Chapter 6
"Father, this is most improper!" Arija protested again.
Arefi didn't look at her. His face was cold-- hard-- as it had been since the day of Jalila's death.
"It is not improper if I have declared it," he said severely.
Arija opened her mouth to argue, then thought better of it. There was no reasoning with him.
"Mother, please, tell him he cannot do this!" she pled with her mother instead.
Amira shook her head gently. "Your father is intent upon this plan. Not even a league of demons could deter him." She smiled at her husband, but he refused to meet her gaze.
The issue in question was the construction of a small tent adjacent to the girls', to hold those men who came to solve the mystery of their nightly disappearances. Besides the obvious problem of the girls' virtue, having a man so close would only cause their secret to be more easily discovered. Their year would not be completed, and one of them- most likely Arija, as eldest and daughter of the chief wife- would be forced into marriage anyway.
The tent looked innocent enough. It was hardly large enough to hold a comfortable bed, a chair, and a small lampstand. Arefi did not count on the competitors needing more.
Over the course of the past week, Arefi had carefully outlined his contest. Each participant would have three nights in the small tent to determine where the girls went by night. On the fourth morning, he would report to Arefi with proof of his story, and the lucky man could marry any of Arefi's daughters he chose.
He had waited until he heard news of men arriving, and then he had had his men begin setting up the tent. His only obstacle was his stubborn daughter.
"If you are worried about your virtue, daughter," he said sternly, "I have hired a woman to watch the young man. She will protect you."
Arefi gestured at a shape Arija had not previously noticed. When the woman approached, Arija struggled to hide her surprise. It was the fortuneteller who had gotten them into this mess.
"Good morning, dearest," the woman said in a simpering voice. "Your honorable father has chosen me to guard you and your sisters from the potential ravages of the young men come to solve this mystery."
Arija noticed with satsifaction Arefi's discomfort at this statement. "The potential ravages of young men", indeed.
A servant approached and bowed low. "If it please you, Master," he said, "the contestant from Tribe Weir has arrived."
Arefi gave a nod of dismissal and excused himself. Amira followed behind him, leaving Arija alone with the fortuneteller.
"Well, dearest, shall we meet your sisters?" the woman asked.
"Of course," Arija replied with a forced smile. Her sisters would be in the weaving tent, and so she led the woman there.
Lahleh leapt up when her sister entered. "Have you had any luck with Father?" she asked. Before Arija could answer, Lahleh noticed the fortuneteller. "What is she doing here?"
"I must speak with all of you regarding our contract," the old woman replied. "Some of you seem to have forgotten the terms."
She glanced pointedly at Nasimi, who sat unseeing before her loom.
Arija's brow furrowed and her lips twitched into a frown. She could not allow this woman to molest her sister. Nasimi had not been the same since Jalila's death. She had shorn off her lovely hair and stopped eating. She was haggard and dazed, and she had not been dancing for almost two weeks.
"My son has missed you," the fortuneteller continued, approaching Nasimi. "For two weeks he has waited for his lovely maid to dance with him, and for two weeks she has not come. Why have you not come?" When Nasimi ignored her, the woman cried, "Answer me!"
Nasimi blinked slowly, and when her eyes opened they were alert and angry. "My mother died, and I was not beside her because I was dancing with your fool son! I want no more of this."
The woman hissed angrily, and to Arija she resembled nothing so much as a snake. "You will return tonight to the dancing pavilion, and you will dance with my sons, or I shall strike you barren, that you may never bear sons to your honor."
Nasimi flinched, but did not look away. "I will not dance with your son," she said coldly.
The fortuneteller raised a hand angrily, but Arija grabbed her wrist.
"Leave her be," she said angrily. "She is still upset by her mother's death. If you must punish someone, punish me."
The old woman's face cracked in a smile. "What a noble girl you are," she said softly. "You will make a good wife for my son."
