plainly. “You asked me to keep watch on Pah-Mariamejeh’s activities. You also wanted to know, as soon as feasible, whether Armal attempted to contact her.”
“I remember my own cursed orders!” Corajidin snapped. He regretted his tone as soon as the words left his mouth. He was so tired.
“Your daughter was seen in Armal’s company twice yesterday. The first time she sought him out at the library, where they engaged in conversation. There was some touching—”
“Armal laid hands on my daughter?”
Farouk hesitated a moment before he continued, “It was she who was the forward one.”
“And the second time?” His voice sounded more distant than he intended. He found he was clutching the long-knife so tightly his fingernails were digging into his palm.
“Last night, outside her chambers. I’ve no more information than that.”
Corajidin walked to the open doors that led out to the balcony. The breeze cooled the sweat on his chest and brow. His vision blurred, and he had to steady himself against the railing until the moment passed. He could taste vomit on the back of his tongue.
“Armal must be sent away, Farouk.” Corajidin kept his back to the others. “As distant a posting as you can find. Nowhere too dangerous though. Somewhere where he will be useful but out of harm’s way. Arrange it as soon as you can.”
“I live to serve.” Corajidin heard the man rise to his feet, then walk to the door. There was a soft click as it closed behind him.
Corajidin heard the whisper of bare feet on polished wood. A sibilant hiss as Yashamin’s experienced fingers slid his robe off, letting it fall around his ankles. The warmth of an arm around his torso. A hand, assured, accomplished, certain, on his manhood. Corajidin felt Yashamin melt into him, her breasts pressed into his back.
“Do you trust Farouk not to exceed his authority?” she murmured into his shoulder. Her voice vibrated against his skin. “He’s no love for Armal.”
“Farouk knows his place, love. He will behave.”
“I hope so. What of Thufan?” she murmured, her hand moving him from anger to a desperate desire.
“He will thank me.” Corajidin turned in her arms, though she never lost touch with him. His mouth found hers, moist, inviting, hungry. Her lips full and soft under his.
Yashamin led him, at once mistress and slave, to the couch by the desk.
Morning had gone. Corajidin reclined at his desk, too distracted to work. A headache throbbed at the edge of true pain, due in equal parts to his hangover, Yashamin’s narcotic smoke, and the infirmity of the sickness that pooled in him like fetid water in a rusted basin. The gentle breeze from the overhead fan was soporific, the waves of cool air on his skin comforting. Through the open window the cries of gulls, the rattle of carriage wheels, and the din of conversation turned into a pulsing wave of incoherent sound. Amnon was a hot, humid city. He preferred the mild dryness of Erebus Prefecture with its cool winds off the dark waters of the Southron Sea, where it stretched south to the rugged, mountainous islands of Kaasgard and the wide icy wastes of Sarway.
A crystal decanter of honey wine remained untouched on his desk. A small pile of scrolls flexed under the breeze from the fan, edges curled upward in the damp air. One of the scrolls listed the names of those Thufan suggested be incarcerated, the last of Far-ad-din’s supporters. On another, Armal’s much softer views on the supposed rebellious activities of the Family Bey, whom Corajidin would feel much better about, were they easier to spy upon. Their holdings in the Rōmarq were vast, their people clannish and closed to strangers. A report from Farouk outlined the wealth claimed in Corajidin’s name. The list was very, very long. Somewhere it would no doubt be accompanied by a list just as long of those who were either the poorer, or who had disappeared, for providing it.
He looked down at the papers on his desk. Before he had left to send Armal away, Farouk had written Corajidin’s appointments for the day, including his meeting with the overdue Nehrun.
A knock at the door roused him. He rubbed the sleep from his eyes before granting permission for his visitor to enter, and he was surprised when it was Femensetri and Roshana who came through the doorway. Corajidin tasted something sour in his mouth as the two women approached his desk. Neither of them sat, nor did he offer.
Femensetri dropped a scroll