Sandstorm (20 page)

"The Ghost Sheik isn't like that," Shihab said quietly.

"Because you know him so well."

"And you do?"

"Apparently not."

Shihab reached up and flicked him gently on the nose. "Why so angry, brother of my soul?"

Isra bit back a curse and jerked away. "Because the Desert is going to be stolen by a scheming, greedy, traitorous-"

"Oh, be quiet," Shihab said, shoving Isra back, down into a pile of pillows. "You're such a baby."

Shouting in outrage, Isra lunged up toward him - Shihab caught him by the arms, kicked his legs out, sending them both crashing to the ground. "Brat," he said. "When has the Ghost Sheik ever been any of those things?"

"Clearly he's been lying-"

Shihab leaned down and kissed him hard, jerking back when Isra bit down hard on his lip.

"We are in a rough mood," he said, licking his sore lip. "What's really bothering you?"

"That arrogant-"

Shihab rolled his eyes, holding tighter to Isra's wrists as he began to struggle in earnest. "I wish Bahadur had come," he said with a grunt. "He'd pin you down without breaking a sweat."

"And I'd kill him exactly as I'm going to kill you!' Isra snapped, but gave up struggling.

"What's really upsetting you?" Shihab asked calmly. "This is hardly the Ghost Sheik's fault. I doubt he had any intention of being made a Prince. Why would such a thing occur to a son of the Desert? It certainly didn't occur to you. Look at how you reacted. Think of the Ghost Sheik. Do you honestly think he saw this coming?"

Isra frowned. "The Desert isn't meant to be ruled by one person."

"It used to be, why can't it be again?'

"By a Ghost?" Isra asked contemptuously.

"You'd be a lot less tense if you'd just bed that Ghost you keep trying to hate," Shihab said with a smirk.

Isra went still, eyes narrowing. "I do not want to bed Sahayl. It seems to me you're far more interested in him that I."

Shihab grinned. "I'm not one to turn down such a fine offer, it's true, but I'm not the point here."

"I am?" Isra asked. "Let me up."

"Only if you don't kill me."

"Oh, I'm going to kill you…but I'll wait a few minutes."

"Good enough," Shihab said, and leaned down to steal a quick, hard kiss before pulling away, freeing Isra's arms as he sat up and slid off his lap.

Isra sat up. "Why am I the point?"

"Because I'd say it's obvious to everyone but you how…" Shihab smirked, "highly the Ghost Sheik regards you."

"Regards," Isra repeated.

"Or did you miss the part where you're allowed to call him Sahayl? The part where he took you with him instead of one of his own men. The way he can't keep his eyes off you when he thinks no one else is looking."

Isra was silent.

"You want him just as much. I don't see why you're making such a fuss about it."

Isra snatched up a piece off fruit from the breakfast try and threw it at him. "Even if I did want him, I don't see what that has to do with the fact that anyone is stupid enough to think the Tribes can be brought to heel under one leader - or that the King seems to think that leader should be a Ghost."

"Falcon hates Ghost more than anyone. A Ghost is about to stake a claim on the entirety of the Desert and every Tribe in it. He'll be lucky if they don't try to kill him." Sahayl would be very lucky. Uniting the Tribes and bringing them under the rule of Tavamara was the best solution for the Desert, in the short and long term. It would solve problems that had been too long neglected. It wouldn't be easy. Nothing even remotely close to easy. It would require a great deal more than a ring and a piece of paper pronouncing him Prince of the Desert. "If he had your support - full, unconditional, unwavering support - he would gain the support of Falcon and all its allies. That would go a long way toward causing a few other Tribes to hesitate."

"My support," Isra repeated slowly. "You want me to just ignore the fact that we've been enemies for years - decades - and declare that I give a confounded Ghost my support. To be Prince. To rule the Desert."

Shihab nodded.

"You're insane."

"They say the same thing about my father."

Isra rolled his eyes. He stood up and stripped out of his pants, rifling through a chest for clothes, sliding into them as he continued to ignore Shihab. "You can't possibly have thought I'd agree to this."

"Why not? Of the three of us, your support is the most important. No one cares about me, and they'll have a hard time trusting Bahadur at first, especially if Jackal is still attacking Tribes. If Sahayl has your support, his chances are that much better. Several weeks ago you attended a meeting to achieve peace."