Something in her tone made Arija shudder. As little as she liked the prospect of marrying a prince of Marigina, she liked less the prospect of marrying her black-eyed dancing partner. She released the woman's arm and pulled away.
"Now girls," the fortuneteller said, "we must discuss how to avoid these contestants your father insists on presenting."
The girls stared at her, openmouthed. Clearly, this woman was more than a mere fortuneteller. Whoever she was, she was a force to be reckoned with.
Arija was the first to break out of her stupor. "Please, sit," she implored the old woman, falling back on manners to disguise her fear. She beckoned her sisters to her, and they sat around the old woman.
"Now," the old woman said, "you girls have presented several problems. First, you were discovered, and now we have this ridiculous contest to deal with. That is managed easily enough, however. Then one of you stopped dancing." Again the woman looked at Nasimi, who remained before her loom, having refused to join the circle.
"In order for our deal to remain valid, you must begin your time anew," the old woman continued. Several of the girls groaned. Arija was hard-pressed to keep from joining them. She merely smiled complacently.
"This is just," she found herself saying. "Our deal was that each of us should dance with one of her sons every night for one entire year. We never made any concessions for illness or mourning. We must uphold our end of the deal if we expect her to uphold hers."
The old woman smiled at Arija. While the expression looked pleasant enough, there was an air of hostility in it.
"Do as your sister says," she said. "She speaks wisely."
Lahleh was the first to nod. "Come, sisters," she said with forced enthusiasm. "We must maintain our honor."
Grudgingly the sisters nodded. What was another year?
Nasimi remained unmoving. The fortuneteller looked expectantly at Arija.
"Nasimi," she said gently, "can we also count on you?"
"I will not be found missing when I am needed again," Nasimi said angrily. "Do not convince me to join you."
"Nasimi, it is all of us or none of us. Would you ruin this chance for us?" asked Siran. So she had once convinced Arija to continue dancing.
"What chance is it? To marry a black-eyed demon and bear black-eyed demon sons? You say you want this?" Nasimi asked.
"It is not as if we will marry anyone else or bear any other sons," Ayman said sadly. "Our best chance of marriage is this. We will not be spinsters because of your sadness."
"Nasimi, please," Arija said softly. "Will you not just try it for a year? Your mother cannot die again."
Immediately she knew she had said the wrong thing. Nasimi paled and her eyes grew dangerously dark.
"You would bring my mother into this?" she hissed. "You would prey upon my grief to force me unwillingly into a contract? From the old woman, from another sister, I would have expected this, but from you, Arija…You disgust me."
Arija felt tears in her eyes. "I am sorry, my sister," she whispered.
She chanced a look at the old woman. She was smiling, as though amused.
Arija crossed the room and embraced her sister. Nasimi did not move.
"Please, Nasimi," she whispered, so softly she wasn't sure she had spoken. "I promise you will not be forced into anything more than dancing. If you do not wish it, you will not marry your demon prince. We will break free of this together, Nasimi. But for now, we must do what is right for our sisters."
Nasimi wrapped her arms around her sister. A part of Arija nearly melted for joy.
"It is not right for them," Nasimi whispered back, "but they must realize this for themselves."
She pulled away and announced, "Very well. I will dance with my sisters."
The girls let out a cheer. The fortuneteller smiled evilly.
"Very well then," she said, her voice back to its original simper. "Now we must discuss how to deal with your father's contestants."
The first was the most difficult.
He was a prince of Tribe Weir, a nondescript, lumpish man with little other chance of advancing in life. Throughout their dinner together, he had stared hungrily at Arija, and she had had little doubt that his thoughts were dirty and disturbing. A pang of nervousness had clenched her belly. She did not want this man sleeping in a tent adjacent to her own. She did not want this man to discover their secret. She did not want this man as a husband.
Arefi had stated the terms after their dinner was finished.
"You will have three nights," he had said. "You will sleep in a tent adjacent to my daughters'. You will discover where they go and bring me proof. If you are correct, you may have your pick of my daughters to wed."
