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Rick had never given much thought to what his wedding would look like, assuming he had one, but he never would’ve expected the seven-day of celebrations befitting the next chieftain of the first tribe, future zaeim of all Medjai. He never would’ve predicted the hive of activity as the camp was flooded with well wishers from the outlying tribes, come to celebrate the marriage of their leader’s heir. Never in his wildest dreams would he have imagined the roaring heat from forges kept running day and night, the clanging of metal as blacksmiths churned out dozens of swords, etched with protective spells and songs, gifts for Ardeth’s shield-brothers to mark the occasion. He wouldn't have imagined it, but found the boisterous, crowded bustle comforting, felt at peace within the raucous atmosphere, the clusters of people around the storytellers as they sung the histories. He rubbed at the leather cuff obscuring the mark on his wrist. He had a place with these people, a purpose, and he would give his all to the tribe that embraced him wholeheartedly.
For her part Evie was central to the celebrations, absorbed within the throng of women, speaking little, secluded in a specially constructed tent, kept company only by Ardeth’s mother, his sister and a rotating guard of Tamajaq. Ardeth’s younger sisters, not yet women of the tribe, ran in and out, giggling and hooting with joy, bearing messages from her soon-to-be husbands. She smiled and kissed them twice on each cheek before sending them back out again bearing messages of her own, which they would pass to their brothers for the boys to deliver. She wondered how the two men were doing, how Rick was coping with it all. Her thoughts were drawn back to the present as she felt her hair grasped by leathered hands—Ardeth’s mother, Tadla Ult-Izem, weaving silver charms along her hair as she pulled it into an intricately braided web. The historian flushed, reminded again of her nakedness as the elder woman blew lightly along the still damp dye staining her skin, laboriously applied by the tribes-women. The woman pressed dual kisses to each cheek as she pulled her soon-to-be daughter to her feet, slipping a voluminous blue robe edged with silver embroidery over her bare body, intricately fastening it closed over the naked woman. Evie tried to keep the gratitude from her face, to keep from clutching the robe tightly around herself, skin feeling strange underneath the meticulous dye. Tadla stepped back, and Ardeth’s sister took her place, pressing a kiss to be backs of Evelyn's palms, Safiyya grinning at the foreign woman as she slid a silver knife inside a worked leather scabbard, slipping it into the belted sash. She winked, smirk firmly affixed on her face as she bowed her head to her soon-to-be sister, glad that Ardeth was finally binding the two foreigners to the Medjai. She liked Evelyn, she truly did, and was glad for the opportunity to welcome the once-Tamajaq back to the fold.
Evie blinked as she emerged into the soft light of dusk and the gathering of Tamajaq already astride their horses, eyes stinging as they adjusted from the brasier-lit confines of the tent. She was startled by the sudden outcry, the group that would accompany her into the desert whooping as they caught sight of her. Safiyya grasped her gently by the arm, leading Evelyn towards the horse waiting for her. It was a beautiful animal, a gleaming chestnut gelding that had been part of the price paid for her by their family.
“Go hunt down my brother and that fool of an American.” Evie grinned, something wicked and jubilant bubbling in her chest.
“With pleasure,” she answered, confident and perfectly befitting a future matriarch. Safiyya smirked again, reaching out to steady her soon-to be sister, helping her onto the back of the horse. She couldn’t wait to join the hunting party.
Ardeth had known that one day he would marry in the tradition of the tribe, that he would either hunt or be hunted by his spouse, would be carried by the whooping cries of the opposing marital parties as they charged, would feel his heart roaring to the beat of racing hooves. What he didn’t expect was to be the tie that had brought his partners back to the tribes, to reunite two matrilines back to the Medjai. He didn’t expect two foreigners, his two shield-brothers, the two heroes who had vanquished the Creature and freed him from his sacred duty. He was the heir to the tribes, he knew that one day he must marry and sire his own future successor, but had never expected binding himself eternal in matrimony to the man and woman that he couldn't live without.
