The Attempt

Yagara is Carthusian and going to be, like, really important so I hope you enjoy the character. Oh, and Jach'ad Mesniif is a stud.

Yagara was crouched behind a canopy of soft, orange silk, coincidentally out of sight.  The candles on the coffee table were lit but her shadow was cast against the wooden chest in the corner, so anyone entering the room wouldn’t immediately know she was there.  The bed nearly reached wall to wall with only a small gap in the curtains to show the back part of the room, where Yagara was.  It was all by chance she wasn’t discovered.  Luck was the only reason she still kept her head, she was sure.

She was supposed to retrieve a jeweled headband for her lord and now master, Jach’ad Mesniid, one that would complement the ensemble his other aides picked out for him.  She’d had the perfect one in mind too.  There was a leather band that was three fingers wide and dyed a deep red.  There was a large ruby that sat in the center with small diamonds that encased it in a light-catching circle.  On the sides, near the part that covered the temple, there was an inscription.  Yagara wasn’t sure what the symbols carved into the leather meant, for she had never learned how to read, but they were beautiful.  And it just so happens, that particular accessory called to her this evening.

It called to her in a very literal sense.  No words or motions, just a musical hum that sounded whenever she got near it.  It made finding it easy even if she didn’t know the meaning of the song.  She was on her way back to her feet when she started to feel uneasy.  A feeling very similar to fear, almost like she was about to be caught doing something she wasn’t supposed to be doing which was absurd because she was doing what her master personally asked of her!  All the other servants envied her.  She was the only one the master requested things from.

Why did she hesitate?

She was going to try and stand again when the door to the bedchamber opened and closed with a heart-stopping “click!”

Someone was in the room with her!  She’d learned the first day that you weren’t supposed to enter the master’s room without permission.  The logical conclusion was that this person, whoever they were, too, had permission.  Yagara’s stomach, however, told her otherwise.  She wasn’t sure why, but she was awfully intuitive today…

“Find the scroll and deliver it to the Archon.  That’s all, right?”  A man’s rough voice said in an unfamiliar language.

“Officially, yes.”  Another spoke.

Two foriegners?  Why were two foreigners in her master’s chambers?

“And unofficially?”

One of them cleared their throat, “It’s best if only one of us knows.”

A cloth rustled.  And two pairs of feet started searching throughout the room.  Books moved and vases were picked up and placed back down again, but they didn’t trash the room.  They were careful with everything they touched.

Were they looking for her?  Taking the chance, Yagara slowly slide across the rug, towards the corner directly to her right.  She needed to get away from the gap in the curtains as quickly as she could.

There were a couple of moments where Yagara thought they were going to find her.  Her ankle had bumped against a basket and the sound it made was awfully distinct.  It was enough to make both men stop moving and bring to her ears the sound of swords being unsheathed.

In between the dresser and bookshelf behind her, there was a pile of dirty linens the servants hadn’t collected this morning.  The sun was barely rising over the horizon, so of course no one had touched this room since the master went to bathe.  By the height of the heap, it had probably been a couple of days since the master let anyone back here.  She heard the feet suddenly move quicker in her direction and she went to the clothes in a last attempt to be unseen.  She threw them on top of her and burrowed deep into the pile.  She was small enough that it might just work!

Through a sleeve of a tunic, she watched as two men wearing masks threw aside the curtain and began searching for her, swords drawn.

She buried her face into the robe around her arms and took a deep breath in preparation for holding it when the scent of her master took her breath away.

Jach’ad Mesniid, the young lord-commander of the Caseiadre’s armies, was a man of power both on and off the battlefield, she knew.  He’d demonstrated this power on her tribe five weeks ago and had taken her and four other girls to his palace after his victory.  She had every reason for hating him.  It was because of him that she was now going to die.  She despised war, blood, the whole lot of it!