The man had practically drooled as he ogled Arija again. She flushed angrily.
"Furthermore," Arefi continued, "if my daughters or their nursemaid—" he nodded his head at the fortuneteller, who was seated in a corner of the tent— "should report any injury or improper conduct, you will be castrated and sent away without honor."
The man had blanched, and Arija took a fierce satisfaction in his discomfort. He deserved castration, that sick lout.
The girls had been dismissed first, so that they could prepare for bed without molestation, and the fortuneteller had followed after them.
"Prepare the drink," she instructed.
"Arija, you must take it to him," said Kíraz with a smile. "Did you see how he looked at you at dinner?"
The other girls laughed. It appeared everyone had watched this spectacle.
Arija made a face. "I most certainly did. What a disgusting creature! I will have nothing further to do with him."
Lahleh smiled. "You must. He will not accept it from anyone else. Pretend you are as attracted to him as he is to you. He will down this in an instant."
Roshanara produced the small bag of herbs the fortuneteller had given her, and Dílara produced a jug of fine wine and a goblet she had taken stealthily from the dinner table. The two began mixing the drink, using a small chest as a table.
"Just a pinch of the herbs, remember," Parvana called gaily. "They are potent enough to kill him if we add more than that."
"No one would miss him," Kíraz said jokingly. "Why should we not poison him?"
Dílara spoke sense. "If he is poisoned, the blame falls upon us. We must not attract attention to ourselves. If he but falls asleep, it is his own failing."
"We did not actually plan to poison him," Kader said defensively. "We know the consequences."
They heard the rustle of the man's tent flap opening.
"He is here!" hissed Siran. "Go, Arija! Take the drink to him."
Arija pulled the neck of her robe off her shoulders and combed her fingers through her loose hair, then took the goblet with a trembling hand.
She glanced at her sisters for approval, and they nodded, smiling. Slowly she approached the flap that led to the prince's tent and slipped inside. She could hear a rustling as her sisters gathered around to eavesdrop.
"Good evening," Arija said, her voice high and nervous.
The man turned to look at her. When he saw who it was, his face broke into a smile.
"My sisters and I have prepared a special drink for you. It is our own recipe," she continued, hoping her voice sounded sultry.
"And how do I know you are not attempting to drug me so I will not learn your secret?" he asked.
Arija's heart skipped a beat. Was she that easy to read? Still, she had to continue acting.
"I would never attempt to drug you," she said innocently. "I saw you watching me at dinner. I know what you were thinking. I want you to win this. I want to be with you."
She nearly gagged at the words coming out of her mouth. Surely he would not believe them…
He took the goblet. "Tell your sisters I thank them," he said as he gulped it down.
"I will be sure to."
As she reached down to take back the goblet, he grabbed her wrist and pulled her close.
"I will win this for you," he said.
Then he collapsed back on the bed and began snoring heavily.
Arija wrested the goblet from his limp hand. Praise heaven, her drugs are swift, she thought, as she slipped back in to her giggling sisters.
As the younger girls dug up the trapdoor and pulled it open, Lahleh leaned into her sister and whispered, "You performed wonderfully."
Arija groaned. "I will feel dirty for the rest of my life! That man was disgusting."
"Still, you acted well. Perhaps you should become a player."
"As if Father would ever approve of such a thing. Besides, I have never heard of a Pynterri player."
"Accustom yourself to that task. You have proven yourself very good at it. I would imagine our sisters will have you take in the wine every night."
"If I never have to do that again, I will be quite happy," Arija replied. The two of them laughed as they stepped down the stairs, closing the trapdoor behind them.
Sorry this update took forever. I'm at a busy time right now...
Also, my formatting may be a little off. I'm on a Mac now, and for whatever reason it doesn't keep bold or italicized formatting. It's weird.
Thanks again to my lurvely beta Billi!
R&R!
~~Mazzie~~