Brazen Girl: Chapter One
Brazen Girl
Chapter One: The Meeting
The main marketplace of Persopolis was every bit as crowded as the markets of Corus, Alan realized as he pushed his way through milling shoppers, leading his horse behind him. He would not have even entered such risky territory, not at a time like this, but for the urgent need to restock before tackling the second half of his desert journey.
Alan’s upbringing and training made him uniquely suited for the post he was filling. His mother had taught him all he knew of the Bazhir and their desert ways. His father had taught him about the ways of all people. Because of this Alan knew that a Bazhir market was no different than a Corus one -- either was bound to attract droves of thieves. So he kept his horse’s reins short, and his hand on the saddlebags.
“You’d like to get out of the city again, right?” his longtime friend, Jasson, asked needlessly.
“It’s too crowded,” Alan remarked quietly. “Crowds don’t favor us.”
“You’re probably right. You usually are, in such matters.”
Alan stopped and looked back at Jas quizzically. “It’s not like you to be so humble.”
Jas smiled. “Could it be I’m finally growing up, like everyone’s been begging me to do?”
“Twenty eight is a little old to still be growing up,” replied Alan.
“Let’s just get what we need and make for the gates. The sooner we return to Corus, the better.”
But Alan wasn’t listening. His eyes followed a figure in the crowd distractedly, hazily.
“Alan? What did you see?” Jasson’s voice was worried.
Alan shook his head sharply. “Nothing,” he answered. “Nothing that matters, anyway. It’s just…”
“What?”
“That girl over there looks a lot like Aly, when she was younger,” said Alan, and turned to point, but the girl was gone. He shook his head again. “She’s gone.”
Jas knew of his friend’s close attachment to his twin sister, but he had never understood it. He himself had four siblings, yet he wasn’t particularly close with any of them. Still, he stopped and gave Alan the time to be lost in memory, before they both went on plowing their way through the crowds.
***
It was not half an hour later when Alan heard a pleasant, courteous voice to his right, “Excuse me, sir, is this yours?”
Held out to him was a hand clasping a soft leather pouch that looked alarmingly familiar. He looked questioningly at Jas, who nodded slightly, then turned back to the one who currently possessed their ward.
One hand reached out to him, grasping the pouch that held the Dominion Jewel, with which Jasson and he were temporarily charged. The other was wound in the collar of a ragged-looking Bazhir boy of about twelve, who fought against his captor’s hold but could not escape it. “I thought it might be valuable,” said the girl.
“Yes, it is ours,” he said, taking the pouch from her, “thank you.”
As he handed the pouch to Jas, who stowed it safely away in a hidden pocket, he saw her eyes. And when he saw her eyes, he almost dropped the reins of his mare. Gathering himself, Alan matched the strange girl’s courteous, inviting tone and said, “We would like to show our appreciation for your help. Would you join us for a drink?”
Her eyes crinkled. “My mother warns me against accepting drinks from strange men,” she said, “but I can take care of myself.”
That much, thought Alan, is obvious.
Once the thief-boy had been turned in to the proper authorities, Alan led his friend and the girl out of the crowded marketplace. Suddenly he doubted himself. What was it about her that reminded him so much of his twin? Dressed Bazhir-fashion in a plain, dark blue dress, her veil slipping back a bit, revealing an apricot hairline. And her eyes. Above the white rim of the veil her eyes were a bright, unmistakable hue of violet that he could not ignore without question.
Introductions were in order, decided Alan. And since their orders were to keep their identities private, if not secret, they needed a quiet setting. Luckily, he knew the city reasonably well, and was able to find the tavern where his mother usually conducted her business in Persopolis, in a back room reserved for just that purpose.
“Sir Alan of Pirate’s Swoop, Sir Jasson of Contי,” he said. Although he watched the visible part of her face carefully, he could not tell if she recognized the names.
“Oriah Brazen,” said the girl. “Daughter of Zahara and Assad Thulfikar.”