Day had crested some time ago and Ardeth was more than ready to hunt his partners and claim the spoils. He had spent the night struggling to chase sleep, the inside of his head clogged with his thoughts, cocooned by the sounds of his bretheren’s revelry as they celebrated their long-time leader’s nuptials and the upcoming hunt. He knew Evie must be in a similar position inside the women’s camp but for the life of him had no idea where Rick was spending the night, where he had chosen to hole up throughout the darkened hours, if he had managed a fire and settled beside it in his bedroll. Come morning Rick would abandon both, it was likely, and take off on foot, giving both pursuers a target to chase. Anticipation bit deep into his blood, and Ardeth couldn’t wait to capture Rick, before running down Evie. With his sister at her side the group was sure to put up a hell of a fight, ritualised or no, and the thought of crossing blades with Evelyn, of fighting and subduing her, had his blood simmering, shuddering throughout his body, muscles twitching from his neck right down his torso, mouth turned dry as the desert, reflexive swallow getting tangled with the seized knot of his breath caught in his throat.
His dark arabian surged under him, and the Medjai at his back opened their screams to the sky, a ferocious accompaniment to the hollering of their mounts as their hooves pounded against the sand. Rick was on foot, dressed in his usual getup—boots, trousers, leather holsters—lacking a jacket, white shirt painted through with sweat. He’d had a head start, of course, but still, for a man alone, unaccustomed to the desert, he was easy prey. Ardeth and his group had caught up to Rick easily, the man bursting into a run as the Medjai crested the sandy horizon in pursuit of their quarry. It would be easy for Ardeth to run down the fleeing American astride his horse, a simple matter to bind the man and throw him across the rump of his mount, to ride victorious towards to the marital camp, a sedate clip that would give his outriders time to set up his tent, to give him a place to claim the spoils of the hunt.
It would’ve been simple, had not Evelyn chosen that moment to come charging across the horizon, the Tamajaq at her back fanning out behind her, cutting across Ardeth’s path. The women had to have already found Rick and been waiting for Ardeth to lead himself to them. Clever. With a united cry the outriders fell back, Medjai men and women wheeling their horses to form a circle around the mounted bride and groom, their third on foot between them, breathing heavy. Evie checked her horse, keeping some distance between herself and the dark warrior. Momentarily Ardeth was distracted, amazed that this fierce, beautiful woman was his. Fire bloomed in his blood, roaring along his veins as he studied her, body sure astride the horse that he had given her, hands steady with a skill he had taught her. His heart pounded along with the screams of the Medjai he had served with, voices raised as they chanted. Something coiled in his gut, a tight heat spurring his thoughts in such a way that he nearly missed it when Rick made a sudden dash for freedom, bolting between the two horses and making for the circle of mounted warriors. The pounding voices crescendoed and Evie raced towards the American, dropping from her horse directly in his path, braced for collision. But the expected impact didn’t arrive, Ardeth launching himself from his own horse to tackle both foreigners to the ground in a struggling mass of bodies, kicking up sand, barely able to distinguish where they themselves began and the other two ended.
The scene coalesced into this—Rick’s legs tangled with Evelyn’s, his throat caught in Ardeth’s fist, one hand gripping the Medjai’s arm and the other thrown across Evie’s waist, the other of Ardeth’s hands seized around Evie’s flyaway bejeweled braids, drawing her head to the side, exposing her neck, one knee pinned into Rick’s side, one of Evelyn’s hands reaching for Rick’s shoulder, the other levelling an engraved silver dagger at Ardeth's heart without hesitation. Ardeth’s breath hitched, blood bubbling in his heart as exhilaration closed itself in a vice-like grip around his lungs, carbonation fizzing out through his chest. His body ached—shoulder, Rick’s fist; ribs, Evie’s knee; cheek, ball of Evie’s palm; thigh, Rick’s knee—but heat coiled in his gut in spite, or perhaps because of, the dull pain. He was hyper-aware, electricity dancing across his skin, along his spine, tingling at his fingertips, his ribs, the nape of his neck. He lent forward, just enough to feel the tip of the knife dig through the fabric of his robes, biting into his skin just enough, staring into her eyes. She didn’t flinch, hand remaining steady, and his breath died in his throat, blood pounding south. Rick shifted beneath them both, and Ardeth’s awareness expanded until he realised that they were alone in the sand, except for his own black and Evie’s brown mount. He got to his feet in a single smooth motion, hoisting Rick up with him, noticing at last the bulging sash at Evelyn’s waist holding a familiar leather scabbard. Of course he had Safiyya to thank for this.
