"Of course." Shahjahan motioned to someone he couldn't see, and then his main chamber servant, Seyed, came forwardto help prop him up on pillows. Everythinghurtbut sitting up was much better than laying down. Returning with the water, Shahjahan resumed his seat by his bed and handed the water over.
Bakhtiar's left hand was bandaged, but though it hurt, mostly it was stiff and itchy, so he took the water and sipped it slowly. His right arm was bandaged from the wrist to past the elbow, and hurt alot, like he'd cut it open or something. "What happened?"
"Kashi happened," Shahjahan replied.
"Kashi?" That made no sense, he was a well-established presence amongst the staff that exclusively served the royal family. "I don't understand."
"He was paid to get the man who assaulted you into your office to ambush you. He used some drunks to distract your guards, smuggled in a man to wait for you in your office to ambush you. It was by the gods alone that Kurosh took the secret passages to find you and arrived in time to keep the bastard from finishing the job," Shahjahan spat out, his voice not quite breaking on the last words. "We almost lost you, my son, and I never would have forgiven myself."
"For what? You weren't the one who nearly beat me to death. Or paid a man to beat me to death. I still don't understand why Kashi is involved at all." Kashi had been part of his staff for years, hardworking and trustworthy, reliable except for all the missing stuff the past couple of years, but Bakhtiar had never pursued the matter because what was the point? His family had made up their minds about him.
"Drink this next," Shahjahan said quietly. "You need to rest and heal. The tale of that backstabbing cretin can wait."
"What are you doing here?" Bakhtiar asked, taking the cup of tea that no doubt had a measure of dream powder in it that would help with pain but also put him right back to sleep.Which was the best way to let his body heal, but he hated it anyway. "Surely you have more important things to be doing."
"There is nothing more important than you, Bakhti, and the fact you think otherwise shows an egregious failing on my part for which I will never forgive myself. You are my son, infinitely precious to me, and I nearly lost you. Of course I am here."
Bakhtiar drank the drugged tea and set the cup aside. "Dare I ask where Mother is?"
"Sleeping, she was watching you until an hour ago. Jahanara, Aradishir, and the others are managing our duties and yours. Your assassin over there has killed four people so far, and I do not believe he is finished. He's lucky he knows his business and the guards ask no questions about disposing of bodies," Shahjahan added dryly.
Turning to follow his gaze, Bakhtiar saw Farrokh and Kurosh curled up together in Farrokh's bed. No doubt giving him space while he was healing. "Are they all right?"
"Worried about you in the extreme. As I said, Kurosh is rooting out every single rat tied to Kashi and those merchants who arranged the ambush, and he has no mercy to spare. The only reason Kashi himself lives is that he can still provide information, but Kurosh made certain he would never move on his own again."
Bakhtiar might have smiled a bit if he hadn't been in so much pain. Everyone thought him stupid or mad for taking the man paid to kill him as his concubine, but all that deadly talent had been turned toward his protection, for no real reason at all.
You're so beautiful.
Are you insane?
Perhaps. Are you going to kill me now?
Instead, Kurosh had simply left, and though Bakhtiar had wanted to keep the strange encounter to himself he'd told hisfamily about it because it was important to know about such a frightening breech in palace security.
A month later, Kurosh had reappeared, beaten and broken and close to bleeding out. He'd never left the palace again.
"So tell me of Kashi," Bakhtiar said around a yawn.
"Later, my son. He's a backstabbing cretin, and he's been arrested. That is all that matters for now. Rest, heal. We'll tell you everything when next you wake."
Bakhtiar didn't have it in him to argue, succumbing easily to the dream powder.
The next time he woke, it was to singing—his mother and her concubines were singing prayers, spread out around the edges of his bed, lamps spaced between them. "Mother, you're making me feel like I'm attending my own funeral."
Her head snapped up, the singing falling away, and she smiled faintly. "Bakhti, you must be feeling better if you have smart-mouthed comments ready immediately upon waking. How are you feeling, my love?"
She hadn't called him that in years. Bakhtiar willed back the stinging in his eyes. He was an adult, closer to thirty than twenty, he didn't need his mother calling him silly endearments. "I'm fine. Well, no, I guess not, but you know what I mean. Not hurting as much as before."
"You've been asleep for quite some time, nearly a whole day, and two days before that. We were quite afraid." Her lip trembled briefly before she regained her legendary control. "Would you like some tea?"
"Please. Kurosh? Farrokh?"
"Kurosh is with Kashi, who probably wishes he was dead by now, but he won't be that lucky for some time yet."
"Farrokh?"
Fahima's mouth quirked in amusement before she nodded to something past him.
