A Thousand Nights Read Free Page A

feel it, in my soul.

LO-MELKHIIN’S HORSES WERE SWIFT, like the wind circles that danced on the sand. Our father’s tents, and the tents around our well, were swallowed up by the sky
before I had time to look back at them. They had been my whole world, before the guard lifted me into the saddle, and now they were lost to me. Never again would I tell my sister stories, using the
warm light of the lamp to make shadows with my hands on the canvas. I would be a queen, for however short a time, and I would never live in a tent again.
    Lo-Melkhiin rode at the head of the party, and his guards arrayed themselves around me in a loose formation. They need not have bothered. I was new to riding, and spent my concentration staying
upright. Even had I been able to get away, I had nowhere to go. If I went home to my village, the guards could simply follow me there, and if I tried to flee into the desert, I would be food for
the sand-crows sooner than if I stayed my course. So I watched the guards, how they sat and how they held their legs against their horses’ flanks. I did my best to mimic their seat, and after
a while my muscles ached. I was glad my veil hid my face. I had no wish for them to see me suffer.
    When the sun was high, we halted to water the horses. They were desert-bred, and could ride all day if they had to, but their way would be easier if we let them rest. Lo-Melkhiin wore no spurs.
I had always thought that horses must be expensive, because even our father did not have one, and now I knew they must be, because Lo-Melkhiin was kind to his. He held the beast’s head
himself, and raised the water skin to its lips for it to drink. His hand was light upon the horse’s face, and I began to wonder.
    What sort of man could have so much blood on his hands that he could choose a wife within moments of seeing her, and know that she would soon be added to the litany of the dead, but would call a
halt on the ride home to spare the horses? I had not stopped to think, in my haste to save my sister. I had thought of her life, of her mother’s happiness, and I had not thought about what
was to be my marriage. One night or thirty, I would know Lo-Melkhiin, who laughed at my sister’s tears and watered his horse with his own hands.
    We had spoken of marriage, of course, my sister and our mothers and I. We had stitched the purple dishdashah I wore, and filled it with the hopes and dreams of our future. We knew that someday,
our father would announce my sister’s match, and then mine soon after, and we would move into the tents of our husbands’ families. There would be a feast, and songs, and all the old
traditions. And there would be the wedding night. I would have none of that, now, except the last.
    I looked down from my perch on the horse’s back. No one had come to help me dismount, and I was determined not to fall trying. The guard who had pulled me away from my sister was tall, and
wore riding leathers much more suited to the desert than my dress. He came toward me, holding out a water skin. I took it from him, drinking only a little before handing it back, and he did not
meet my eyes.
    “Salt,” said Lo-Melkhiin. It was the first word I heard him say.
    The guard passed up his salt canister, a small ornate box he carried at his waist. When I held it in my hands, I realized it was wood, and worth more than the cloth I wore. Inside it was the
precious mineral that would keep us all alive in the desert sun. I licked my finger and coated it in the coarse white grains. I knew it would taste foul, but I slid my hand under my veil and forced
myself to eat it all, and then the guard passed me the water skin again. I took more this time, to cleanse my mouth of the taste, but I was still able to watch him stow the canister away,
carefully, securely. Almost lovingly. It was worth more than wood to him.
    “Thank you,” I said.
    Too late, I wondered if that was permitted. Some men did not allow their wives to speak