Yet, she couldn’t stop inhaling his scent.  It was a very primitive thing, being attracted to a man’s smell.  The sand of the desert mixed with his sweat and… cinnamon.  If she was going to die, she was going to enjoy this smell.  If she lived, then she could hate herself later.

“I think I’ve found it!” One of the masked men hissed across the room and lifted a scroll.  By the insistent raising of his comrade’s hands he tossed it to him.

After a long, thorough inspection, the man nodded, “Good.  Put everything back and go wait outside.  I’ll be right out.”

With an annoyed puff of air, one of them left.

Yagara had only been this scared once before and she’d had her childhood friend to protect her.  Now, all she had was a pile of dirty linens separating her from this man.  She was preparing herself to die.  One deep breath…two…… Take in his smell……

The man moved out of sight and Yagara’s heart stopped.  She cursed her childhood love, You should have come for me you damn fool!

Cloth rustled, a jar moved and ceramic scraped against a harder surface and then some sort of liquid began to drip into a large container of liquid.  Something like a lid or cap clinked against glass and then more cloth moved.  When the masked man all in black came back into view, he was slipping some unseen object into his pocket and moving away from the bed, his back to her.

And just like that, the man left as well.

Her body began to shake from remaining still too long and the adrenaline building up in her system left a bitter taste on her tongue.  She pushed out of the laundry and fell forward on her knees.  She was in the midst of a panic attack, her chest felt tight and her skin too dry.  Her lungs wouldn’t hold the breath she took for longer than a couple of seconds.  Her face felt hot and before she knew it she was crying.  Fat tears flowed down her face and created rivers of liquid fear that fell in a steady stream to the rug beneath her.  Her nose ran too.  She brought her hands to her face and attempted to wipe it all away but her efforts were wasted.  They wouldn’t stop.

This is the second time she’d been faced with death and the second time she’d managed to escape.  Sheer luck.  That’s what this was.  Nothing else.  She was simultaneously overfilled with joy and despair.  She will live but have no life.  Was that the trade-off?

Where are you when I need you, armaan?!

She’d thought her chance to escape had long since come and gone but a scary thought came to her when she looked around the room through misty eyes and noticed the ceramic pitcher by the side of the bed.  It contained Jach`ad’s wine and the lid was offset.

And just like that, the tears dried on her face.

Horrified that her body was moving on its own, she scurried to her feet and stumbled towards the side of the bed.  Without even thinking, she straightened the lid and looked around to make sure no one saw her.  All of this was done in seconds and without any real conscious thought.  When it was over, she just stood there, staring.

It’s not really murder if I let it happen, is it?

She looked around, scared that someone heard her thoughts.  Suddenly, another thing occurred to her and this time it made her laugh.  Of course no one could see her!  The intruders left and no one else is allowed into Jach’ad’s room.  No one but her.  She immediately stopped laughing.

Jach’ad Mesniid…  Though he took Yagara and the four other young women of her tribe as concubines, he had yet to lay a hand on them.  It had been a month and he’d never raised his voice when one of them broke a dish or spilt his drink.  He never made them wear the lewd clothes of courtesans or the wardrobe of concubines.  In fact, he never really talked to any of them but Yagara.  He would only ask things from her and they were always appropriate, easy tasks; tasks such as the one that brought her to his room this morning while the other maids set his breakfast up in the courtyard.

He favored her.  She gasped at the realization.  Sure, the other girls were naïve and even a bit foolhardy, always trying to earn the master’s attention and admiration, but she never took what they said about her to heart.  Neri, the second youngest daughter of Lairn, and a quiet, indifferent girl, told her the master was “positively enraptured by her” the first week at the palace.  And while they were all from the same village, the other three felt some sort of pride in being taken away and chose rather to ostracize her for their master’s favoritism than endure their stay here together.

She could personally deliver this wine to him and he’d take it because he hadn’t given her a reason to betray him.  He probably didn’t see destroying her tribe as anything other than business.  And a sure man like Jach’ad would never expect a person to begrudge him over “business”.

