Unveiling the Sorceress

"Order Sibias to attend my chamber immediately,” she said sternly. She paused and shot Elishiba a warning glance before she continued. “And have my son's bride taken to her quarters."

Then, without another word to Elishiba, she took Hanrah by the arm and led him away.

* * * *

Amidst the on-looking caravan procession, Amshazar held Sibias back for as long as he could to give Elishiba time to address Mehmet in her own way, but his antagonist's ire was rising.

"Step away or you will regret it, Nomad.” Sibias's eyes flashed and he drew a dagger from below his robes.

Amshazar glanced at the object, smiling when he saw the handle was crafted from a goat's hoof. “Let them speak, your meddlesome ways will have you back by Mehmet's side soon enough."

Sibias bared his teeth. At that very moment, there was movement on the platform ahead, and the Lhastari guards ushered them on. Amshazar nodded and gestured to Sibias to go first. Sibias glared at him and then thrust forward, elbowing his way.

Looking back at the platform, Amshazar noticed that Elishiba had gone. So too had Mehmet and Hanrah, although many of the courtiers sat by, watching the passing Aleemites with curiosity as they were marched inside the palace by Lhastari guards.

Amshazar reached out for Kerr in the crowd as they moved, ducking his head down to the youth, he whispered in his ear. “Meet me tonight when the moon is high, outside the fortune teller's door, two streets away from the servants entrance. We can go to our meeting with Kazeen from there. Do you know the place?"

Kerr nodded, one hand still entwined with the lone twin, Elra, as they discharged their mounts. Amshazar noticed she looked afraid.

"Close to the soothsayers’ tavern?” Kerr asked.

"That's the one,” Amshazar replied. He nodded over at Elra to reassure her. “Keep your wits about you, both of you, for now the sparks will fly."

* * * *

Sibias dropped to his knees, declaring in grand terms how much he had missed his beloved empress, offering kisses to her slippered feet.

Mehmet stared down at her acolyte. “Your task was to put the fear of the gods’ wrath into her, to make her humble."

Mehmet was still seething. It would take more than kisses on her feet to change that. The obvious amusement amongst so many of her courtiers as they had observed Elishiba's arrival exasperated her tremendously. Sibias had then arrived into her chamber sheepishly, proclaiming great faith and devotion to her, as if that could make any difference.

"She's a very headstrong young woman, who inspires great devotion amongst her people.” Sibias stated this as if it was some sort of an excuse.

"So?"

"Without them she will flounder. The death of her handmaiden confused her. She didn't know who to trust. She was getting closer to Amshazar, but I stopped it."

"Amshazar.” She put her hands up in despair. “Why does that not surprise me? Tell me this, Sibias, why isn't he dead already?"

"It's not through lack of trying, believe me, mistress.” His eyes were black as he looked at her. He licked his lips. “He seems to have some lucky charm, but it will not last. The Empress Elishiba suspected it, and was questioning him. Now she is not sure, but for some strange reason that makes her braver."

"Brave, or stupid.” Mehmet planted her slippered foot against his shoulder and pushed him back. “I do not need her attempts at being equal to me. That is not what this is about. She should be grateful I am willing to take their pathetic little country into ours."

Sibias grappled his hands on the floor, steadying himself, his eyes filled with adoration, her physical gesture of disdain affecting him in a very specific way. “Yes mistress, she should be grateful,” he breathed, looking up at her. “She will be, soon enough."

His subservience affected her, harnessing her mood and focusing it on all she could have, and how easily.

"You're right,” she drawled. It was within her reach now. They would make short work of it. There was no escape for Elishiba, not now. Sitting on the edge of her chair, she swung open her legs and pulled him closer by the stuff of his robe, so that he shuffled on his knees between her thighs. She tugged on his beard. “It is good to have you home, Sibias."

His eyelids lowered, his face flushing with arousal.

She had many young lovers, but something about Sibias was special. Their intimate bond was crucial. Their mutual hunger for her power—combined with their understanding of one another's basic needs—made it so much the best.

His nostrils flared. “Permission to touch you, mistress?"

"Permission,” she sighed, her spirit sharpening by the moment.

His hands moved in around her ankles, stroking slowly up the length of her legs under her robes and between her thighs, his thumbs seeking out the heat at their juncture, stroking her intimate flesh adoringly, his hands trembling but sure.