Sultan's Choice: Tales of the Djinn, #5 Read online

  Since Georgie had snuck out unannounced, Connor decided to leave a note.

  OUT FOR A WANDER. WILL BE CAREFUL.

  PLEASE HAVE A HAPPY, PRODUCTIVE DAY.

  Signing “Love, Connor” gave him a warm feeling. Opening his heart to new people was pleasurable. He placed his note on the pillow beside Iksander. Then he washed up, dressed, and slipped out.

  He used his angel mojo on the guards, who let him out of the palace without asking where he was going. His guilt over ignoring what he knew to be Iksander’s wishes was tolerable. If Connor’s creator allowed him to run free, surely the sultan could loosen his reins a few inches.

  Iksander’s palace sprawled atop the city’s highest hill. The winding street Connor followed down it forced his thighs and calves to wake up. The day was already bright and warm, but this neighborhood of the upper classes had barely begun to stir. Their white residences were grand but pretty, with flowers blooming in the windows and palms rising from walled gardens. Servants were about, naturally. Many smiled at him as he passed. One young boy who’d been sleeping by a gate with an orange cat jumped up like he’d been stung.

  He immediately ran back in the direction Connor had emerged from.

  Connor chuckled to himself. Maybe the boy was Iksander’s spy, dashing off to inform the guards of his unapproved getaway.

  That wasn’t true probably. Though he wasn’t human, Connor had an imagination like one sometimes.

  Because the sultan had supplied him and Georgie with pocket money, Connor purchased breakfast from the convenient street vendors. Their hand-squeezed orange juice was so fresh it was like swallowing the sun, their meat pastries so fragrant he collected a small mewing entourage of cats. The city had a lot, he noticed, and Iksander’s people took care of them. Feeding the loudest tom the last of his meal, he found himself on a promenade overlooking a broad harbor.

  Here, gulls wheeled lazily above clear green waves. The birds had no trouble spotting fish. The sandy shoals beneath the water were pristine enough to glow. Along the seawall, two children played a game of tag that involved shifting from two legs to smoke form. Connor saw no parents on watch nearby, but the boy and girl were as light-footed as the street cats. Figuring it couldn’t hurt, he sent them a gentle blessing of protection.

  While he was at it, he blessed the gulls as well.

  His surroundings were so beautiful he experienced a sudden longing for Georgie and Iksander. Though he didn’t mind being alone, he’d have liked sharing his pleasure. Back when he was a formless scintillation of energy, he wouldn’t have guessed specific people could add so much to his happiness.

  I hope the three of us stay together here, he thought, stopping short of praying. In this extra-magical city, prayers could have extra influence. However much he evolved, he always wanted to let others steer their ships. That seemed basic to his nature—his North Star, he supposed.

  “Is sir interested in entertainment?” a polite voice to his left inquired.

  Connor turned. A lithe young man had come up to him. Twenty or so, he was very tan, his blue eyes prematurely creased from squinting at the sun. His black outer robes were good quality but plain for a djinni.

  “Entertainment?” Connor repeated.

  “I am acquainted with many friendly ladies,” the young man informed him. “Beautiful ladies, such as the sultan himself would not hesitate to know.”

  Connor laughed. He must look like a wealthy tourist in the clothes he’d borrowed from Iksander. “Thank you, but I have friends already. I have devoted my heart to them.”

  “Wine then. Or magical substances to expand the mind. Whatever you wish, I—Kerem—can help you obtain.”

  “I’m afraid I’m not in the market for any of those things.”

  Kerem, apparently, wasn’t easily dissuaded from go-getting. “My office is close. I am skilled at fortune telling. I’ll read your tea leaves for free.”

  Connor had never had his fortune told. As a former celestial messenger, he wasn’t certain he had one. Though he suspected Iksander would recommend against agreeing to this proposal, his interest was piqued. “Your office is close?”

  “A small walk only. We’d be there in two wisps.”

  “All right,” Connor said, “but I’ll pay you for the reading. I don’t think you should work for free.”

  Kerem’s “office” was a narrow storefront whose entrance he shut from the street by pulling a black curtain. Inside were a cloth-covered table, two mismatched velvet chairs, and a single burner for making tea.

