Ginn Hale - Lord of the White Hell book Two

"Now that I'm keeping company with dukes and princes who is to say I'll settle for just some mother's son?" Kiram spoke lightly but his heart ached at how close his words were to the truth. None of them would ever compare to Javier.

"I told Mother you wouldn't have any of them." Light laughter softened Dauhd's tone. "Still, if I were you, I wouldn't hold much hope for Musni either. I mean, if that's what you're thinking."

"It's not," Kiram assured her.

"Good, because I don't want a prick snatch for a brother. He's married now, you know."

"I know." Kiram drew in deep breaths and listened, reac- quainting his senses with the scents and noise of his home. The soft patter of footsteps across wooden floorboards grew louder and Kiram looked up in time to see his mother at the door. His father came in just behind her. Kiram's eldest sister Siamak and his bachelor elder brother Majdi both arrived soon after.

Kiram's mother still wore her gold candy apron over her fine linen clothes. Her long, curling gray hair was pinned back, though a few delicate white curls hung loose. Kiram didn't think she looked anything near her fifty-eight years.

The smell of honey and almonds enfolded Kiram as she knelt down beside him and hugged him.

"You look terrible, Kiram." His mother drew back inspecting him. "Absolutely filthy. Haven't you had a bath?" Over her shoulder Kiram saw his father give him a friendly wink. His father too wore his work clothes, but unlike his mother's spotless gold apron his father's leather apron and canvas pants were stained with machine oil and singed in places. His hair burst out from his head like a wild nimbus cloud and black grease streaked his forehead and nose.

Kiram's mother licked her thumb and then reached up and scrubbed it across Kiram's cheek as she had done countless times when he had been a small child. As her warm finger brushed over his scar again and again Kiram realized that she was trying to wipe it off as if it were road dust.

Kiram caught her hand.

"It's just a scar, Mum." Kiram tried to sound offhanded.

His mother looked horrified. "How on earth did. this happen? Did one of those Cadeleonians do this?"

"It just happened during battle practice. I don't even remember how." Kiram prayed that his mother wouldn't be able to tell that he was lying. To his relief his brother Majdi laughed.

"Mum, you've got to stop babying him." Majdi strode forward and plopped down on a pillow next to Kiram. He squinted at Kiram's face. "That's hardly a scratch! He probably got it picking a pimple."

Kiram's pride flared at having one of the worst injuries of his life described as no more than a pimple but at the same time he sensed that his brother was right.

Majdi was a year younger than their widowed sister Siamak but had traveled much more widely. He shared their uncle Rafie's sun-beaten dark skin and short Cadeleonian hairstyle. When it came to worldly experience he seemed to effortlessly outshine Kiram. As if to prove this, Majdi rolled up the sleeve of his light linen shirt, exposing a long jagged scar that ran from his wrist up past his elbow. "That was just from some piece of rope that got loose when I was in the rigging. Nearly tore my arm off, but I hardly noticed it at the time."

"Don't encourage your little brother." Kiram's mother pulled Majdi's sleeve back down.

"He's not a baby anymore, Mum," Siamak protested from the doorway. Of all of them she most resembled their mother, her face round and almost childlike in its youthfulness, her hair kinked and thick as rope. She was also the one who most often quarreled with their mother.

"He certainly is," Kiram's mother replied and she gave Siamak the kind of look that told Kiram that the two of them had been arguing about this earlier. "No child ever stops being a mother's baby, no matter how old she or he gets."

"We're adults-" Siamak began.

"Won't Uncle Rafie and Alizadeh want to see Kiram?" Dauhd suddenly suggested.

"Yes, absolutely," Kiram's father agreed.

Siamak scowled but allowed the subject to drop, which Kiram appreciated. He didn't feel up to listening to a fight just yet.

"Majdi," Kiram's mother decided, "go ask Fiez to inform your uncle Rafie that Kiram has returned, early. Or better yet, why don't you go yourself? You aren't doing anything, are you?"

"Nothing important," Majdi replied, then he leaned in close to Kiram. "Enjoy your freedom while you can. A couple of days from now she's going to be ordering you around as well, you know."

His mother batted Majdi's shoulder but he just gave her an easy, teasing smile. He stood and ruffled Kiram's hair. "Welcome home, Kiri."

Just as Majdi started for the door, Fiez appeared with a tea platter. Rafie and Alizadeh stood behind her in the dim hallway. Kiram waved at the two of them, but something seemed wrong to him. Rafie appeared as youthful as ever-his skin richly dark and his hair the color of cotton. But as they came closer Kiram was shocked to realize that Alizadeh walked with a cane and leaned heavily on Rafie's arm. His lean body seemed almost emaciated and his skin seemed faintly gray.

"Well, looks like my work's done," Majdi said. He dropped back down to a pillow.

"What good timing!" Kiram's father exclaimed.

"You're looking much better, Alizadeh," Siamak commented.

Dauhd nodded her agreement and took the tea tray from Fiez. The entire family choose pillows and sat around the low table. Alizadeh took his seat next to Kiram and offered him a warm smile. Kiram's father poured the steaming, fragrant tea into small green glazed cups and Majdi passed them around the table.

"Do you know what made you so ill?" Kiram asked Aliza- deh. He suspected that he already knew what might have harmed Alizadeh so badly. He could remember Alizadeh's voice in his ear, warning him that the curse required blood. At the time he'd just been relieved to have lived, but now that he considered it, he couldn't help but think of the immense distance Alizadeh must have reached across to draw those crows to Kiram's defense and of their horrific deaths. How much of their suffering had Alizadeh shared?

"You know." Alizadeh shrugged and offered Kiram a quick conspiratorial smile. "One picks these things up every now and then. The worst is long past. So don't worry yourself. I'm on the mend."

Kiram hugged Alizadeh fiercely and everyone in the room laughed because it doubtlessly looked like a wildly sentimental action.

"He's fine, Kiram," Siamak told him. "You're such a child."

"I'm not," Kiram replied. Even to him, his tone sounded petulant and babyish. "I just wouldn't want anything to happen to my family, that's all."

"I didn't say it was a bad thing," Siamak replied. Kiram's mother nodded her agreement as well.

"Familial affection is charming in a young man." Kiram's mother sipped a little of her tea and then looked pointedly at Majdi. "In an old bachelor, on the other hand, it might seem like he's just gotten spoiled, living at home."

Majdi grinned and accepted a spoonful of honey from Kiram's father.

"We brought this for you, Kiram." Rafie pushed a small box across the table to him.

"Thankyou," Kiram responded.

"Now, how did you know he was back?" Dauhd asked Rafie while Kiram carefully opened the tiny latch on the box.

"A bird told me," Alizadeh replied.

"That gossip, Pahmi, you mean," Siamak retorted.

Alizadeh shrugged. Kiram's parents and siblings laughed, but Kiram didn't. He wondered if Alizadeh really had spoken to a crow or if he had known because Kiram wore his medallion. A year ago he might have thought either an absurd idea but now he felt a quiet wonder.

Inside the box Kiram found a folding knife with ivory inlay all along its handle. He lifted it out and marveled at the smooth motion of the long blade as he slid it out of the handle and locked it in place.