Crucible of Fate Page 3

  “I hate this,” I muttered to no one.

  “What’s wrong with you?”

  Turning, I found Mikhail, having reappeared, staring at me like I was stupid.

  “I thought you had a meeting,” I groused.

  “It was moved to four,” Mikhail ground out.

  “By who?”

  “By one of your akers, a manu, Alhaji Yacouba, who was running late getting back from a day trip to Cairo.”

  “Why do you care?”

  “I don’t, but apparently Ammon’s sylvan, Traore Uago, did and decided to wait for the man.”

  I studied him, wondering why he let that happen. It wasn’t like Mikhail to allow other people to change his schedule. “What are you going to do?”

  Mikhail drew in a slow breath. “I’m going to remind Traore that he is no longer the sylvan, that his rank is now shefdew—”

  “I think you just called the man a papyrus scroll,” I pointed out.

  “I did?”

  I raised an eyebrow.

  “Then how do you say scribe?”

  “I’ll look it up,” I quipped. “Or, more likely, I’ll ask someone.”

  He grunted softly. “Well, anyway, Traore thinks that he still has power. He doesn’t and he needs a reminder. Alhaji needs to understand who he should be listening to. He too will be educated.”

  “How?”

  “I’m going to have your sheseru discipline them both.”

  As if on cue, Taj was there, an enormous bullwhip rolled up in his right hand.

  “I’m sorry,” Mikhail said quickly. “I know you prefer not to punish, but there is no recourse.”

  “They’re the ones who should be sorry,” he replied. “They cannot be allowed to insult you. It’s not maat.”

  It was not like Mikhail at all. “You—”

  “They continue to test me. I’ve cited them, I’ve fined them, and no one responds. I’m done.”

  I had no idea Mikhail went in for physical punishment. “This doesn’t seem like you.”

  “Respect is earned, and I understand, but barring that, fear will work in the interim. I’m done being talked about behind my back and having them talk about me in Arabic and Egyptian and Farsi. They think I don’t know what they’re saying, but I do. They think I’m not trained in the law, but I am. I’m the sylvan of my tribe, and anyone who wants to, can debate the law with me, but I will win. If they don’t like how I conduct the affairs of my station, they’re free to challenge me in the pit. But I will no longer stand for insolence.”

  “I don’t remember ever hearing about you having anyone flogged in Logan’s tribe.”

  “Begging your pardon, but until you believe that you are semel-aten, the people will not. No one ever questioned that Logan Church was meant to lead and be followed. His respect flowed to me.”

  “And what, no one respects me?”

  His eyes, deep cobalt blue, locked on mine as he waited. He had a good face, chiseled and strong, striking and sharply angled. You remembered him, but he wasn’t beautiful, not like Yuri. Normally, Mikhail wasn’t the kind of man you noticed, but now, in the middle of a town in Egypt, he stood out. With his fair complexion, his height of six two, and lean muscular build, you noticed him moving through a crowd here. In Nevada, where we had come from, he inspired no second glance, but in our new home, he drew attention.

  Sobek lay between Cairo and Giza on land that was almost like another country, with borders patrolled by armed guards and a no-fly zone above it. The land gift dated back to the time of pharaohs.

  “Domin?”

  I shook my head. “Just, do you really need to—”

  “Yes.” His voice, normally smooth and silky, was hard and cold. “I do. No one but me changes my schedule. No one.”

  He left then, Taj walking beside him.

  I didn’t like the harsh changes I was seeing in any of them, the men who made up my household, who helped me lead my tribe, at all.

  After walking down one of the many long staircases, I took a right into the vast library, an endless room filled from floor to vaulted ceiling with shelves of books, ancient texts people from all over the world came to use.

  As I crossed the floor, people lifted their heads and greeted me as was custom.

  “Sah’eed nahharkoo,” they called out.