  While the djinni prepared a pot, Connor admired the glass herb jars that filled his wall of shelves. Though unlabeled, they smelled lovely. Soothing, he thought, settling into his impromptu adventure.

  “Here.” Kerem placed a flowery English-style cup and saucer on the table in front of him then sat in the opposite chair. “Drink up while it’s hot.”

  A sip informed Connor the tea was delicious. “Mm,” he said and finished it.

  Kerem took the cup back from him. Whatever pattern the leaves formed provoked a scowl. Was the young man’s expression part of an act, or did he truly read something peculiar?

  “What do you see in there?” Connor asked.

  Kerem tilted the cup to a different angle and frowned harder. “This is impossible. The leaves are refusing to tell me anything.”

  Connor didn’t want him to be upset. “Perhaps I don’t have a fortune. I am an unusual man.”

  “Everyone has a fortune.” As Kerem shifted his gaze to him, his irises began to glow. Djinn were prone to this happening under strong emotions. Remembering belatedly that his eyes could also betray his race, Connor set his intent to shield. This seemed to increase the djinni’s determination to probe him.

  “Give me your hands,” the man demanded.

  He didn’t wait for permission, taking Connor’s wrists in a fierce double grip. His fingers were hot and hard. Connor’s bones tingled not with attraction but magic.

  Goodness, he thought. He’s trying to work a spell on me.

  “Perhaps you shouldn’t do that,” he cautioned. Djinn had tried to charm him before without success. When he attempted to tug away, Kerem’s hold tightened.

  “Tell me what you want.” The compulsion Kerem pushed through his voice deepened it. More power ran up Connor’s arms. Despite the current’s strength, he felt no urge to obey. Beads of sweat popped out on the djinni’s brow.

  “World peace?” Alarmed by the djinni’s reaction, Connor laughed nervously. “Naturally, I’d only want that if it’s what people wish. Hu- djinn do seem to incarnate for different reasons than having easy lives.”

  Kerem leaned forward across the table, his eyes truly burning now. “You don’t need to dissemble. Tell me your deepest yearning. Your secrets are safe with me.”

  By now, Connor was certain this wasn’t true. “Please stop spelling me. I don’t want you to hurt yourself.”

  “My will is set. You must reveal your desire!”

  Djinn believed certain acts would turn them ifrit—a dark version of a genie they thought went to hell after death. Murder qualified as a damning sin, but would Kerem’s forcible use of magic be considered severe enough? That Connor didn’t subscribe to fire-and-brimstone philosophies didn’t matter. The djinn’s mindset drove them.

  “Please stop,” he repeated. “Your immortal soul isn’t worth whatever you’re attempting.”

  Kerem’s face went dusky red with strain. “Almost . . . got it . . .”

  Whatever the young man thought he had, he didn’t. His eyes rolled back without warning, his spine stiffening so sharply his chair toppled. He fell to the floor in a seizure, his limbs shaking violently.

  “Good Lord,” Connor gasped. He dropped to his knees beside the jerking man, afraid to touch him in case his angelic energy made the reaction worse. He wasn’t used to feeling panic; he experienced it so rarely. Should he call for help? A doctor? Would one who could assist be near enough?

  He needs a go
od sorcerer, he thought.

  As luck would have it, he knew exactly where to find the best in the city.

  “Hold on, Kerem,” he said, though he wasn’t certain the man could hear. “I’m flying you to help.”

  Despite passing for a djinni, Connor couldn’t smoke like one. What he could do was levitate. He gathered Kerem up, ran out the curtained door, and catapulted into the air.

  If he’d stop to think about it, he took off like Superman.

  Because he was naturally happy, he enjoyed the swift journey.

  But he couldn’t do anything about that, and really why should he try? He made his face convey urgency as he landed back in the palace grounds. He needed the half dozen guards who were jogging over to take him seriously.

  “This man is ill,” he said. “He needs immediate attention. Please fetch Joseph the Magician.”

  Iksander’s security was so well trained they didn’t need to speak. Their leader snapped his fingers and two smoked off. That done, he addressed Connor politely. “This way, sir. We’ll put this man in the guard post for the time being.”