“You don’t look Bazhir,” remarked Jasson candidly.
“I’m adopted,” replied Oriah.
“I don’t know how we can thank you for your help,” Alan said quickly. “Or how you managed to catch that thief.”
Oriah shrugged. “It was easy,” she confessed. “I saw him clinging to you for a while, so I kept an eye on him. When I reached him he’d already gotten into your saddlebags. I just grabbed him by the neck, pulled him away, then applied pressure to his wrist to make him drop what he was holding.”
“Do you often catch thieves in the marketplace?” asked Jasson.
“Occasionally,” answered Oriah, eyes gleaming.
Instinct told Alan to find out more about this girl before he let her disappear into the crowd. “I would like to thank your parents, as well,” he said.
“I’ll thank them for you,” said Oriah.
“I’d rather do it in person,” he insisted.
“Fine!” the girl half-snapped. “I was on my way home, anyway. I’ll introduce you to them.”
***
The house she led them to was large, built of whitewashed stone, with domed window-frames. The street was wide and clean, lit with lamps against the falling dusk. The family was obviously prosperous. Oriah knocked lazily on the door and walked right past the maid who opened it, gesturing her guests to follow and calling behind her, “Tell mother I’m home!”
Zahara Thulfikar dashed down the stairs to meet them. “Oriah! Where were you? I was worried! Who are your new… friends?”
Alan introduced them, and watched the woman’s dark eyes widen above her veil at the mention of the names. “You’re the Lioness’s son,” she said.
“Yes,” he acknowledged.
She was silent. Then she shook her head and beckoned them. “Come into the library, sit, have something to drink!” When Oriah started to follow she snapped, “Not you! Go up to the study. Your father wants to see you.”
As he sat in the library, Alan felt that Zahara was examining him. “Mistress Thulfikar,” he said, “your daughter was of great assistance to us today. We wanted to come here and thank you personally.”
“Did your mother send you?” asked the woman.
“No,” answered Alan, puzzled.
“I know her. Rather, my husband does, through a friend of his father’s. Hakim Fahrar.”
“Yes, I know of him,” said Alan.
“Alanna didn’t send you?” Zahara asked again. “She doesn’t know you’re here?”
“No,” said Alan firmly.
“Then she didn’t tell you about Oriah,” said Zahara.
“What about her?” asked Alan, although he suspected he knew.
“You must have seen it,” said Zahara, eyes fixed on his. “The resemblance is clear, even when veiled.”
“Yes, it is,” said Jasson suddenly. “How old is she?”
“Sixteen,” she answered promptly. “She turned sixteen this midsummer.”
“Which means she was born…”
“June twenty-first, 459,” she said.
Jas looked at Alan, who was thinking hard, trying to remember. Where was mother at the time? Corus? The City of the Gods? It was so hard to remember where Alanna had been, at any given time. Especially when he did not necessarily know, even then.
“She was here?” he asked slowly.
Zahara nodded.
“Pregnant?”
She nodded again.
“She didn’t…” What possible reason could she have for hiding such a thing? “She didn’t tell you who the father was, by any chance?”
“No,” said Zahara, “she didn’t.”
“Does she know?” asked Jas.
“Oriah? Yes, I believe she does,” said the woman, “although it was not I who told her.”
Alan said nothing, staggered by the implications. He didn’t quite have time to let this information sink in before Oriah and a strange man entered the room. The man bowed and introduced himself. “Highness, sir, I am Assad Thulfikar. I understand you came for my daughter.”
Zahara looked at him and shook her head slightly, trying to pass the message to him alone, but Alan saw clearly the glee infuse Oriah, filling her movements and her face behind the veil. She looked from father to mother excitedly, and her hands pressed together almost involuntarily.
“Please, Master Thulfikar,” he said, “I did not come for your daughter. The only knowledge I had of her prior to coming to this house was that she helped my friend and I in the marketplace. We came to show our thanks.”