"It failed because Ghost decided they preferred our blood."

"Not all of Ghost. Not the Ghost Sheik."

Isra said nothing, merely shot him another glare before stalking from the room.

Shihab smirked.

All things considered, that had gone rather well. He'd given Isra plenty to stew about. By the end of the day he'd agree or at least be willing to go along with it for the time being - and then he'd get so caught up in it he'd forget he ever protested. Once Isra finally decided to do something, he did it wholeheartedly.

Of course if he'd finally decide Sahayl was that something to do, life would be easier for all of them. Chuckling softly, Shihab brushed bits of food from his arms and left the room, strolling through the palace halls in search of the training yards and Bahadur.

Fifteen

"So how does it feel to be a Prince, your Highness?" Shihab asked, words slightly slurred. He clung tightly to Bahadur's arm as the four of them walked down the hallways, the sounds of the rest of the diners distant and faded. He ignored Isra's quelling glance.

Sahayl shook his head "Saa, like I am being mistaken for someone else. But I am not a Prince quite yet."

"You might as well be," Shihab replied. "By tomorrow the papers and everything else the council is doing to stall will finally be complete. By week's end we'll be returning to the Desert."

"We?" Isra said from Sahayl's right side. "Are you coming with us then, Shihab? Will your parents permit it?"

Shihab shrugged. "They don't like it, of course, but it is my decision. I feel at home in the Desert, so unless my Prince objects," he gave a drunken half bow to Sahayl, Bahadur barely catching him around the waist in time to prevent his falling, "I am returning with you to the Desert."

"You are most welcome, shadowfire."

Isra rolled his eyes at the nickname but said nothing more.

Sahayl looked at him cautiously. "You have not said much since the announcement, des-Isra."

"Desert rose suits him more," Shihab said, catching Sahayl's slip. The rest of his words were muffled by Bahadur's hand.

Isra glared at his friend, then turned away and shrugged at Sahayl's question. "It little matters what I think."

"It matters to me," Sahayl said, dark eyes intent. "I know you will never call me friend, son of Falcon, but I would not have you hating me more than I can possibly prevent."

Shihab once more tried to speak, and again his words were cut off Bahadur, who this time offered a gentle reprimand, smiling as Shihab pouted.

Isra hesitated, then shrugged. "It will be interesting to see if the King's plan works."

"I see," Sahayl said, and did not press further.

Irritably Isra squashed a niggling sense of guilt. Why should he feel guilty? Sahayl was only gauging his chances of having Falcon's support when he announced to the Tribes that he was now a Prince of Tavamara, and being so gave him the right to control them. Ridiculous.

It would never work. If Sahayl was foolish enough to go along with the ridiculous scheme, he could do it alone.

But even to himself, his protests weren't convincing. If they wanted to save the Desert from the west, then having the full weight of Tavamara behind them was the best possible way to do it. An agreement would have sufficed, but for the west to invade territory that belonged to Tavamara was something else entirely. Isra glared at the floor and wondered when he'd started to side with a man whom only days ago he'd wanted to kill. Whom he definitely did not want to kill now, no matter how hard he struggled to cling to his rage. It simply could not stand up against Sahayl's determination to make them something other than enemies, though he wasn't entirely certain what the man wanted from him.

At times he wasn't sure Sahayl knew what he wanted.

Though Shihab, of late, had not lacked for opinions of his own to voice. He glowered at the thought of their conversation earlier that morning, then turned to glare at Shihab for good measure.

"You're still mad about this morning, aren't you?" Shihab asked, his drunkenness not impairing his ability to read Isra's moods. "Just say 'you were right, Shihab,' and you'll feel much better."

Isra's glare was enough to unsettle Bahadur and Sahayl, but Shihab merely grinned.

"Smashing your face in will also make me feel much better."

"Also?" Shihab asked smugly.

"Shut up," Isra snapped, heartily grateful when they reached their rooms - except Shihab, who had rooms elsewhere. "Why are you here?"

"See why you shouldn't worry, Ghost Sheik?" Shihab said, letting go of Bahadur to cling to Isra. "He loves me and yet he yells at me more than anyone else." He reached up to kiss Isra's cheek.