His heart was screaming with the need to kiss them, but he knew how fragile his control was at this moment, and their status demanded more than a desperate fuck in the sand. Rick’s eyes kept darting to Ardeth’s lips, his own parted, tongue repeatedly caressing them. Evie was flushed, eyes blown wide and desire flaming across her face. He escorted her to her horse, helping her mount, before boosting Rick up behind her. He was desperate to get back to their tent, and very thankful that their outriders had a headstart. Hopefully their camps would be merged by the time they got back, and the trio could head directly to their tent.
The camp was empty when they arrived, concentric arrangement of goat-hide shelters circling the marital tent entirely deserted. Evie knew that the men and women of the tribe who had filled the two hunting parties had hastened to set up the site then vacate the area, leaving the way clear for the two horses to tear into camp. Ahead of her Ardeth pulled his stallion to a halt and she followed suit, checking the chestnut gelding and practically falling in her haste to get onto the ground, awareness centred on the pulse between her legs. Rick hit the ground behind her and Ardeth was on him instantly, grabbing him roughly at the neck and waist, seizing his lips in a furious kiss before shoving him forward into the massive tent. She hurried to follow.
It was dark in the tent, compared to the harsh glare of the midday sun, and it took her eyes a moment to adjust. Inside, the ceiling was low, and a rough, embroidered weave bounded the huge space. There were braziers lining the margins of the cloth structure and the floor was covered in a tough, woven matting atop the sand, cushions and rugs softening the surface. There was no bed but she didn’t suppose it mattered as Ardeth forced Rick to his knees, gripping him roughly by the hair. The look on Rick's face was feral, backlit by the flickering dusk of the dull braziers, and she felt heat coil low in her belly, the foggy atmosphere of the room clouding her head. She was too hot, weighed down by the ornate robe, suddenly eager to be skyclad once more. Ardeth grinned his triumph as he grabbed at Rick’s arm roughly, tearing the leather cuff from his wrist and pressing a bruising kiss to the tattooed mark on his skin. Evie’s blood pounded, mind clogged with the pervasive spiced smog that gently wiped clear her thoughts, ember braziers radiating throughout the space.
Rick cried out when he was thrown to the ground, breath catching low in his throat as his heart hurtled forward, beating against his ribcage, gaze long since overtaken by the flaming incense hanging in the air. Heat roared in his blood, breathing drawn ragged as his shirt was forced from him, Ardeth’s rough hands divesting him of his clothes until he could feel the harsh slide of stubble scraping against his skin. He was on his back, the warrior above him, astride his waist, his hands trapped behind him. Ardeth was fully clothed, and the shattered strings of his mind seemed to take offence to that. Luckily Evie was there, approaching Ardeth from behind, the mass of silver-edged blue fabric that clothed her splayed open, revealing intricate staining across her pale, shining skin. Her hands found the ties of his own robe, and she pulled it from his body, Medjai panting as his flushed skin met the densely warm air. Rick blinked, and Evie had moved, in front of Ardeth now, letting the warrior shove her robe off her body and drawn her down towards the ground. He heard the schlump of the heavy mound of fabric hitting the padded floor and then she was by his side, naked save for the stain on her skin, Rick suddenly struggling against the weight of Ardeth above him. Evie was right there and he wanted her. He blinked, and there she was, below him, his hands spreading her thighs, digging in to her dusky flesh, his mouth seeking her. He cried out, blinking to realise that his tongue was drenched in her, mouth roughly seeking more, desperate to feel that acerbic taste coat his lips. There was something... something... Rick blinked aware to the feeling of being filled, stretched so good, hips bucking, unable to escape that torturous grip around his cock—
Rick blinked to find them shifted. He was on his back now, Evie atop him, sloppy and clinging around him, soaked with the evidence of multiple peaks. Ardeth was behind her, his thighs bracketing Rick’s own, the burnt ochre of his hands standing out in stark contrast to her paleness.