  It meant “good day” in Arabic, and though I was learning the language, the task was daunting. So I waved and walked on. As I passed one of the many small alcoves riddling the library, I saw the place where I had last touched my mate before he had left for Ipis two weeks before. I nearly stumbled over my feet getting to the window where he had stood. He had been there, standing still, staring down into the courtyard…

  I moved up behind him and put my hands on his hips.

  “You know, the semel-aten will have your head if you touch his mate,” Yuri vowed.

  “Will he?” I whispered, inhaling his musky scent before pressing my face into the side of his neck and kissing him.

  “He will,” he said, taking one of my hands, easing me closer until my chest rested against his broad, muscular back, and then placing it over his heart. He flattened my palm there, over his hard pectoral, and then slid his fingers between mine. “He’s very possessive.”

  “Why do you put up with that?”

  “Because if he stopped it would kill me.”

  I adjusted my stance so my groin rubbed against his plump, round ass. It was beautiful, solid and soft at the same time, a cushion when I took him from behind, and I could never keep my hands from it. Yuri was heavy with meaty muscle; it was thick over wide shoulders, pecs, arms and legs. Under his clothes, he was massive and hard, but he could also wrap around me so tight, engulf me in warmth and….

  Yuri.

  It was all shit except for him.

  Suddenly I wanted him naked in bed with me more than I wanted to breathe. I needed him—his closeness could fix things I never thought possible. Every other lover I’d ever had was treated to me being in charge behind closed doors.

  All except him. I could submit to Yuri.

  “Come with me to—”

  “Are you seeing this?” he asked abruptly, tipping his head, indicating the courtyard below.

  I was surprised to see Ebere El Masry, the previous semel-aten’s yareah, getting out of a stretch limousine, servants there instantly to welcome her home.

  The servants brought a bowl of water for her to wash her hands, a towel, as well, and then lifted an enormous palm-frond shade to keep the sun off her face. It was all still overwhelming for me—the protocol, the training, the standard of service in my home.

  “You should go greet your mastaba,” Yuri suggested, patting my hand before twisting in place. The warmth in his eyes as he gazed at me… God. I was supposed to walk away from him?

  “Domin?”

  It had only been six months since I’d claimed him as mine, and I found that every passing day what I felt got stronger, more desperate and clinging. I barely wanted to be parted from him. I would cut out my tongue before I admitted it to him. Confessing my heart was not something I did. I was cool—cold, even—speaking of what lay beneath… no good could come of that.

  “My lord!”

  “I’m coming,” I snarled at the servant who had come to let me know Ebere had arrived.

  She recoiled from me. I saw the hurt that I had raised my voice, both in her demeanor and posture, suggesting that I had taken a hand to her, not simply been sharp with my reply.

  “Your semel will be right there,” Yuri promised her, his tone full of infinite patience and kindness. Funny that he had been a sheseru, as Taj was now, because there was no trace of it left in the man, no enforcer, no punisher. He was simply my rock, and that was all.

  “Yes, sekhem,” the woman said, bowing and stepping back, her body language conveying that he had smoothed what I had ruffled.

  “Why do you take the time to do that?”

  “What?” he prodded gently, facing m
e as I stepped away from him.

  It was only then that I noticed what he was wearing. It was like he was dressed to go on a safari; the only thing missing was the big-ass hat. “Soothe their— Where the hell are you going?”

  He squinted. “Domin, I’m leaving with Constantine in twenty minutes. I thought you came and found me to say good-bye.”

  “Shit,” I groaned. “That’s today?”

  “That’s now,” he said, his lip curling up in the corner.

  I—breathe—how was I supposed to function without my mate? “Why do you need to—”

  “The semel of the tribe of Tegeret, Ehivet Milar, says that he is being kept from his son, Garai, who he sent to speak with the semel of Feran, Hakkan Tarek, a month ago. Repeated messengers, even a trip to Ipis, has not yielded any results. The semel refuses to see him and—”

  “What? One semel cannot refuse to see another.”

  “I know, which is why he is asking you to intercede on the point of law.”

