As the sun set men began to trickle into the tent. Riva examined each face behind her veil. They were authority figures, she could tell by the way they held themselves and how Imad treated them. Tribal Heads. That’s who these people were, they led each of the tribes under the King. Why haven’t they overthrown the King, I wonder. It’s not like he’s a strong leader. She’d seen the side glances of the guards and the men around the King. They thought he was a dunce. All it would take was a well paid guard and the problem would be removed. Any one of these men had the brains to take leadership, so what was holding them back?
Her eyes followed yet another tribe leader into the tent. Imad moved forward and greeted him respectfully.
Ah, Her mind had made the connection. Imad. Of course. He didn’t grovel at the King’s feet, he controlled him. It was a very careful dance, Imad was very skilled at manipulation. The way he had played on the King’s emotions to keep Riva had been a work of art. Riva didn’t think she had that kind of skill. Riva chewed on her lip thoughtfully, she didn’t really understand why Imad had kept her. He treated her like a nuisance and seemed to be disgusted by her presence.
King Racham wanted Imad to respect him, there was a gleam in his eye when he spoke to Imad. She could understand that, she’d always wanted her father’s approval, to Racham, Imad was his mentor and old advisor. No... not a mentor. More like a peer. Racham didn’t treat Imad with the respect of an elder... What is their relationship? Riva wondered.
Imad’s accented voice cut into her thoughts. “Go get the water, the storm has passed.” He placed a jug in Riva’s lap. “The well is at the center of the camp, near the Royal Tent. Do you remember where that is?”
Riva had a general idea and so nodded.
“Don’t dawdle.” Came the stern command.
Standing was a struggle in her new clothes, but Riva managed and left the tent.
The camp was completely different at night. It took Riva nearly half an hour to find the well. She considered asking someone for help, but then she would reveal her ability to speak their language. At the moment it seemed prudent to keep that hidden. Riva felt deep in her bones that something was going on and feigning ignorance could get her out of several sticky situations if she played her cards right.
When she made it back to tent, she was sure Imad was going to thrash her with his tongue but he said nothing and took the jug. Expertly he moved his hands and furrowed his brow, mumbling foreign words under his breath.
Riva could feel his energy pouring into the water, vibrating it, separating the muck and the clear, crisp cool water. When he was done he poured each of the members precious, clean water. They sipped in and smiled, pleased and awed.
Riva stood with wide eyes. Imad poured the last of the water out and tipped the jug over, dry sand slid over the lip. Her jaw dropped. He had such effortless control! That trick with the water took a very certain amount of power, too much and the jug would have shattered, not enough and there would’ve been no difference. Not only that, but he had taken all of the water out of the sand. These men had no idea how difficult that simple act had been. He probably cooled the water while he was at it. She thought with envy.
Imad noticed her look of astonishment and gave her a small smile, motioning for her to sit in her corner.
Riva snapped her jaw shut and went and sat, still marveling. She could burn people up, shove wind and pull water down a mountain, all that took was brawn. Put enough power behind it and the elements will listen to you, Imad worked his magic so cleverly. Gently encouraging the sand and water to leave each other...
She shook her head in awe.
“Have you never seen magic before?” Imad asked, making her jump.
Riva looked around, but the men had left silently. After she found herself alone she answered, “I’ve seen witches with potions and travelers with tricks but that was real magic.” She forced a shudder. “I saw how dirty that water was... how did you...” she asked, truly curious.
Imad shrugged with false modesty. “You just have to know the right words.”
Riva swallowed back an angry retort, she knew it took much, much, more than that. Her eyebrows went up and her eyes widened in disbelief and she asked in a barely hushed tone. “You mean it?”
Imad chuckled, “No, I’m afraid not.”
Again Riva forced her body and expression to fall. She only hoped she wasn’t milking it a little too much. Imad was smart and a born liar, he’d see through it if she wasn’t careful.
However, Imad seemed to be enjoying the admiration. This gave Riva hope.
He launched into a lecture of how the art of magic must be passed down, father to son. What is it with these people and women? Riva thought, smoldering inside, but she put on an attentive face and nodded.
Half-way through his lecture he seemed to remember who he was speaking to and declared that he was tired and going to bed. “For tonight you may sleep there. A slave will come in the morning to fill my bowl and beat the rugs. You will help.”
Riva’s curiosity got the better of her. “Do the other slaves sleep somewhere else? Why haven’t I seen slaves around the camp? Or around the King? You’d think that a King would have hundreds of slaves.” Only after she have voiced her questions did she realize that Imad might find them insolent.
Perhaps he was too tired or remembered that she was a foreigner, either way he answered without malice. “The camp has a community of slaves, they serve and they are fed. The King has personal slaves, but they are hidden when he has company. You are an exception, because you are different.” He paused and considered his words. “You could say it’s because you’re rare, so you have a higher value, even if you are Alstearian.” He spat the last word in disgust.
So that’s why he looks at me with contempt sometimes. Imad had a bone to pick with Alsteare? What rotten luck. Why did he want me then? Does he want information? He hadn’t asked her anything yet, but it was a possibility.
Imad sighed and closed the tent wall without another word. Magic shot through the air and the lamp sizzled quietly.
Riva shook her head in the darkness, if she had tried that the tent would’ve gone up in flames. No wonder Kadric was always telling her never to use magic unless absolutely necessary. His motto was: “You have two legs and two hands, use them.” He would allow her to practice only for the sake of learning things. He believed that if you understood the theory, you could complete the deed. She had never had the luxury of experience or learned the delicacy of finesse. Imad made her want to try.
Wearily Riva curled up on her rug and tried to sleep.
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