Evie’s mind was untethered, drifting somewhere at the top of her skull as she sunk forward onto Rick, shuddering as he filled her, writhing as Ardeth crowded her from behind, his chest against her back, his rough hands sliding down her body, one palm seizing her breast while the fingers of his other hand viciously worked between her legs, mercilessly twisting her higher. Her awareness surged, and she was pinned against Ardeth’s chest, fingers tangled in his hair, crying out as his teeth found the hollow of her throat, tracking along her collarbone, hemmed in against the broad expanse of Rick’s body, legs thrown around Ardeth’s back, head resting on Rick’s shoulder, hair spilling down his back. The next swell of consciousness found her seated on Ardeth’s lap, shuddering her release as she clenched around him, nails digging into Rick’s thigh where he stood before her, mouth swallowing him down as he twitched. Hands on her skin, she didn’t know whose, slick staining someone’s tongue, her very bones liquidating underneath her, joints giving in to the assault of pleasure, brilliant stretch, eyes rolled back in her head, exalting ululations pitched high to the clouded ceiling above.
Under the fog of the weighted, sacred smoke the Medjai heir passed in and out of awareness, barely conscious of the moment when vicious, furious motion turned soft and needy. A clear breeze stirred, and he felt the hard bud of Evelyn’s breast beneath his tongue as he gripped her, lay her on her back and sheathed himself in her, muscles twitching as he fought to keep steady, Rick drawing a low moan from him as he entered the man. Blankness, and then he was aware of her body pressed against his, her back to his chest, the feeling of her clenching around him, mindless in pleasure, his mouth at her neck and Rick pressed against her front, his hands gripping her skin, pulling at her hair, mouth and tongue rolling against her flesh so that she writhed. The fog closed once more, a gust of clarity bringing him to Rick’s mouth closed around him, his fingers inside Evie before he was gone again.
Eventually, the braziers winked out, carrying just enough scented fuel and temperate embers to carry them through to nightfall. Slowly the outside world crept in, the sounds of raised voices drifting through the woven walls of their own little world. Rick opened his eyes to find Evie tucked under his arm, Ardeth pressed against her other side, the other man’s own arm stretched across the back of his shoulders. Rick's own clothes were torn beyond repair but Ardeth draped the outer layer of his ceremonial gallibaya around his shoulders, the future leader of the tribes emerging into the burgeoning night clothed only in a clinging akarbey, flushed chest exposed to the cool evening air.
The three almunaqadh rose from their marital tent with the setting sun, entering the camp proper just as Safiyya separated from the guard of Medjai encircling the camp, weapons drawn, approaching the oncoming riders. She wheeled her horse, and declared in Arabic,
“I, Safiyya Ult-Izem, declare passage for Talda Ult-Izem and Amastan Bey, bringing the altabib alsaahir of the First Tribe”
“We, the vanguard, accept and grant passage to you, come and make merry in celebration”
If Evie was embarrassed to see Ardeth’s parents she didn’t show it, blood still clouded with the dregs of the burnt incense, face ripening the further she got from the tent, striding boldly by Ardeth’s side in spite of her state of undress—undone robe hanging open, azure cloth pants shielding her from the waist down. British sensibilities forgotten, she was one with the tribes now.
The fire was roaring, brilliant crackle of flames louder than even the chants of the assembled Medjai, louder than the cries of the bride and grooms as they were stretched out on the sand. Ardeth’s parents had joined the marital camp at dusk, ritualised procession shepherding the venerated altabib alsaahir to the celebration of the successful hunt. The world was narrowed to this moment, outriders—the Medjai who had long served under Ardeth, shared blood, sweat and battles to the death together, bound by friendship and their shared mission—ringing the flames, watching on as the esteemed altabib alsaahir gestured for the three to lie flat against the sand.
There was to be very little that was Western about the ceremony, Rick had suggested that maybe Evie would want a link to the culture of her birth, women seemed to care about that sort of thing, but she was insistent that they do this properly, the right way, and it wasn’t like she had any intention of returning to England, not when Rick had always loved this place, when Ardeth was bound by oath and honour, when she herself felt freer than she ever had before.