Yagara still remembers the elders fleeing with children crying as the commander commanded his men to burn their tents and huts and release their horses.  All the while taking from her kin any wealth or livelihood that allowed them to live so far and for so long in that unforgiving desert.  It wasn’t a massacre, in fact, she was almost sure no one died.  No one but the one’s her beloved slew in his frenzy to reach her.

She could still remember his face that day, sweat shining on his forehead in the mid-afternoon sun, his tunic torn at the shoulders where one of the commander’s men had tried to grab onto him but was thrown aside, taking some of the fraying fabric with him.  Her armaan’s sword glared in his hand.  Smoke, separating them like an impenetrable fortress, billowed high into the sky and used the smoldering ashes of their homes as its sentry.  She was being dragged away as he watched, and though he cut down many a foe, the lord-commander sent no order to kill him.

She wondered, was it his strength and determination to save her what piqued Jach’ad’s interest?  The other girls were as slender and young as she.  He could pick any of them.  In the end, he talked informally only to her.  Why was that?  What “business” could have possibly brought the Casei’s commander to attack a completely unassuming nomad tribe like Yagara’s?  What was there to gain from marching so far just to steal from a couple dozen families?

It was that question that really bothered Yagara.  Infighting between the nomads was common, it was for that reason that her armaan fought so well.  Tiny battles over land and cattle were fought every season, but never had Carthus’s Caseiandre intervened.  There were rumors that the Casei was unfit to rule because he feared the desert.  Was the attack just a ploy to prove otherwise?

Would Jach’ad answer her questions if she asked?  Was a month enough time for him to confide in her?

The way Yagara sees it; there’s only one way to find out…

She hid the wine behind some books on the shelf and retrieved the headband she’d come in here to find.  It hummed as she bent to pick it up, but stopped as soon as her skin touched it.  Though Yagara found this beyond puzzling, she chose not to let it bother her.  Out of all the things that were happening and/or already happened, an accessory’s song was the least of her worries.  She stored it safely and neatly into the breast fold of her robes and was content to forget there was ever anything wrong with it in the first place.

She was just about to pass under the room’s curtain when a piece of white cloth snagged on the bracelet around her ankle.  With a sigh, she gathered up the master’s laundry and threw it in a basket to take on her way out, the lord’s scent gone, as if she’d dreamt it.

Outside the lord’s bedchambers, there was a covered walkway that wrapped completely around the courtyard with stone columns to hold up the roof and carved, wooden railing.  Out in the courtyard, there was a large pond with vibrantly colored flowers blooming on and around the water and silently swimming carps.  A thin tree only a man and a half tall offered shade over a quarter of the water’s surface.  Along green grass, there was a canopied lounging area.  It was here that the master took his breakfast most mornings so it surprised Yagara to see Neri packing up the breakfast table without a single dish touched.

Yagara walked over to her instead of heading to the washroom to deposit their master’s laundry.

“Isn’t he going to eat?”  Yagara huffed, dropping the heavy load onto the grass.

Neri nearly jumped out of her skin.  Barely managing to surpress the scream, it took them both a moment to collect themselves, Neri to slow her heart and Yagara to stop laughing and catch her breath.

When they were finished, Neri answered with a shrug, “Not here, he isn’t.”

Yagara frowned, “Where is he going to eat then?”

Neri sighed while gathering up the utensils, “He said he’ll take his meal in the bath.”

Yagara rolled her eyes, “Where’s Matily, Pine and Belis?  Why aren’t they helping you?”

Neri chuckled, “They’re probably off sulking because the master asked for you to take his meal to him,” she looked up with a mischievous glint, “personally.”  Yagara was dumbfounded.  “Oh, but don’t worry.  I already set up a plate; you just have to take it to him.”

Neri handed out a plate with an impressive arrangement of fruit and vegetables and a glass of wine.