The man exchanged a look with his wife, then said slowly, “I think perhaps it would be good if you and my daughter had some time to speak privately, just now.”
As Assad and Zahara were leaving the room, Jas looked at Alan, then got up and followed them. Once the door shut behind them, Oriah’s hand flew to her neck, and she ripped off her white veil, flinging it aside. The face she revealed showed Alan exactly why he was reminded of his twin the first time he glimpsed her.
It was not just her bearing, and the way she walked that expressed a flippant confidence at once both familiar and irritating. Her cheeks and nose were like Aly’s, only sharper, and her hair, braided and coiled, was the same shade of apricot as his. The resemblance was strong, broken mostly by her eyes, which were neither the light hazel of Aly nor his own, darker shade, but marked her particularly as his mother’s daughter. Briefly he wondered who her father was.
“So you’re my brother?” she asked curiously.
“Half-brother,” he corrected.
“Did you come here to see me, or was it just a coincidence?” she asked again. “Coincidence, wasn’t it? You didn’t even know I existed.”
“What do you know about our mother?” he asked.
Oriah shrugged. “That she’s a knight and a great mage, that she knows about half of the important people in Persopolis as close friends, that her name is Alanna, that she’s married to a man who isn’t my father and that I have her eyes.”
“You do have her eyes,” said Alan.
“Hakim Fahrar said he would know me as her daughter anywhere because of them,” she commented lightly.
“What do you know about me?” asked Alan.
“You’re Alan of Pirate’s Swoop,” answered Oriah, “you’re my half-brother, and you’re a knight like my mother, and you keep high company.” She grinned.
“And I’m heading to Corus right now,” he added. “Do you want to go to Corus? You have another brother and a sister, not to mention a mother. I don’t think you’ve ever met them.”
“I haven’t,” she admitted. “How would you explain me?”
“Prince Jasson is transporting something to the palace,” said Alan.
“That pouch the boy tried to steal?” she interjected.
“Yes. And I’m helping to safeguard it. Evidently, though, I’m not enough. You seem to have a way with defending yourself. Maybe you could help us. Have you had any training?”
“Some,” said Oriah innocently. “A little Shang, a little fencing, a little magic. Are you Gifted?”
“No,” he said. “The prince is, though.”
“So, will you hire me?” she asked, eyes flashing.
“If your parents consent,” said Alan.
***
“Absolutely not!” fumed Zahara.
“But mother--!” Oriah protested, then turned to her father.
“I’m inclined to agree with your mother,” said Assad gravely. “This journey could not be safe, and is hardly appropriate for a girl of your age.”
“I’m sixteen,” insisted the girl. “Girls my age get married, have children, work for a living. I can’t do anything with my life but stay right here in this house?”
“You’re being unfair, Oriah,” said her father. “Your mother and I have allowed you plenty of opportunities most parents would not have approved of. You have enjoyed a great deal of freedom. We just want to keep you safe.”
“I can take care of myself!” insisted Oriah stubbornly.
“Being alone in the company of two older men…” said Zahara.
“Alan is my brother, isn’t he?” argued the girl. “That makes him as good as a chaperone.”
Zahara looked unconvinced.
“Will it make you feel better if Mal is with me?” asked Oriah wickedly.
“No!”
“Fine, that settles it,” the girl replied lightly. “We leave tomorrow. You don’t mind if I borrow a horse for Mal, do you?”
“Assad!” cried Zahara.
He pulled her aside and they talked together in whispers for several long moments, while Oriah pretended not to be straining her ears for every word. She heard something about “rights” and “past” and “identity”, and figured out that her foster-father had started in on one of his metaphysical tirades. She could care less about identity and past -- she knew exactly who she was. All she wanted was a chance to get out of Persopolis and away from the stifling presence of her parents.
When finally her mother pulled away and left the room, Oriah knew it was a done deal. Assad came to her and gave her a long talk about trust and responsibility, and how she was old enough to be an adult and it was time she learned how to make her own decisions. She nodded gravely at every other word, her mind already packed and saddled and riding away.