So Evelyn Carnahan lay in the sand of the desert, side by side with Rick and Ardeth. Sand pressed in against her face, was undoubtedly already in her mangled hair, and Evie became Evelyn Ult-Izem, or O’Connell in the eyes of the West she supposed, bound in soul and heart across this life and all others, and she felt in her bones that this was right. She didn’t even notice the piercing gazes of Talda and Amastan assessing the trio, Ardeth’s parents alone where neither Rick’s nor her own could join them. The dye that had been so painstakingly applied by the women of the tribe was smudged against Evie’s skin, faded, serving as contrast to highlight the blossoming bruises and marks along her body, the scores of nail marks and hickeys adorning the three of them exposed for all to see. Ardeth too had been painted, and the stains from their bodies had transferred to Rick. It was enough, and the Medjai raised their voices and armaments in celebration. The altabib alsaahir stepped forward and placed his wisened hands against the smooth skin of her back, tracing across the back of her shoulders and the upper portion of her biceps and she tried not to flinch. She knew it would hurt, a lot, that it would be done traditionally, that it would be permanent, but she wanted it, and all in all Evie was quite looking forward to her first tattoo.
The elder’s hands were steady across his skin and Rick remained still in the sand despite the chords of tension hardening his muscles, in spite of the way his teeth clenched down across a knot of leather to keep from crying out. The blood-brothers of the tribe watched on, Ardeth’s closest family—his, now—and Rick was determined to take the pain as the marital marks were permanently etched into the flesh of his shoulders and upper arms, an identical process happening to the other members of their triad. It wasn’t his first tattoo, certainly not Ardeth’s, but Rick hadn’t truly been prepared for the bone deep hurt, taken off guard by its familiarity. The mark on his wrist seemed to ache in remembered hurt and Rick itched to rub at it. He remembered when his mother had died, leaving him with just his aging nan, and the wisened old woman had slapped the mark on his wrist barely two weeks before she’d passed. He’d spent two months in a lawless, overcrowded Cairo orphanage before his distant father had decided to splurge on shipping his son over to live with him in America. They’d been abroad in France when the war had started and Rick had lied about his age to sign up with the Foreign Legion without hesitation, grabbing for the nearest one way trip back to Egypt. It hadn’t been until Ardeth that he had learned that the mark he always kept covered declared him a fifth tribe legacy, that his jida had been Tamajaq and wanted to mark him with his lineage, so that he would always be able to find his way home should he need it, and now he had.
Evie was sore down to her bones the next morning, lines of fire barely muted where they carved across her shoulders and down the flesh of her upper arms, solid bands of scabbed-over dark ink paralleled on Rick and Ardeth—her husbands, now. Aside from these near blinding agonies that had been so painstakingly borne throughout the night before, simmering embers of heat licked at her awareness whenever she moved, the junction of her thighs throbbing unpleasantly and the rest of her body little better off. Ardeth too was moving stiffly this morning, and though Rick was the only one without hesitance in his gait he winced fiercely whenever he shifted in such a way as to pull at the raw flesh between his neck and back. It was just lucky, she supposed, that Rick was the lowest in status of their triad, his grandmother having been of the fifth tribe and her mother of the fourth, because she was in no way up to riding. She supposed it was quite a scandal by Medjai standards, two near-foreigners barely of the upper tribes marrying the next Chieftain, but of the people she had met so far there was only support for the match, Ardeth’s family and tribe among them.
And so it happened that Evie returned to the main camp seated astride Rick’s lap on her chestnut horse, Ardeth and his own mount just ahead of them. She’d been expecting it but it still delighted her how absolutely everything in a Medjai wedding was ritualised, overlaid with symbolic meaning. They hear the noise before they saw the sprawling camp, engorged by the leaders and their retinues of all twelve tribes, come to celebrate the wedding of their leader's heir. The beating of drums, jubilant voices, and haphazard cries spilled out of the encampment, pouring across the desert dunes in a declaration.