Yagara thought bitterly while accepting it, is it too late to poison it? I could go back in and get the pitcher and re-pour his glass…

“You’ve got a scary expression, Yagara.  I don’t like it.”  Neri narrowed her eyes at her while finishing packing up the rest of the table.

“Don’t worry.”  She sighed, “I’m not nearly as injurious as you.”

Neri wordlessly agreed with her and then took the rest of the breakfast into her arms and stood, an orange slice sticking out of her mouth.  With both of their hands full, they looked down at the basket of laundry.  Neri sighed, “I’ll come back for it.” and then left in the direction of the kitchen.

Yagara looked down at the plate of carrot, celery, apple and orange slices with a bitter taste in her mouth.  Along the side of the plate there were strips of pork fried in their own grease that smelled absolutely alien to her.  The master sure had a strange appetite.

Surrendering herself to the inevitable, she straightened her back and squared her shoulders.  She looked across the courtyard to the double wooden doors opposite the lord’s bedroom and began walking.  When she stopped just outside the door, she could swear she smelled cinnamon coming from the room but couldn’t be sure unless she went inside to find out.

Did he bathe in it?

She pushed the door open with her elbow and slipped inside.  Steam filled the room top to bottom with the smell of cinnamon.  The humidity made Yagara’s already frizzy hair frizzier and made her face feel sticky.  The floor was all tiles with the exception of a long rug that led from the door to the bath’s stairs.  Two steps led down into a pool big enough to fit ten.  There was a balcony with no curtains or doors that brought sunlight into the room and helped clear away some of the white wisps of air that was making it so hard to breath.  In the pool, there was a man leaning against the edge, his elbows propped up against the stone as he reclined.  Smooth tan skin covered every inch of his body except a small patch along his breast where short, dark chest hair tried to hide a deep, long scar spanning from the left side, at the edge of his collarbone, to the tip of his right n****e.  His head was leaned far back and his eyes closed.  His hair was long and with midnight serpentine locks that draped around his face and coiled at his shoulders from the moisture in the air.  He didn’t move, even though the door closing behind her had announced loudly someone entering.

Yagara swallowed hard and walked over, to the edge of the bath.  She kept her eyes on the ground as she knelt by her master’s elbow and presented his meal, hoping to all the gods and goddess of the world that the blush would recede from her cheeks before he looked over.

Jach’ad Mesniid finally opened his eyes and looked to his left.  He wondered at the redness of Yagara’s eyes and cheeks but said nothing about it.  She was looking down so he wouldn’t see her face, so he would pretend he hadn’t seen it.  He, instead, reached over and took one of the orange slices from the plate and popped it into his mouth.  Only after chewing and swallowing did he ask, “How are you this morning, Yagara?”

She snapped her head up and mistakenly met his brown eyes.  They weren’t the kind of brown common among Carthus men, they were a light brown with a dash of green in them.  Hazel.  It’s been a month and she only now knew the color of his eyes.

“Fine, my lord.  I’ve brought your breakfast as you’ve requested.”  She bowed her head farther and lifted a hand to present the plate.

Jach’ad rolled his eyes and took another orange slice.  He popped this one into his mouth and looked up at the dome ceiling.  “I’ve noticed, Yagara.  Now take a seat and eat some fruit.  I wish to talk to you some more.”  His voice was deep and commanding, fit for the leader of the Casei’s armies.

She could hardly say no at this point so she found a spot by the lord-commander’s arm and sat, knees bent under her.  Unashamed, she took two pieces of orange and began munching.  This wasn’t the first time her master had asked her to keep him company.  She’d eaten several meals with him before, she chose not to treat this one any differently because of the location.  She’d spent so much time with Jach’ad over the last month she was finally able to drop the servant act when they were alone.  Plus, it gave her a chance to think of a way to ask him the questions she’s been dying to ask.

“What do you wish to talk about, my lord?”  She asked around a mouthful of orange.

