'll break in time. I can work on him, if you'd like."
"You'll do no such thing, John Barsad."
He chuckled and stood. "Henri has his heart set on riding an elephant in Jaipur. Maybe you can go with him and Bane, and bring your head of security." Barsad winked. "You could all stay overnight."
"My head of security has confined me to the palace compound."
"Fat lot of good that did this morning when Talia went to the airstrip," he laughed. "Trust me, Maysam, if you want to go to Jaipur with Bane, Abrams won't be able to stop you. I know you."
"Well," she considered, taking a sip of tea, "what better protection could I have than Haris?"
"True, but there's no way Abrams will let you go without him, even if the whole League went with you, especially with his paranoia about this Nyssa woman."
"Hmm. You are probably right. He is a stubborn one." She took another drink then stood. "I have been wanting to go to Jaipur to pick up some things for the baby." She caught herself. "For Henri, I mean."
Barsad chuckled again as he offered his arm to her and they ambled toward the door. There they paused, facing one another. She wished he would never leave.
"Thanks for being so understanding, Maysam."
"No thanks necessary, habibi. If I were in Sanjana's shoes, I wouldn't want any other woman near you either." She smiled playfully.
He chuckled again then leaned down to kiss her lips, lingering for just a moment, long enough for her to lay her hand against his cheek. At the feel of his warm skin beneath her fingers, her heart filled, and she knew she needed to send him on his way before her tears took hold.
"I'll see you later," Barsad murmured, the usual twinkle in his eyes tempered by something close to sadness.
"Yes," Maysam whispered and stepped back before he opened the door and left her.