  “How does this—who again?”

  “Hakkan Tarek.” He supplied the name, his eyes gliding over my face like they always did, with such obvious appreciation. I loved the way he loved me.

  I cleared my throat. “How does Hakkan Tarek not let this semel see his own son? That’s insane. He can start a tribal war that way.”

  “Yes, I know,” he agreed in his low and gravelly voice. “So before things escalate, Ehivet asked for help. And he’s being very gracious. He thinks that because of the ongoing conflict Hakkan Tarek has on his own land that this is the reason for the semel’s distraction and inability to answer him.”

  “What conflict?”

  “Apparently in Ipis they have some kind of land dispute that the semel-aten will need to lend a hand resolving.”

  “I—but why do—”

  “The tribe of Feran makes their home close to the catacombs of Abtu, and apparently the catacombs themselves are in dispute. Ehivet says that he’s heard of a few fatalities.”

  “Why would this man send his son to such an unstable tribe?”

  “He had to. Years ago, he agreed to a covenant bond with Tarek, that when their children were of age they would be mated. Tarek has a daughter, Masika, who is now sixteen—”

  “Sixteen? She should be going to high school.”

  “Domin,” Yuri sighed. “These are not—”

  “I’m going to pass a law, Yuri. All children will be educated. All of them. Boys and girls; no one will be exempt.”

  “It will always be up to the individual semels to do with their children what they will, Domin. You can’t change that.”

  “Watch me.”

  He smiled warmly. “Your heart is in the right place.”

  “Just talk to me,” I huffed.

  “Well, so, anyway, Ehivet says that he simply sent his son to Ipis to let the semel know that they would wait until Masika was eighteen before performing the ritual of handfasting.”

  “But?”

  “But now he has not heard from his son, or the ten men he sent with him, in over a month. All his attempts have fallen on deaf ears, and so now he has reached out to you to come mediate the situation.”

  “Then I should go with—”

  “Domin, you barely have enough time to breathe in a day so I—”

  “No.”

  “You’re being unreasonable.”

  “No, this Hakkan Tarek is. What exactly is wrong in his tribe?”

  Yuri’s eyes remained gentle; his tone didn’t rise. It was as if being with me, becoming my mate, had changed him, made him the soul of quiet strength and reflection. Not that it had doused his passion for me, but the temper that used to be in him had simply disappeared. He was different, as were the others, but whereas they were all hardening, he had done just the opposite.

  “The semel has two factions within his tribe: the peq, made up mostly of farmers and shepherds who live in the hills, and the shen, who are the merchants who live in the city of Ipis. Apparently, the hostility stems from a dispute over the ownership of the catacombs. There has been some kind of discovery there, and so who is heir to the land is in question.”

  “How do you know all this?”

  “The tribal records.”

  “Oh,” I grunted. “Been reading those again, have you?”

  He chortled. “Kind of a prerequisite to being the mate of the semel-aten, don’t you think? I swear, I have no idea how the tribe of Hatheret has—”

  “What?”

  “The tribe of Hatheret in Paris. Their semel, Emil Lefevre. His family has compiled and edited the records since the time of the Crusades.”

  “I know about the tribe of Hatheret!” I barked.

  “Then why did you ask me?”

  I growled. “So everything you just said, that’s all in the tribal record?”

  “As you know, it’s up to each semel to compose his correspondence weekly and send it to the tribe of Hatheret to be entered into the logs.”

  “That’s not mandatory,” I insisted.

  “No, but maybe it should be.”

  “That job has got to be daunting.” I sympathized with people I had never seen.

  “I’m sure the stipend they receive from each tribe the world over for doing it more than outweighs the annoyance.”

  “Maybe.”

  He kissed my forehead, which just reminded me he was leaving and irritated me all over again. “Okay, so if the territory in Ipis itself belongs to the semel, I don’t see—”

  “But we’re not talking about that, we’re talking about the land.”