***
Mal arrived at Sycamore Road an hour before dawn, but Oriah was awake and waiting for him. “You sure you’re up to this?” she asked as she critically examined the dark shadows under his eyes from the long night’s work.
“My, you’re having your first real adventure, girl,” said Mal with a smile. “I wouldn’t miss it for the world.”
Oriah rolled her eyes. “I think I’ve had my fair share of adventures, even with Zahara and Assad looking over my shoulder,” she said.
“You’ve got a long way to go, still, sister,” replied Mal, draping an arm over her shoulders.
***
When Jas and Alan arrived the next morning, Oriah was waiting by the gate. Alan noted her sensible gear and good horse with approval, but was surprised to see another pair of figures -- one human, one equine -- with her. Upon closer inspection one proved to be a dark-eyed boy of eighteen or so, talking very familiarly with his new sister.
“I think introductions are in order,” said Alan dryly, by way of a greeting.
“Good morning to you, too,” retorted the girl. “Lovely day for a ride in the desert, isn’t it?”
Alan waited.
“My brother, Alan, and crown prince Jasson,” Oriah said to her friend. “Alan, this is Mal.”
“Malakai, actually,” interjected the boy. “Malakai Rukmini.”
“A Carthaki name,” observed Alan.
“My parents were Carthaki slaves before they were granted their price and sent to Tortall,” said Mal.
“Mal’s coming with us,” Oriah told Alan. “He’s my best friend, and I promised Zahara I would bring along someone she knows to chaperone me.”
“I’m not a very good chaperone, lovely,” remarked Mal, smiling.
“I know,” said Oriah.
“We should head out,” said Jas to Alan.
Alan nodded. “Get your act together,” he ordered. “We’re leaving right now.”
“Ready at your word, sir!” said Oriah, saluting.
“You’re going to be exhausting, aren’t you?” sighed Alan.
“I should damn well hope so,” she answered wickedly.
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Chapter One: The Meeting
The main marketplace of Persopolis was every bit as crowded as the markets of Corus, Alan realized as he pushed his way through milling shoppers, leading his horse behind him. He would not have even entered such risky territory, not at a time like this, but for the urgent need to restock before tackling the second half of his desert journey.
Alan’s upbringing and training made him uniquely suited for the post he was filling. His mother had taught him all he knew of the Bazhir and their desert ways. His father had taught him about the ways of all people. Because of this Alan knew that a Bazhir market was no different than a Corus one -- either was bound to attract droves of thieves. So he kept his horse’s reins short, and his hand on the saddlebags.
“You’d like to get out of the city again, right?” his longtime friend, Jasson, asked needlessly.
“It’s too crowded,” Alan remarked quietly. “Crowds don’t favor us.”
“You’re probably right. You usually are, in such matters.”
Alan stopped and looked back at Jas quizzically. “It’s not like you to be so humble.”
Jas smiled. “Could it be I’m finally growing up, like everyone’s been begging me to do?”
“Twenty eight is a little old to still be growing up,” replied Alan.
“Let’s just get what we need and make for the gates. The sooner we return to Corus, the better.”
But Alan wasn’t listening. His eyes followed a figure in the crowd distractedly, hazily.
“Alan? What did you see?” Jasson’s voice was worried.
Alan shook his head sharply. “Nothing,” he answered. “Nothing that matters, anyway. It’s just…”
“What?”
“That girl over there looks a lot like Aly, when she was younger,” said Alan, and turned to point, but the girl was gone. He shook his head again. “She’s gone.”
Jas knew of his friend’s close attachment to his twin sister, but he had never understood it. He himself had four siblings, yet he wasn’t particularly close with any of them. Still, he stopped and gave Alan the time to be lost in memory, before they both went on plowing their way through the crowds.
***
It was not half an hour later when Alan heard a pleasant, courteous voice to his right, “Excuse me, sir, is this yours?”
