Unveiling the Sorceress

As she glanced over at him, her breath felt trapped in her chest. He was a compelling personage—of that there was no doubt. She was surprised most of all by his outstanding looks, for his reputation had not even hinted at the striking nature of his appearance. His hair fell past his shoulders in a dark brown, mahogany-brushed curtain, trailing into loose curls at its tails.

His features were those of the soaring hawk, keen and observant, about to swoop on its prey. His darkly fringed and hooded eyes glowed emerald green in the flickering candlelight, his sharp eyebrows echoing the distinct line of his cheekbones.

The defined line of his jawbone was clean-shaven, his skin a tawny color, gently sun-kissed. Devastatingly attractive, he wore it with an unassuming air. Dressed in charcoal robes, he was discreet and set apart from them all in every way, and yet he had affected the very air she breathed, she was sure of it.

His posture was quietly self-assured and yet watchful as he engaged in a whispered conversation with Sibias. Elishiba watched the stranger, unable to take her gaze away from his flashing eyes and his chiseled mouth while he spoke. When he glanced her way, he fixed her with those eyes, and then inclined his head in acknowledgement, a slight smile hovering at the corners of his mouth.

She tried to look away, but could not.

He had a penetrating, unafraid stare. He was indeed a hunter. And she was captured in a glance, as if he had pinned her with one sharp talon. The look in his eyes both tormented and aroused her. Her heart beat erratically. She could not drag her gaze away.

In the background she was vaguely aware that Helena had begun another song, accompanying the delicate notes she spun by her slender fingers, with her beautiful voice. Thankfully, he looked away, breaking the tension. It was not until then that Elishiba she realized she had not responded to his acknowledgement. He had affected her so strangely. Her blood was racing. Her hairline felt damp, the palms of her hands too. She lifted her goblet and drank heavily from it.

He stood up and walked in her direction. She rearranged herself on the cushions in an effort to regain her composure. He was tall and elegant, leanly muscled, and he walked with the quality of a man who answered to no one. Bowing graciously before her, he caused most of the people in the room to turn and watch his actions.

"Empress Elishiba of Aleem, as your Father is with his guests, may I present myself? I am Amshazar."

He spoke quietly but distinctly, and the rich tone of his voice resonated through her body. Whilst his greeting was polite, he seemed to insinuate himself in some other way. She felt as if he had touched her, intimately. Her heart thudded in her chest. That the gods had given him their secret gifts, she did not doubt. He had a dark, brooding quality and an aura of knowing things beyond their immediate manfestations. She felt as if he could read her thoughts, for when he looked at her it was as if his very spirit climbed inside her mind and body.

"Welcome, to our home,” she said, with effort. It was difficult enough to welcome these strangers, without the overwhelming nature of this man's stare.

He smiled, as if amused by a private joke. “It is interesting ... to finally see its legendary charms for myself.” His eyes raked over her from head to toe as he spoke.

She could not tell if his appraisal was deprecating or complimentary, and her hackles automatically began to rise. She pursed her mouth but had no chance to reply, for he was approached on one side by her father, looking concerned, and Sibias, on the other, looking suspicious.

He did not need to look to sense them closing, that much was obvious. He stepped back, folding his arms, a slightly disdainful smile on his face. Everyone was watching, and Elishiba found that for some reason it took a great effort to remain calm and collected.

"We must present Elishiba's gifts,” Sibias said, forcing the attention away from whatever had been said. Amshazar had not taken his focus from Elishiba, but nodded and turned away. The two older men stood awkwardly for a moment, and then Ramsis also returned to his seat beside his daughter, while Sibias instructed his attendant.

"You look startled, my precious,” her father whispered, squeezing her hand with concern.

Elishiba assured him it was nothing to be concerned about, and then sat dazed and smarting, as a retinue of servants began to heap gifts upon the floor in front of her. There were exotic furs and carved boxes, a feathered headdress and matching jewelencrusted waist and armbands. It was most likely looted bounty, she assumed wryly, as she watched the stack of goods grow. There was a hand-painted silk robe of some beauty, which caught her eye, reluctantly, for she was determined to show little interest.

"These are gifts from Hanrah, selected by his own hand for his betrothed,” Sibias said. “Mehmet sends you a more practical gift.” There was a smug tone to his voice. “Slaves, chosen by Mehmet herself.” He smiled and there was a decidedly practiced air about his expression that rankled.

Perhaps everything about these two men would make her feel uneasy, she thought. They were here to destroy her world, after all.

Sibias clicked his fingers and three young men entered the banqueting hall. A hushed and expectant murmur ran around the assembled guests at the sight of the slaves. Slavery was not an accepted part of Aleem society, not had it been for many years, although it was widely practiced in the surrounding provinces. Their dynasty preferred to believe that people who came willingly gave more of themselves, and discouraged the practice.

The youths were slim and pale, just as Xerxes had said, and they were dressed identically in short, plain tunics, but differed from one another in their coloring. One had the fairest hair she had ever seen. Flaxen, it was cut short, but fell forwards over his eyes. It gave him a shy, self-aware look. When they stood beside Sibias, she noticed that each was different, yet of the same mold: lean and delicate in appearance, with strange gaunt features. One had darker hair than his companions, but none were dark as Aleemites.

Elishiba wondered about their histories. How long had they been slaves? How long since they had been taken from their homes and families in the north? She tried not to engage in looking at them and focused instead on Sibias, arching one eyebrow at him quizzically. He shifted awkwardly under her enquiring gaze.

"Four slaves, to use as you wish.” His hand waved in the direction of the young men.

She looked again. “Four? I see only three."

"Ah, yes,” Sibias frowned. “One, um ... was forced to remain in Karseedia. Mehmet did mean for you to have a set of four.” He cleared his throat abruptly.

Out of the corner of her eye Elishiba noticed that Amshazar stroked his chin whilst smiling to himself, as if privately amused at Sibias's error. It made her curious to hear the full story, but she shelved it for the moment.

She shrugged. “I have no need of Mehmet's slaves.” She was gratified to see that Sibias was immediately irritated by her reaction. Did they think her some swooning girl, a blushing novice who needed to be tutored in every way?

"Perhaps Elishiba will devote herself to her new husband, and does not require the service of any slaves to pleasure her in the Aleemite way.” It was Amshazar who had spoken.

Elishiba glared at him, for it seemed he was mocking them, as if he were intent on being provocative. First he defied convention and approached her without the presence of her father for introduction, and then he ridiculed their ways. Aleem was a decadent society; she knew that—one that held physical pleasure in the highest esteem, as a manifest twin to spirituality. He was obviously knowledgeable about their ways, but she would not allow him to mock, oh no.

"Perhaps I will do as I wish,” she retorted, quickly, unable to hold her tongue in check. She would keep one, merely to put Amshazar in his place. She could free the youth from his slavery if he wanted to leave. But she could not take them all, at least not publicly, for that would be too compliant with Mehmet's wishes, and she had to indicate her independence. She would find a way for them all to be freed of their captors, and that alone would be a triumph over Mehmet.