The din didn’t abate as they entered the camp, Ardeth halting his horse first and coming to lift Evie from across Rick’s lap before he was allowed to dismount, the trio quickly enveloped in a mass of well-wishers. The noise was deafening, and she barely heard any of the parade of people that had come to give them congratulations until a white shape was forcing itself through the crowd, into her line of sight, coalescing into the form of her brother Jonathan, dressed respectably in a cream suit, pith helmet tucked under one arm. She shrieked, throwing herself forward and wrapping her arms around him, pulling back with a sharp exclamation. Smarted quite a bit, that movement had. Jonathan leaned back to look at her, visibly taking her appearance in, one eyebrow steadily creeping up along his forehead towards his hair. He was taken aback, that much was clear, yet not at the obvious sex marks nor the exposing outfit but rather the raw, fresh tattoos marring her shoulders, at the blood slowly congealing where it had seeped down her skin. Rick and Ardeth were in the same state, both wearing identical marks, and Jonathan took a moment to wonder how much that had hurt, knowing that it had to have been done traditionally, with a nail and mallet. When Rick had told him about the wedding he hadn’t mentioned that, but he supposed that if anyone could bear it it would be the trio before him, and Jonathan was proud of his sister.
“My oh my that’s quite a getup, what would dear old dad say eh?” She swatted at him, fighting the blush creeping up her neck. Sure the outfit went a bit against her British sensibilities, but it was traditional, and practical! Both Rick and Ardeth were bare-chested, and though Evie hadn’t quite been willing to go that far she was clothed from the waist up with only a swathe of cloth wrapped around her chest, the binding leaving her aching and bloody shoulders free. The redness won when she realised that Jonathan was probably talking less about the bandeau and more about the slew of bites, bruises and nail marks that decorated her and both her husbands.
“Oh like you’re one to talk,” she huffed. Between his days at university and his habits of coming crawling to her to get him out of trouble she had seen quite a bit more of her elder brother than either of them had ever intended, or mentioned again.
“Fair enough fair enough,” he conceded, waving her comments off. “Now what’s with all these surprised faces, you didn’t think I’d let my baby sister get married without me did you?” Evie’s expression revealed that yes, she had considered it, at length. It wasn’t that she didn’t think Jonathan was a good brother, even with his tendency to gamble and his love of gold, but for all his imprudence he had been raised in England same as her, with all the social mores that came with it. To say her marriage was unconventional would be an understatement. Jonathan took in the emotion splayed out across her face and frowned. “I knew you were never going to be conventional, old mum, now you’re married enough for the both of us. But that’s enough of that, Ardeth’s lovely lady of a sister would like a word with you, and I’d like to have a little chat with these two gentlemen here eh”
When Evie was gone Jonathan turned an uncharacteristically stony frown to both men. It was an expression that neither of the men had seen on the jovial, quasi-nihilistic, carefree man before, and it almost took them aback for a moment, before they realised why it was so familiar. All three of them had fought in the Great War, and Jonathan the only one to experience the hell that had been Europe. Rick had fallen into a drunken hole, Ardeth had retreated into his sacred task, but Jonathan bore the aftermath quite differently.
“You hurt her, and the buzzards won’t find your bones”
The ceaseless stream of ingratiating well-wishers had slackened during the feast, seemingly few were brave enough to encroach on the Bey Ult-Izem family, and they ate undisturbed in the presence of the matriarch and patriarch pair. Unfortunately once the meat had been cleared away the bride and grooms had been exposed once more to the crush of favour-seekers. Rick had known Ardeth was important among the tribes but he hadn’t quite expected this. It was the best he could do to nod along and keep all the jostling from pulling his face into a grimace.
A hand came down on his shoulder, near blinding him with pain, and Rick bit down hard on his cheek to keep from crying out. He staggered, and Evie caught his arm, turning a terrifyingly cold gaze towards the man who had suddenly materialised out of the throng. Rick noted, with something approaching satisfaction, that the greying man hadn’t slapped Ardeth’s back. The man extended a hand to Evie, and she took it frostily, practically glaring at the man as he bowed, bringing his forehead to the back of her hand, before straightening and bowing before Ardeth.