Held out to him was a hand clasping a soft leather pouch that looked alarmingly familiar. He looked questioningly at Jas, who nodded slightly, then turned back to the one who currently possessed their ward.
One hand reached out to him, grasping the pouch that held the Dominion Jewel, with which Jasson and he were temporarily charged. The other was wound in the collar of a ragged-looking Bazhir boy of about twelve, who fought against his captor’s hold but could not escape it. “I thought it might be valuable,” said the girl.
“Yes, it is ours,” he said, taking the pouch from her, “thank you.”
As he handed the pouch to Jas, who stowed it safely away in a hidden pocket, he saw her eyes. And when he saw her eyes, he almost dropped the reins of his mare. Gathering himself, Alan matched the strange girl’s courteous, inviting tone and said, “We would like to show our appreciation for your help. Would you join us for a drink?”
Her eyes crinkled. “My mother warns me against accepting drinks from strange men,” she said, “but I can take care of myself.”
That much, thought Alan, is obvious.
Once the thief-boy had been turned in to the proper authorities, Alan led his friend and the girl out of the crowded marketplace. Suddenly he doubted himself. What was it about her that reminded him so much of his twin? Dressed Bazhir-fashion in a plain, dark blue dress, her veil slipping back a bit, revealing an apricot hairline. And her eyes. Above the white rim of the veil her eyes were a bright, unmistakable hue of violet that he could not ignore without question.
Introductions were in order, decided Alan. And since their orders were to keep their identities private, if not secret, they needed a quiet setting. Luckily, he knew the city reasonably well, and was able to find the tavern where his mother usually conducted her business in Persopolis, in a back room reserved for just that purpose.
“Sir Alan of Pirate’s Swoop, Sir Jasson of Contי,” he said. Although he watched the visible part of her face carefully, he could not tell if she recognized the names.
“Oriah Brazen,” said the girl. “Daughter of Zahara and Assad Thulfikar.”
“You don’t look Bazhir,” remarked Jasson candidly.
“I’m adopted,” replied Oriah.
“I don’t know how we can thank you for your help,” Alan said quickly. “Or how you managed to catch that thief.”
Oriah shrugged. “It was easy,” she confessed. “I saw him clinging to you for a while, so I kept an eye on him. When I reached him he’d already gotten into your saddlebags. I just grabbed him by the neck, pulled him away, then applied pressure to his wrist to make him drop what he was holding.”
“Do you often catch thieves in the marketplace?” asked Jasson.
“Occasionally,” answered Oriah, eyes gleaming.
Instinct told Alan to find out more about this girl before he let her disappear into the crowd. “I would like to thank your parents, as well,” he said.
“I’ll thank them for you,” said Oriah.
“I’d rather do it in person,” he insisted.
“Fine!” the girl half-snapped. “I was on my way home, anyway. I’ll introduce you to them.”
***
The house she led them to was large, built of whitewashed stone, with domed window-frames. The street was wide and clean, lit with lamps against the falling dusk. The family was obviously prosperous. Oriah knocked lazily on the door and walked right past the maid who opened it, gesturing her guests to follow and calling behind her, “Tell mother I’m home!”
Zahara Thulfikar dashed down the stairs to meet them. “Oriah! Where were you? I was worried! Who are your new… friends?”
Alan introduced them, and watched the woman’s dark eyes widen above her veil at the mention of the names. “You’re the Lioness’s son,” she said.
“Yes,” he acknowledged.
She was silent. Then she shook her head and beckoned them. “Come into the library, sit, have something to drink!” When Oriah started to follow she snapped, “Not you! Go up to the study. Your father wants to see you.”
As he sat in the library, Alan felt that Zahara was examining him. “Mistress Thulfikar,” he said, “your daughter was of great assistance to us today. We wanted to come here and thank you personally.”
“Did your mother send you?” asked the woman.
“No,” answered Alan, puzzled.