  The guard post was a simple room off the yard Connor had alighted in—positively Spartan by djinn standards. The fortuneteller was unconscious but still breathing. They’d just laid him on a bench when three smoke forms streaked through the open door.

  Joseph’s transformation from cloud to djinni was the crispest.

  Connor had met the sorcerer once before, at a dinner for Iksander’s friends the night they arrived in his city. The tall, dark-haired man had been savvy enough to guess what Connor was, a discovery that made him wary but not afraid. As a member of the sultan’s inner circle, he was very much trusted. Calm as well. As soon as he had feet to take him, he strode smoothly to where the sick man lay. His head jerked straighter when he saw Kerem’s face.

  “He’s one of ours,” he said.

  “One of yours?” Connor asked.

  Joseph pressed his lips together. “Give us a bit of space,” he instructed the guards’ captain.

  “Shall we bar the door?”

  “Yes,” he confirmed. “This situation may require discretion.”

  “I’m discreet,” Connor said before he too could be ordered off.

  Joseph looked at him with steady honey-colored eyes. “As you wish.”

  With a casual crooking of two fingers, he magically waved a small stool closer. He sat and took Kerem’s hand—not to comfort the unconscious man but to study the flow of energy in his palm.

  “He’s all right,” he said after a few moments. “Or he will be after he’s slept a day or two. He seems to have fried his circuits, probably by shoving too much power through them. What was he doing when he passed out?”

  Connor explained the situation as succinctly as he could.

  “He wanted to know your deepest desire?”

  “It seemed more important to him than telling my fortune. I don’t know why. I’d never met him before today.”

  Joseph hummed thoughtfully.

  “Who is he?” Connor asked.

  “A palace magician. Not a bad one either. He’s worked with us for years.”

  “Why would he pretend to be a simple street sorcerer?”

  Though Joseph shook his head, Connor sensed he had a theory. Rather than push him to reveal it, he shared his own.

  “When people know what you want, sometimes they can use it as leverage.”

  Joseph’s grimace suggested he’d hit the mark. “Kerem is a particular favorite of the valide sultana.”

  “Iksander’s mother?”

  “Yes.” Joseph rubbed his thighs uncomfortably.

  “I don’t understand why that’s significant.”

  “Neither do I. Yet.” He met Connor’s eyes again. “Let’s move this man to the infirmary. I don’t believe he’s in serious danger, but they’ll look out for him.”

  Joseph seemed reluctant to discuss his thoughts in the comatose man’s presence.

  “He hasn’t turned himself dark over this, has he?” Connor felt compelled to ask.

  “Not that I’m aware. He may be lucky your resistance blocked him before he went too far.”

  If Kerem were cognizant on some level of what they said, Joseph’s tone was a warning for him not to try again.

  Chapter 4

  By the time Georgie returned to the royal suite, Iksander was out of bed. A male servant was just leaving. Apparently, he’d been helping the sultan dress. Iksander’s outfit was colorful but formal, gussied up with a yellow shoulder sash and a sparkling hip scimitar. His curly toed slippers glinted with—for him—modest-sized rubies.

  “There you are,” he said, his smile easing some of her tension. “I’m due shortly for a meeting with a visiting ambassador. I hoped I’d see you before I left.”

  He kissed her cheeks, his hands chafing her arms affectionately. “Connor went off exploring. I’m not sure where. He left a note, if you’re interested.”

  “Sorry I didn’t think to do that.”

  Iksander laughed. “Don’t pretend you meant to. You were being sneaky. I suspect I’ve kept the pair of you on too short a leash. You’re used to being ‘free range.’”

  She loved seeing him in an easy, bright mood like this. His grin was wonderful, his happiness crinkling his djinn green eyes. Whatever his mood, she didn’t want to imagine her life without him—no more than she wanted to imagine it without Connor.

  “What’s wrong?” he asked, touching her cheek gently. “You look serious.”

  “Don’t be alarmed but I, um, met your mother this morning.”

  “My mother!” His brows shot up in surprise.