  “So there is a family that owns the land the catacombs sit on.”

  “Yes.”

  “And who is that?”

  I got a wicked grin. “I don’t know, love. I have to go there to find out.”

  I grunted.

  “But for right now, from what the records say, Hakkan Tarek can see no resolution in sight, but since it affects no one, he has left it in the hands of the two djehus.”

  “But it is affecting those outside his tribe now.”

  “This is only a brand-new development, though. Before this, no one knew or cared what was going on in Ipis. Ammon didn’t; there’s no record that he ever even visited.”

  “But we care suddenly because of the semel of the tribe of Tegeret.”

  “Yes.”

  “If not for him, you would not be making this journey.”

  “No,” he said huskily, gazing into my eyes.

  “And what precisely are you going to do?”

  “First, I’m going to meet with Hakkan Tarek and insist that he send Garai Milar home to his father immediately. Then I am going to meet with the djehus, the leaders of the two factions in the tribe of Feran, and then report back to you. If it’s a question of the law, I might just send for Mikhail. If it’s more, then I’ll—”

  “As soon as you handle the situation with Garai, immediately check in with the two heads of the warring factions and then come back,” I instructed. “Don’t try and fix anything other than sending the boy back to his tribe. I want you to gather information and that’s all.”

  “I shouldn’t stay there and resolve the problem if I can?” Yuri taunted.

  I was focused on his words, but it was getting harder. It was difficult not to notice and be mesmerized by the curve of his lip, the dimple in his chin, and his thick expressive eyebrows.

  “Domin?”

  I cleared my throat. “No. You’ll give me a report, and I’ll decide what to do at that point.”

  “Yes, my lord,” he said mock seriously, the deference over the top and playfully patronizing.

  “That’s not what I meant,” I growled, not in the mood to banter with him. It was killing me that he was leaving. “You just need to come home!”

  “Why?”

  “Because it’s your duty.”

  “My duty?” He was still teasing me.

  “You’re supposed to stand right beside me!” I yelled and saw the
surprise register that I was actually upset.

  “I will, then,” he said quietly. “I’ll get home as fast as I can.”

  I took a breath. “I don’t remember you telling me any of this.”

  “Well, I did. I explained this all to you last night at length, again, as well as several times in the past week.”

  Had I been listening? Ever?

  “Your steward—”

  “Kabore, yes,” I said sharply. “I’ve met the man, go on.”

  Judging from the twinkle in his eyes, I was clearly amusing him. “He suggested that I take this task off your plate by going in your place.”

  “And what if I don’t want you to go?”

  His eyes were really the clearest blue I had ever seen in my life, and when they fixed on mine I could feel a comforting weight settle over me, spreading calm. “Is that what you’re asking me to do?”

  I thought a minute. “Have other mates done these kinds of things?”

  “Of course,” he said. “Missions of goodwill are what mates of important men do.”

  “What if it’s dangerous?”

  “It’s not. How could it be? I’ll be there to help return a boy that the semel of Feran has probably just not had time to think about. The man basically has a civil war being waged on his land; I’ll bet you anything, the boy is an oversight. He’ll welcome me with open arms, and when I tell him that I am gathering information for you so that the semel-aten might help him find a resolution, he might even kiss me.”

  “He better not.”

  His eyes were warm. “Don’t worry about me. Everyone knows that to harm the mate of the semel-aten is a death sentence. No one would risk it.”

  I was not convinced. “You will take thirty men with you.”

  “Will I?”

  “Stop answering my commands with questions!”

  “Am I doing that?” He was so restrained, so calm.

  “Yes!” I yelled like a screaming idiot. “And it’s very patronizing!”

  “Stop ranting,” he directed, half grinning, his voice sexy and calming at the same time. “Now, listen. Thirty men on a mission of mediation is overkill.”

  “I disagree,” I said defensively.

  “I used to be a sheseru,” he brought to mind, his tone placating. “I know how many men to take, Domin. Don’t fret.”