Read Online The Golden Griffin (Book 3) by Michael Wallace - Free Book Online
Authors: Michael Wallace
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Mufashe boasts thirty thousand men-at-arms. Imagine Whelan with thirty thousand desert dwellers guarding his right flank. We could throw the enemy into the sea before Toth roused himself from the Dark Citadel.”
She made to climb out of the water.
“What’s the hurry?” Marialla said. “You only just arrived.”
“No time. I have an uncomfortable conversation with the sultan’s ambassador to face.”
“Now wait a moment,” Marialla said. “I didn’t say I couldn’t help you win the sultan’s trust. Only that I wouldn’t marry him.”
Marialla waded towards Kallia and gestured to her servants. They brought her towels and robes. She climbed from the water and lifted her arms over her head while they dried her. She slipped into her robes and removed the turtle-shell combs from her hair. It fell in waves that flowed halfway down her back. A girl brushed her hair, while another dabbed her neck and wrists with sweet-smelling oils.
“Now I’m the one who is intrigued,” Kallia said. “What do you have in mind?”
“The problem with your plan is that it relies on the sultan’s honor. What if he has none? What if he doesn’t want me for a wife? What if he’s heard that the khalifa of Balsalom is so sentimental that she’d risk herself for a beloved hostage?”
“To what end?”
“To the end of seizing Balsalom. For all we know he has an arrangement with the dark wizard. That when the battle for Veyre begins, his thirty thousand men will howl across the desert to attack our exposed underbelly.”
Kallia climbed from the water and was grateful when two of her sister’s servant girls gave her the same treatment they’d given their mistress.
“Then why send Hassan as hostage?” she asked.
Marialla shrugged. “The sultan has many sons. Not all of them honor their father equally.”
Now dressed, the two women moved away from the steam and took a seat on the benches by the colder water, away from the steam. Marialla sent the girls back to wait with the others on the far side of the pool, out of earshot.
Kallia considered. “Hassan is so much like his father that I’d assumed they were close allies. But perhaps they are too much alike.”
“Perhaps. But even if they get along, the bulk of Hassan’s guards and slaves are doubtless spies. They might even now be bribing their way through the palace.”
“Generally, I prefer the simple explanation,” Kallia said. “And that would be that the sultan is enamored of you. But these are unusual circumstances. What was that you said about winning the sultan’s trust?”
“I won’t marry Mufashe, but I can certainly pretend that I’ll marry him. Send me in a caravan—a luxurious caravan, as I have no intention of crossing the desert in squalor—and I’ll arrive in Marrabat as if this is my intention. If the situation grows difficult, I’ll see to it that he changes his mind and sends me away.”
“How will you do that?”
“I can turn off my charms as easily as I turn them on. You leave that detail to me. In the meantime, negotiate any treaties you’d like with the sultan and his son, and I’ll turn the marriage toward your other sister. That will buy time.”
“All our other sisters are married.”
“The sultan won’t know that. Father didn’t have as many children as the sultan does, but he had enough. There is no chance that Mufashe knows them all. I’ll present him with a beautiful, charming alternative.”
Kallia considered. The plan had merit, providing they could find someone to pretend she was a member of the Saffa family who could act the part. “Who did you have in mind?”
Her sister gestured over her shoulder at one of her servants, who were dressing themselves and gathering Marialla’s pillows and oils.
“Fashima. Come here.” A woman came around the pool to stand behind Marialla’s shoulder. “This is Fashima, the daughter of Vizier Youd.”
A storm of emotions swept over Kallia. She remembered drowning,
She made to climb out of the water.
“What’s the hurry?” Marialla said. “You only just arrived.”
“No time. I have an uncomfortable conversation with the sultan’s ambassador to face.”
“Now wait a moment,” Marialla said. “I didn’t say I couldn’t help you win the sultan’s trust. Only that I wouldn’t marry him.”
Marialla waded towards Kallia and gestured to her servants. They brought her towels and robes. She climbed from the water and lifted her arms over her head while they dried her. She slipped into her robes and removed the turtle-shell combs from her hair. It fell in waves that flowed halfway down her back. A girl brushed her hair, while another dabbed her neck and wrists with sweet-smelling oils.
“Now I’m the one who is intrigued,” Kallia said. “What do you have in mind?”
“The problem with your plan is that it relies on the sultan’s honor. What if he has none? What if he doesn’t want me for a wife? What if he’s heard that the khalifa of Balsalom is so sentimental that she’d risk herself for a beloved hostage?”
“To what end?”
“To the end of seizing Balsalom. For all we know he has an arrangement with the dark wizard. That when the battle for Veyre begins, his thirty thousand men will howl across the desert to attack our exposed underbelly.”
Kallia climbed from the water and was grateful when two of her sister’s servant girls gave her the same treatment they’d given their mistress.
“Then why send Hassan as hostage?” she asked.
Marialla shrugged. “The sultan has many sons. Not all of them honor their father equally.”
Now dressed, the two women moved away from the steam and took a seat on the benches by the colder water, away from the steam. Marialla sent the girls back to wait with the others on the far side of the pool, out of earshot.
Kallia considered. “Hassan is so much like his father that I’d assumed they were close allies. But perhaps they are too much alike.”
“Perhaps. But even if they get along, the bulk of Hassan’s guards and slaves are doubtless spies. They might even now be bribing their way through the palace.”
“Generally, I prefer the simple explanation,” Kallia said. “And that would be that the sultan is enamored of you. But these are unusual circumstances. What was that you said about winning the sultan’s trust?”
“I won’t marry Mufashe, but I can certainly pretend that I’ll marry him. Send me in a caravan—a luxurious caravan, as I have no intention of crossing the desert in squalor—and I’ll arrive in Marrabat as if this is my intention. If the situation grows difficult, I’ll see to it that he changes his mind and sends me away.”
“How will you do that?”
“I can turn off my charms as easily as I turn them on. You leave that detail to me. In the meantime, negotiate any treaties you’d like with the sultan and his son, and I’ll turn the marriage toward your other sister. That will buy time.”
“All our other sisters are married.”
“The sultan won’t know that. Father didn’t have as many children as the sultan does, but he had enough. There is no chance that Mufashe knows them all. I’ll present him with a beautiful, charming alternative.”
Kallia considered. The plan had merit, providing they could find someone to pretend she was a member of the Saffa family who could act the part. “Who did you have in mind?”
Her sister gestured over her shoulder at one of her servants, who were dressing themselves and gathering Marialla’s pillows and oils.
“Fashima. Come here.” A woman came around the pool to stand behind Marialla’s shoulder. “This is Fashima, the daughter of Vizier Youd.”
A storm of emotions swept over Kallia. She remembered drowning,
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