“Forgive the intrusion almunaqadh, but I was anxious to make your acquaintance. Evelyn is it?” The man asked, turning back to Evie. “My name is Gwafa, your mother was my sister. The family would very much like to meet you.” Rick blinked, he knew that he and Evie were tribal legacies, but he hadn’t thought that they’d have family. To him blood was the people he had chosen as his, the ones he had fought beside, the ones he would lay down his life for, the ones that protected him as much as he protected them. Family meant something entirely different, family meant a man that had beaten his mother until his nan found out, then returned to America in a huff when the old woman had clobbered him with her cane, menacing him with a knife when he lunged at her. A man who had only remembered he’d existed two whole months after his nan had died and left him alone in the world. A man who was arrogant and self-important, who wanted a son to be seen and not heard, to look good in front of the press, and had been willing to beat him into obedience until Rick grew too old, too strong, until he might almost pose a real threat to his old man. He'd figured any family of his would be dead, he'd assumed for years that if he'd had anyone left him and jida would've gone to live with them after his mother died, or even before, so they had to be dead right? The thought that he might have family alive, people who could've spared his mother from the streets and nan from loneliness, who could've kept him in Egypt—he turned back to Evie. Her lips were pursed, and she was clearly unhappy with the situation. No matter what else was going on inside her head the man's forcible greeting, the pain it had sent lancing through him, had instantly set her offside.
Evie, for her part, was trying very hard to keep from glaring at the man claiming to be her uncle. Was he why her mother had never mentioned any relatives, why her mother had never fought for her heritage when her father insisted that she was British now, that she needed to be a proper Carnahan wife? Where had he been when her mother had died, was he the answer to why their mother had let Jonathan run wild through the streets of Aswan yet was so insistent they stay out of the desert?
She wondered what Jonathan would think of all of this.
Jonathan, as it turned out, was livid. After the man had bowed out Ardeth had taken one look at her face and steered the three of them towards his sister, leaving his spouses to go fetch his new brother-in-law. Evie had turned her many questions to Safiyya.
“Is that man really my uncle?”
“Your mother’s brother yes, but he disavowed her when she married your father. There was a reason she never returned to the tribes. Mother looked into your heritage when you arrived here with my brother, Rick’s too, and she decided to waive the disgrace.” Safiyya’s gaze was solemn. “It is your choice whether or not to claim your kin, but notice that he didn’t acknowledge you as family until after you married my brother,” her eyes found Rick’s and her expression melted from contempt into sympathy. “You don’t have any living family among the tribes as far as my mother can tell.” Rick honestly looked relieved, but the rage on Jonathan’s face remained unabated.
“You think he’d just after the status,” Evie said, angry but not surprised. Why else would he evict her mother and then return for her?
“As I said, it’s your choice,” but her face said enough, and Evie was glad she hadn't taken to the man. Her choice would very likely be to never acknowledge the man again, the way he’d done to her mother. She wondered if he’d try it on with Jonathan, try get to her that way, but dismissed the idea. Let him try, Jonathan was even more of a mummy’s boy than she had ever been, and he’d been warned. In fact, he looked ready to seek the man out himself.
Rick put a restraining hand on Jonathan’s forearm, wincing as the movement pulled at the raw wounds on his back, and a fresh trickle of blood oozed down his shoulder.
"Come on Jonathan, let's get you a drink." For a moment he looked like he was about to protest, but then he subsided, and Evie was glad for the intervention. Righteous or no the man attempting to establish himself as their uncle was an old warrior, and easily capable of handing her brother his behind.
Evie tensed when she felt someone’s breath against her cheek, relaxing when she recognised Ardeth, coming up behind her, the rough hair of his beard tickling the outer shell of her ear as he leaned in close. She shivered.
"I wonder if he knows that he's the brother-in-law of the future zaeim, and that none of the men here would dare touch him?"
"No," Evie whispered, slightly breathless. "I don't think that's occurred to him yet, and we’ll be lucky if it never does. Cowardice goes a good way to curtailing a number of Jonathan’s worse ideas.” Ardeth just chuckled—he knew his brother-in-law well enough to know that a truer statement had never been spoken.
“Let’s go see if we can inspire some bad ideas of our own,” he suggested instead, and Evie couldn’t help but shudder, grateful for the distraction as Ardeth led her from the party and away from Safiyya’s knowing smirk.