“I know her. Rather, my husband does, through a friend of his father’s. Hakim Fahrar.”
“Yes, I know of him,” said Alan.
“Alanna didn’t send you?” Zahara asked again. “She doesn’t know you’re here?”
“No,” said Alan firmly.
“Then she didn’t tell you about Oriah,” said Zahara.
“What about her?” asked Alan, although he suspected he knew.
“You must have seen it,” said Zahara, eyes fixed on his. “The resemblance is clear, even when veiled.”
“Yes, it is,” said Jasson suddenly. “How old is she?”
“Sixteen,” she answered promptly. “She turned sixteen this midsummer.”
“Which means she was born…”
“June twenty-first, 459,” she said.
Jas looked at Alan, who was thinking hard, trying to remember. Where was mother at the time? Corus? The City of the Gods? It was so hard to remember where Alanna had been, at any given time. Especially when he did not necessarily know, even then.
“She was here?” he asked slowly.
Zahara nodded.
“Pregnant?”
She nodded again.
“She didn’t…” What possible reason could she have for hiding such a thing? “She didn’t tell you who the father was, by any chance?”
“No,” said Zahara, “she didn’t.”
“Does she know?” asked Jas.
“Oriah? Yes, I believe she does,” said the woman, “although it was not I who told her.”
Alan said nothing, staggered by the implications. He didn’t quite have time to let this information sink in before Oriah and a strange man entered the room. The man bowed and introduced himself. “Highness, sir, I am Assad Thulfikar. I understand you came for my daughter.”
Zahara looked at him and shook her head slightly, trying to pass the message to him alone, but Alan saw clearly the glee infuse Oriah, filling her movements and her face behind the veil. She looked from father to mother excitedly, and her hands pressed together almost involuntarily.
“Please, Master Thulfikar,” he said, “I did not come for your daughter. The only knowledge I had of her prior to coming to this house was that she helped my friend and I in the marketplace. We came to show our thanks.”
The man exchanged a look with his wife, then said slowly, “I think perhaps it would be good if you and my daughter had some time to speak privately, just now.”
As Assad and Zahara were leaving the room, Jas looked at Alan, then got up and followed them. Once the door shut behind them, Oriah’s hand flew to her neck, and she ripped off her white veil, flinging it aside. The face she revealed showed Alan exactly why he was reminded of his twin the first time he glimpsed her.
It was not just her bearing, and the way she walked that expressed a flippant confidence at once both familiar and irritating. Her cheeks and nose were like Aly’s, only sharper, and her hair, braided and coiled, was the same shade of apricot as his. The resemblance was strong, broken mostly by her eyes, which were neither the light hazel of Aly nor his own, darker shade, but marked her particularly as his mother’s daughter. Briefly he wondered who her father was.
“So you’re my brother?” she asked curiously.
“Half-brother,” he corrected.
“Did you come here to see me, or was it just a coincidence?” she asked again. “Coincidence, wasn’t it? You didn’t even know I existed.”
“What do you know about our mother?” he asked.
Oriah shrugged. “That she’s a knight and a great mage, that she knows about half of the important people in Persopolis as close friends, that her name is Alanna, that she’s married to a man who isn’t my father and that I have her eyes.”
“You do have her eyes,” said Alan.
“Hakim Fahrar said he would know me as her daughter anywhere because of them,” she commented lightly.
“What do you know about me?” asked Alan.
“You’re Alan of Pirate’s Swoop,” answered Oriah, “you’re my half-brother, and you’re a knight like my mother, and you keep high company.” She grinned.
“And I’m heading to Corus right now,” he added. “Do you want to go to Corus? You have another brother and a sister, not to mention a mother. I don’t think you’ve ever met them.”
“I haven’t,” she admitted. “How would you explain me?”
“Prince Jasson is transporting something to the palace,” said Alan.
“That pouch the boy tried to steal?” she interjected.
