hat what excites me so？
His bed； in a large room hung with Serian tapestries； was low to the ground； covered with cushions and pillows in a diversity of shapes and sizes； as much for love…play as for color and texture。 Crimson…dyed squares of silk hung from copper rings on the wall above the bed and set into the carved wooden foot。 Ammar preferred freedom of movement in his lovemaking； the slide and traverse of bodies； but there had been those among his guests in this room who derived their keenest pleasures otherwise； and over the years he had earned a reputation as a host solicitous of all of his guests' desires。
Even so； even with almost twenty years of nuanced experience in erotic play； ibn Khairan was swiftly made aware…though not； in truth； with any great surprise…that a woman trained as Zabira had been knew some things he did not。 Even； it began to emerge； things about his own nature and responses。
Unclothed among the pillows some time later； he felt her fingers teasing and exploring him； winced at a bite and felt his sex grow even more rigid amid the growing shadows of the room as her mouth came back to his ear and she whispered something quite shocking in the exquisite； celebrated voice。 Then his eyes grew wide in the darkness as she proceeded to perform precisely what she had just described。
All the training mistresses and castrates of Almalik's court had e over the wide seas from the homelands of the east； where such skills had been part of courtly life for hundreds of years before Ashar's ascetic vigil in the desert。 It was possible； Ammar's drifting thoughts essayed； that a journey to Soriyya might have more to offer than he'd imagined。 He felt a breathless laugh escape him。
Zabira slipped further downward； her scented skin gliding along his； her fingernails offering counterpoint where they touched。 Ibn Khairan heard a sigh of helpless pleasure and realized that； improbably； he had made that sound himself。 He attempted to rise then； to turn； to begin the sharing； the flowing back…and…forth of love but he felt her hands； delicately insistent； pushing him down。 He surrendered； closed his eyes； let her begin； her voice exclaiming in delight or murmuring in mentary； to minister to him as he had ministered to so many people in this room。
It went on； astonishingly varied and inventive； for some time。 The sun had set。 The room was encased in darkness…they had paused to light no candles here…before his sensibilities began； as a swimmer rises from green depths of the sea； to reassert themselves。 And slowly； feeling almost drugged with desire； ibn Khairan came to understand something。
She was beside him just then； having turned him on his side。 One of her legs was wrapped about his body； she had him enclosed within her sex； and her movements were indeed those of sea tides in their insistent； unwavering rise and fall。
He brushed a nipple with his tongue； testing his new thought。 Without pause in her rhythm…which was； intuitively； his own deepest rhythm…she caressed his head and tilted it away。
〃Zabira；〃 he whispered； his voice distant and difficult。
〃Hush；〃 she murmured； a tongue to his ear again。 〃Oh； hush。 Let me carry you away。〃
〃Zabira；〃 he tried again。
She shifted then； sinuous and smooth； and was above him now； more urgently； his manhood still within her； sheathed in liquescence。 Her mouth descended； covered his。 Her breath was scented with mint； her kisses a kind of threading fire。 She stopped his speech； her tongue like a hummingbird。 Her nails raked downward along his side。 He gasped。
And turned his head away。
He lifted his hands then； with some effort； and grasped her by the arms； gently； but so she could not twist away again。 In the darkness he tried to see her eyes but could discern only the heart…shaped shadow of her face and the curtain of her black hair。
〃Zabira；〃 he said； an utterly unexpected kind of pain within him； 〃you need not punish yourself； or hold back sorrow。 It is all right to mourn。 It is allowed。〃
She went stiff with shock； as if slapped。 Her body arched backwards in the first uncontrolled movement she had made all evening。 For a long moment she remained that way； rigid； motionless； and then； with real grief and a simultaneous relief； Ammar heard her make one harsh； unnatural sound as if something had been torn in her throat； or in her heart。
He drew her slowly down until she lay along the length of him； but in a different fashion from all their touchings of before。 And in the dark of that room； notorious for the woven patterns of desire it had seen； Ammar ibn Khairan held the woman beloved of the man he'd killed； and offered what small fort he could。 He granted her the courtesy and space of his silence； as she finally permitted herself to weep； mourning the depth of her loss； the appalling disappearance； in an instant； of love in a bitter world。
A bitter； ironic world； he thought； still struggling upwards as through those scented； enveloping green waters。 And then； as if he had； truly； broken through to some surface of awareness； ibn Khairan confronted and accepted the fact that she had； indeed； been right in what she'd said on the terrace as the sun set。
He'd killed a hard； suspicious； brilliant； cruelly ambitious man today。 And one whom he had loved。
When the Lion at his pleasure es
To the watering place to drink； ah see！
See the lesser beasts of Al…Rassan
Scatter like blown leaves in autumn；
Like air…borne seedlings in the spring；
Like grey clouds that part to let the first star
Of the god shine down upon the earth。
Lions died。 Lovers died； or were slain。 Men and women moved in their pride and folly through deeds of pity and atrocity and the stars of Ashar looked down and did or did not care。
The two of them never left his room that night。 Ammar had trays brought again； with cold meats and cheeses and figs and pomegranates from his own groves。 They ate by candlelight； cross…legged upon the bed； in silence。 Then they removed the trays and blew out the candles and lay down together again； though not in the movements of desire。
They were awake before dawn。 In the grey half…light that slowly suffused the room she told him； without his asking； that at the end of the summer her two sons had been quietly sent for fostering； after the old fashion； to King Badir of Ragosa。
Ragosa。 She had made that decision herself； she said quietly； immediately after ibn Khairan's poem had arrived in Cartada； lampooning and excoriating the king。 She had always tried to stay ahead of events； and the poem had offered more than a hint of change to e。
〃Where will you go？〃 she asked him。 Morning light had entered the chamber by then。 They could hear birds outside and from within the house the footsteps of busy servants。 She was sitting up； cross…legged again； wrapped in a light blanket as in a shepherd's cloak； her face paint streaked with the tracks of her night tears； hair tumbling in disarray。
〃I haven't； to be honest； had time to think about it。 I was only ordered into exile yesterday morning； remember？ And then I had a somewhat demanding guest awaiting me when I came home。〃
She smiled wanly； but made no movement； waiting； her dark eyes； red…rimmed； fixed on his。
He truly had not thought about it。 He had expected to be triumphantly home in Cartada as of yesterday morning； guiding the policies and first steps of the new king and the kingdom。 A man could make plans； it seemed； but he could not plan for everything。 He hadn't even allowed himself； through the course of the night just past； to think much about Almalik ibn Almalik； the prince…the king； now…who had so decisively turned on him。 There would be time for that later。 There would have to be。
In the meantime； there was a whole peninsula and a world beyond it full of places that were not Cartada。 He could go almost anywhere； do so many different things。 He had realized that much yesterday； riding here。 He was a poet； a soldier； a courtier； a diplomat。
He looked at the woman on his bed； and read the question she was trying so hard not to ask。 At length he smiled； savoring all the ironies that seemed to be emerging