1637: The Peacock Throne (31) by Flint Eric & Barber Griffin

Author:Flint, Eric & Barber, Griffin [Flint, Eric & Barber, Griffin]
Language: eng
Format: epub
Tags: Action & Adventure, Fiction, War, Alternative History, Science Fiction, time travel
ISBN: 9781982125356
Google: uAX6zQEACAAJ
Amazon: 1982125357
Goodreads: 55711563
Publisher: Baen
Published: 2021-05-04T07:00:00+00:00

Harem precincts

“What are you smiling about, Salim?” Dara asked as Salim and Firoz approached the slightly raised dais the emperor sat upon to watch the fights.

“Sultan Al’Azam?” Salim asked, stopped in his tracks by the emperor’s tone. He glanced about, relieved there were only four slaves in earshot of the conversation, though all of them were visibly tense.

Dara’s expression was stone. “You smiled. I ask what it is you are smiling about.”

Salim bowed, deeply. “Sultan Al’Azam, I smile because I am happy in your service.”

“You are, are you?”

“Indeed I am, Sultan Al’Azam.”

“Sultan Al’Az—” Firoz began, attempting to deflect the emperor’s wrath.

“When I want you to speak, eunuch, I will command it,” Dara said, glaring at Firoz.

Firoz prostrated himself. “Forgive me, Sultan Al’Azam,” he mumbled.

Dara ignored Firoz to focus his anger on Salim. “So, what is it about serving me that pleases you?”

Reeling a bit from the sudden vehemence of Dara’s attack, Salim struggled to find words that would not make him sound like a sycophant. “I have found many challenges in your service, Sultan Al’Azam.”

“Such as dishonoring my sister? Mocking my hospitality?” the emperor barked.

“Your s—” Salim began.

“Yes, my sister: Begum Sahib. No doubt you found it a grand challenge to sully her with your touch. First to suborn my servants then to inveigle me into pliant placidity.”

The war elephant chose that moment to trumpet once again, making everyone but Dara flinch. Salim could only shake his head, stunned at the scope of these baseless accusations. Had he not known better, he would have thought someone had been whispering vile rumor into the emperor’s ear.

“Say this, at least, of Salim Gadh Yilmaz’s honor: he made no effort to lie to me when confronted with his shameful impropriety.”

“Lie? Suborn? Impropriety?” Salim asked, anger cutting through his surprise and making each word louder and sharper than the last. “I have not lied. I have not touched your sister. I am your faithful and obedient servant. I would not disrespect you nor your sister!”

Dara scoffed. “I know you met. I know you desire her.”

Unable to answer that without betraying his feelings for Jahanara Begum and condemning himself, Salim took a deep steadying breath and said slowly, “Sultan Al’Azam, I am not your enemy.”

“Then what are—” Dara’s angry retort was cut short by a groan. He surged erect, walking toward the edge of the dais. Salim’s gaze caught Dara’s contorted expression. No longer angry, it was bewildered, eyelids closing unevenly. Then, the emperor’s entire body convulsed. Moaning, he toppled forward, falling atop one of his body slaves with a heavy thud that frightened Salim more than the unreasoning anger of a moment before.

While Salim struggled, first to comprehend what had happened, then to thank God Dara had not fallen over the balcony, Firoz leapt into action. He pulled the emperor from the tangle of slave and silks.

Salim broke free of his stupor and barked at a slave, “Find Gervais or the up-timer physicians!”

Firoz eased Dara onto a set of cushions and commanded some order out of the trembling slaves.

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