  Georgie rubbed her right temple. Should she explain about Yasmin’s cat disguise? She didn’t want to get her in trouble, which blabbing seemed like it might do. “I went for a walk in the palace gardens. When I swerved to avoid some guards, I ended up at the harem. Your mother was planning to summon me today, so she didn’t mind me showing up unannounced.”

  “Hopefully, she wouldn’t let you think she minded even if she did. Any friend of mine should be treated with respect.”

  “She was . . . perfectly nice,” Georgie said, reluctant to get into the compulsion thing when he was pressed for time. At some point, yes, even if it was awkward. Then again, maybe the sultana magically nudging her inferiors was no big deal to her.

  Iksander’s noble brow had begun to furrow. “What did my mother do?”

  “Offered me a room?” Georgie said unsurely.

  “In the harem?”

  “Yes. I turned it down. I’d rather stay with you while we’re here. As long as that won’t cause trouble. To be honest, the harem seems a little stifling to someone of my background.”

  Iksander leaned back against a table and crossed his arms. “Of course it does. I’d never suggest you move in there. Good Lord, I can’t even imagine!”

  His vehemence surprised her. “Didn’t Najat have rooms there?”

  “Yes.” He gathered her hand in his. They didn’t often speak of his former wife. “She kept them even after she became my kadin. She valued her women’s retreat, she said.”

  “Your mother thought I might benefit from the pampering. Beauty treatments and all that.”

  She had no warning for the heated blush that sprang into her cheeks. Seeing it, Iksander rubbed her knuckles. “You don’t need beauty treatments. You’re gorgeous as you are.”

  “Not like the harem women,” she confessed with some chagrin for her insecurity. “They’re cosseted and perfect.”

  Iksander pulled her into a gentle hug. “You’re perfect, Georgie.”

  “You liked it when I dressed up in their clothes.”

  “You were you dressing up. You’re not in competition with those djinniya. My heart is already yours and Connor’s.” He pushed back to look at her. “I hope you’ll stay here forever. That’s how committed I am to you.”

  She blushed in a different, more pleasant way. “I admit I enjoy hearing you say t
hat.”

  He laughed softly. “Well, that’s progress. When you say it back to me, we’ll be ready to exchange rings.”

  Her mouth fell open. Did he mean that as a joke? But maybe exchanging rings didn’t signify marriage to genies. Her hand rose to press her heart. She wasn’t sure, but possibly she hoped he’d meant exactly what she thought. Could she stay here with him? The more she came to care about him, the less impossible relinquishing her world seemed. She knew Connor didn’t hate the idea. Maybe . . . just maybe they could enjoy this relationship long-term.

  Seeming unaware of her confusion, he pressed quick lips to hers. “I should go, sweetheart. I’ll catch up with you later. Go anywhere you like but, please, for my sanity, take a guard if you can stand to. This world is new to you. You should have protection.”

  DESPITE RUNNING LONG, Iksander’s meeting was successful. He’d consented—provisionally, at least—to a new trade agreement. More importantly, he’d let the ambassador know the Glorious City was on firm ground again. Any rival rulers who came sniffing around for weakness wouldn’t be rewarded.

  “That went well,” Arcadius observed from the chair opposite Iksander’s desk.

  The city’s senior guardian was probably a tougher audience than the recently departed diplomat. Arcadius and his opposite Cade had been doubled magically. For various reasons, they couldn’t recombine afterwards. Cade’s time in the human world, where he’d met their shared fiancée, Elyse, seemed to have softened his stern nature. Arcadius was more set in his ways, though under Elyse’s influence he too was losing some hard edges. Now he leaned back in his seat with his fingertips pressed together. For him, the pose was unusually casual.

  “We have dinner with the vizier tonight,” he observed. “Murat plans on discussing business, but we could make the meal more social if you’d like to bring Connor and Georgie.”

  Coming from Arcadius, this suggestion was a surprise. Iksander wasn’t sure what it meant. “I wouldn’t mind bringing them,” he said.

  “How long are they staying?” Arcadius asked.

  “I’d be happy if it were forever.”

  Arcadius’s expression remained intent. “The relationship is that serious?”