“Yes. And I’m helping to safeguard it. Evidently, though, I’m not enough. You seem to have a way with defending yourself. Maybe you could help us. Have you had any training?”
“Some,” said Oriah innocently. “A little Shang, a little fencing, a little magic. Are you Gifted?”
“No,” he said. “The prince is, though.”
“So, will you hire me?” she asked, eyes flashing.
“If your parents consent,” said Alan.
***
“Absolutely not!” fumed Zahara.
“But mother--!” Oriah protested, then turned to her father.
“I’m inclined to agree with your mother,” said Assad gravely. “This journey could not be safe, and is hardly appropriate for a girl of your age.”
“I’m sixteen,” insisted the girl. “Girls my age get married, have children, work for a living. I can’t do anything with my life but stay right here in this house?”
“You’re being unfair, Oriah,” said her father. “Your mother and I have allowed you plenty of opportunities most parents would not have approved of. You have enjoyed a great deal of freedom. We just want to keep you safe.”
“I can take care of myself!” insisted Oriah stubbornly.
“Being alone in the company of two older men…” said Zahara.
“Alan is my brother, isn’t he?” argued the girl. “That makes him as good as a chaperone.”
Zahara looked unconvinced.
“Will it make you feel better if Mal is with me?” asked Oriah wickedly.
“No!”
“Fine, that settles it,” the girl replied lightly. “We leave tomorrow. You don’t mind if I borrow a horse for Mal, do you?”
“Assad!” cried Zahara.
He pulled her aside and they talked together in whispers for several long moments, while Oriah pretended not to be straining her ears for every word. She heard something about “rights” and “past” and “identity”, and figured out that her foster-father had started in on one of his metaphysical tirades. She could care less about identity and past -- she knew exactly who she was. All she wanted was a chance to get out of Persopolis and away from the stifling presence of her parents.
When finally her mother pulled away and left the room, Oriah knew it was a done deal. Assad came to her and gave her a long talk about trust and responsibility, and how she was old enough to be an adult and it was time she learned how to make her own decisions. She nodded gravely at every other word, her mind already packed and saddled and riding away.
***
Mal arrived at Sycamore Road an hour before dawn, but Oriah was awake and waiting for him. “You sure you’re up to this?” she asked as she critically examined the dark shadows under his eyes from the long night’s work.
“My, you’re having your first real adventure, girl,” said Mal with a smile. “I wouldn’t miss it for the world.”
Oriah rolled her eyes. “I think I’ve had my fair share of adventures, even with Zahara and Assad looking over my shoulder,” she said.
“You’ve got a long way to go, still, sister,” replied Mal, draping an arm over her shoulders.
***
When Jas and Alan arrived the next morning, Oriah was waiting by the gate. Alan noted her sensible gear and good horse with approval, but was surprised to see another pair of figures -- one human, one equine -- with her. Upon closer inspection one proved to be a dark-eyed boy of eighteen or so, talking very familiarly with his new sister.
“I think introductions are in order,” said Alan dryly, by way of a greeting.
“Good morning to you, too,” retorted the girl. “Lovely day for a ride in the desert, isn’t it?”
Alan waited.
“My brother, Alan, and crown prince Jasson,” Oriah said to her friend. “Alan, this is Mal.”
“Malakai, actually,” interjected the boy. “Malakai Rukmini.”
“A Carthaki name,” observed Alan.
“My parents were Carthaki slaves before they were granted their price and sent to Tortall,” said Mal.
“Mal’s coming with us,” Oriah told Alan. “He’s my best friend, and I promised Zahara I would bring along someone she knows to chaperone me.”
“I’m not a very good chaperone, lovely,” remarked Mal, smiling.
“I know,” said Oriah.
“We should head out,” said Jas to Alan.
Alan nodded. “Get your act together,” he ordered. “We’re leaving right now.”
“Ready at your word, sir!” said Oriah, saluting.
“You’re going to be exhausting, aren’t you?” sighed Alan.
“I should damn well hope so,” she answered wickedly.
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