Tareq clenched his jaw at the stinging pain that caused his eyes to water. Carefully, he turned his head to face Jem’ya.
“I cannot bring your brother back, but I have done my best for your mother and father.” He noticed Jem’ya’s expression soften a little at the mention of her parents. He told her that her mother and father were taken to Eulid , where he promised they would be free and safe.
“And what of the rest of my people?” she asked, her voice hoarse from screaming.
“I did the best I could. I released most of them, but there were a few men that had to be brought here…to work for a while. They are not your siblings or close family members, I made sure of that.”
“Do you think my heart does not break for them? They are still my family!” She shook her head in disgust. “You know nothing of family and you have no morals to speak of. What raised you, Prince Tareq?” she snarled. “It could not have been your natural mother. You are like a demon, not a man. I know now that you are like the rest of the white-skinned men; without color and without souls!” She glared at him a long, tense moment and then ripped the earrings out from her ears. She threw them at him. “Take back this blood gold!”
Tareq caught the earrings as they hit his chest.
Then Jem’ya began to sob. She crumpled to the bed mat and covered her face. “It would not sadden me,” Jem’ya whispered bitterly through her tears, “Tareq Samhizzan, warrior prince , if today you took your last breath.”
With that, the last part of Tareq’s pride crumbled into the rest of his inner ruins. He sauntered out of the cellar.
Bahja found the prince soon after in his bedroom on the third floor. He was sitting at his dining table, staring out at the view through the open balcony doors. His face was dry, but his eyes were full with tears. Bahja walked carefully towards him. She rubbed his shoulder. “I forgive you, child.” She kissed him on the cheek. Tareq’s chin lowered almost to his chest. He stared down at the earrings on the table top.
Bahja took his chin and turned his face to examine his left cheek. There were hot red welts there. Bahja clicked her tongue and went to the bathroom for a washcloth and a bowl of water. She returned and pressed the cool damp cloth to his cheek. “You cannot bend her will, Tareq.” She dipped the corner of the cloth in the cool water again and then went back to his face. “You cannot make her forgive you.”
Tareq squeezed his eyes closed and the tears broke through his black lashes and fell down his face.
“Tareq, please, just let her go. You must let her g—”
“I cannot!”
Bahja slowly moved the cloth away from his cheek. She stared at him a moment, then continued dabbing at the welts and hot tears.
He moved his face away. “ Go, Auntie ,” he urged. “She needs a warm meal and more bedding. Get her a clean dress as well.”
Bahja set the items on the table and left the room.
Tareq lie naked on top of the wrinkled white sheets strewn across his canopy bed. It was after two in the morning, but he could not sleep. His mind wouldn’t quiet and he was too hot. His body was damp with sweat from the heat of the deep pain in his body and from the warmth of the liquor burning in his stomach and snaking through his veins. The pain was everywhere; in his skin, in his muscles, and in someplace inside that he could feel, though never touch. He took another swig from the half empty bottle of imported vodka from Tusci .
That’s where Tareq and Qadir’s mother was from. She was an Etruscan, from Tusci , a region in that boot-shaped peninsula north across the sea, where they were fair and had soft, thick black hair. Tareq touched his own curly hair. His mother’s hair was one of the few things he remembered about her. She’d kept it impossibly long. It almost swept the ground when she walked.
He loved her so much. When he was little, he thought she was the most beautiful
“I cannot bring your brother back, but I have done my best for your mother and father.” He noticed Jem’ya’s expression soften a little at the mention of her parents. He told her that her mother and father were taken to Eulid , where he promised they would be free and safe.
“And what of the rest of my people?” she asked, her voice hoarse from screaming.
“I did the best I could. I released most of them, but there were a few men that had to be brought here…to work for a while. They are not your siblings or close family members, I made sure of that.”
“Do you think my heart does not break for them? They are still my family!” She shook her head in disgust. “You know nothing of family and you have no morals to speak of. What raised you, Prince Tareq?” she snarled. “It could not have been your natural mother. You are like a demon, not a man. I know now that you are like the rest of the white-skinned men; without color and without souls!” She glared at him a long, tense moment and then ripped the earrings out from her ears. She threw them at him. “Take back this blood gold!”
Tareq caught the earrings as they hit his chest.
Then Jem’ya began to sob. She crumpled to the bed mat and covered her face. “It would not sadden me,” Jem’ya whispered bitterly through her tears, “Tareq Samhizzan, warrior prince , if today you took your last breath.”
With that, the last part of Tareq’s pride crumbled into the rest of his inner ruins. He sauntered out of the cellar.
Bahja found the prince soon after in his bedroom on the third floor. He was sitting at his dining table, staring out at the view through the open balcony doors. His face was dry, but his eyes were full with tears. Bahja walked carefully towards him. She rubbed his shoulder. “I forgive you, child.” She kissed him on the cheek. Tareq’s chin lowered almost to his chest. He stared down at the earrings on the table top.
Bahja took his chin and turned his face to examine his left cheek. There were hot red welts there. Bahja clicked her tongue and went to the bathroom for a washcloth and a bowl of water. She returned and pressed the cool damp cloth to his cheek. “You cannot bend her will, Tareq.” She dipped the corner of the cloth in the cool water again and then went back to his face. “You cannot make her forgive you.”
Tareq squeezed his eyes closed and the tears broke through his black lashes and fell down his face.
“Tareq, please, just let her go. You must let her g—”
“I cannot!”
Bahja slowly moved the cloth away from his cheek. She stared at him a moment, then continued dabbing at the welts and hot tears.
He moved his face away. “ Go, Auntie ,” he urged. “She needs a warm meal and more bedding. Get her a clean dress as well.”
Bahja set the items on the table and left the room.
Tareq lie naked on top of the wrinkled white sheets strewn across his canopy bed. It was after two in the morning, but he could not sleep. His mind wouldn’t quiet and he was too hot. His body was damp with sweat from the heat of the deep pain in his body and from the warmth of the liquor burning in his stomach and snaking through his veins. The pain was everywhere; in his skin, in his muscles, and in someplace inside that he could feel, though never touch. He took another swig from the half empty bottle of imported vodka from Tusci .
That’s where Tareq and Qadir’s mother was from. She was an Etruscan, from Tusci , a region in that boot-shaped peninsula north across the sea, where they were fair and had soft, thick black hair. Tareq touched his own curly hair. His mother’s hair was one of the few things he remembered about her. She’d kept it impossibly long. It almost swept the ground when she walked.
He loved her so much. When he was little, he thought she was the most beautiful
Similar Books