Isra tried to peel Shihab off him. "That is because you are in serious need of a sound beating."

"In need of something," Shihab said softly in his ear, suddenly not sounding quite as drunk.

"So are you, but not from me I think."

"I will kill you," Isra said, finally shoving his friend away. "Go to your room."

Shihab laughed and threw out an arm, landing on Sahayl's, using the amused Sheik to steady him. "You sound an awful lot like your dear uncle when he tells you to go to your tent.

And remember, we shared a tent."

"Well we don't share rooms!" Isra snapped, hands clenching in warning. "Nor is my honored uncle here to keep me from beating you senseless."

"What say we play a few games?" Shihab said, completely ignoring Isra in favor of addressing Sahayl. "You've never had the pleasure of playing Tavamara drinking games; it would be a pity not to play them while you have the chance - since once we're back in the Desert I doubt you'll be able to very often. Your Highness." He winked.

"Saa, but it looks as though you've drunk quite enough, shadowfire."

"I've not yet begun," Shihab said. "You've seen how much wine we drink in one sitting. I should have stayed away from the Evening Prayer, perhaps, but I can go for a while yet. Isra would tell you so, if he was interested in doing anything but taking my head off."

Sahayl chuckled. "So where are we to play these games of yours, mischievous one?"

"Your room," Shihab replied instantly. "I had the servants arrange it all while we were at the banquet."

Isra muttered something underneath his breath. "I am going to change," he said, yanking irritably at the long sleeves and folds of his formal robe.

"Good idea," Shihab said. "I'll borrow something from you, hmm? I'm sure they've provided you with plenty of clothes by now."

Sighing in resignation, Isra vanished into his room, followed by Shihab, and began stripping off his clothes, tossing them on an chair before grabbing loose white pants and a matching long-sleeved shirt - for the night was quite cool - but decided against slippers. If they were going to drink, it would be far easier to stumble to his bed later - which he would do alone - in bare feet. "What are you about, Shihab? I know there's more to this than a simple desire to get yourself completely drunk."

"That's certainly reason enough," Shihab said, stripping out of his own formal clothes and picking through Isra's slim choices, finally settling on a pair of pants that matched Isra's. "But it seems to me you all need to relax - and be more comfortable with each other."

Isra rolled his eyes. "I am Falcon. He is Ghost. I doubt Jackal will ever be a friend to either.

We cannot simply forget all that and pretend we're friends. You know better than that, Shihab."

"Do I?" Shihab asked, drawing close, green eyes blazing. "I know you and Bahadur would probably be great friends if you'd bother to get to know each other. I know that every time Sahayl looks at you he looks sad and wistful. I know you try your hardest not to look at him. I know when we go back to that Desert, we are likely the only three supporters he will have. It seems to me, Isra, you are the only one who thinks it impossible to 'simply forget' all that has come before." Shihab turned away to pick over the shirts, but with a shrug remained bare-chested. "Oh, come now, are you going to spend the entire night mad at me, desert rose?"

Isra groaned. "Lady grant me mercy, I hate that confounded name."

"Indeed," Shihab said.

Isra glared at him. "I notice you're not acting very drunk anymore."

Shihab grinned. "Yes, thanks for not spoiling that for me, though I half-expected you to do so.

I guess that means you can't be too terribly mad at me."

Shrugging, Isra turned toward the bathing room that connected his room to Sahayl and Bahadur's. "I wasn't sure what you were really up to." He fought a smile. "And the idea of you drunk on only half a bottle of Evening Prayer is amusing."

"Quite," Shihab said, laughing as he came up beside Isra and wrapped arms around his waist, nibbling playfully at the base of Isra's neck.

"So what are we drinking tonight?" Isra asked, tilting his head forward to give Shihab better access.

Shihab's answer was interrupted by the sound of a hoarse shout coming from Sahayl's room.

Neither hesitated, but immediately burst into a sprint, dashing around the large bath and into Sahayl's room.

"Window!" Bahadur barked, even as he stood up, helping Sahayl, whom he'd obviously tackled to the floor.

Without pause, Isra raced to the window, catching sight of the man attempting to escape, following him up onto the roof. Lunging, he caught the man about the waist, sending them both crashing down on the hard, flat roof. The man, larger than he, twisted, moved, and steel flashed in the moonlight.