“When you walk through a door to be alone with me in a room, you can leave the ‘lord’ on the other side.  You will call me by my name.”  He told her so off-handedly that it seemed completely normal.  She decided to go along with it.  If he didn’t care, neither did she.

“Alright.”  She swallowed, “What do you wish to talk about, Jach’ad?”

Jach’ad sighed pleasantly and relaxed farther into his bath.  Hearing his name instead of “my lord” or “master” was… comforting.  He also liked the sound of it coming from Yagara’s mouth.  For such a pretty thing to say his name… “That boy in your village, who was he?”

Yagara didn’t show any signs of the question bothering her, but it certainly did.  “Which one?  There were several.  Libizt and Kerr, sons of Hasn, our craftsman?  Gebil, the orphan, or do you mean Uron, son of Shev, the herder?”  Yagara looked down, closed her eyes and shook her head, “Oh, but I forgot, you didn’t bother to learn any of their names, did you?”  She looked up and met Jach’ad’s amused eyes with a stone-cold stare, “Such a shame, really.  I think you would’ve liked Iisasis, our best swordsman.”

Jach’ad laughed, “You are a brave woman, Yagara.  I’ll give you that.  But let’s not pretend you don’t know who I’m talking about when we both know you do.”

She thought about this for a moment, she wasn’t sure if it was the easy-going atmosphere or the steam getting to her head, but after a long pause, she actually answered, “His name is Var’nic.”

“Var’nic… Var’nic?”  Jach’ad rolled the name over his tongue a little and decided it left a bad taste.  “What is he to you?”

She scoffed, offended, “You can be the Casei and I’ll still never answer that question.”

“How old are you?”  He asked, ignoring her, her lack of an answer confirming what he already suspected.

Her back straightened and when he looked into her eyes, he saw something working behind the scenes.  After this, he’d ask about that.  In the meantime, he waited, something was bugging him.

“Nineteen, my lord.”

He didn’t say anything about her using his title this time though it annoyed him greatly.  “I’m twenty-seven, Yagara, and I’ve never had someone fight so hard for me as I saw that Var’nic fought for you.  Not even my own brothers.  Only nineteen and already you have someone so dedicated to you… I hope you know what a gift you’ve been given.”

His admittance was shocking.  She found herself feeling sorry for him, but then quickly squashed the thought.  She nodded, because she did know what a gift her armaan was.  There was no one like him.  And you took me from him.  Was what she reminded herself of so to not feel anything towards her new lord.  She had ambivalent feelings toward him she realized.  She wanted so bad for him not to be a bad person but a part of her hated him beyond belief.

“Someone wants me dead.”

Her mouth fell open.  Did he know about this morning?  Did he know about the poisoned wine?  Did he know that she hid it instead of immediately reporting it?

Despite her reaction, he continued, “I’m twenty-seven and soon there will be an attempt on my life.”  He sighed, “You’re probably wondering why I’m telling you this.”

She snapped her mouth shut and nodded slowly.

“I’m telling you this because I don’t have anyone that would care if I lived or died.  The Casei has me commanding his men and would surely suffer great loss if I died, but he would only have strategic complications, not complications of the heart.”  Jach’ad leaned back farther and kept his eyes on the ceiling.

Why was he telling her this?  What good would it do?  None.  It would do no good and yet, he found himself compelled to tell her.  Was showing Yagara this side of him a blessing or a curse?

“You are the commander of the Caseiandre’s armies, my lord.  Threats to your life are to be expected.  I don’t see how being afraid of them is- “ By the commander’s raised hand, she stopped.

“You misunderstand me.  I do not fear for my life.  I’m saying I fear, that if I should die, there will be no one to mourn me.  No one who’s life would be altered by my absence.  Even you, you and the other girls, would be servants of the next commander.  Only my duty is keeping me here.  Duties I, too, fear you’ve come to resent me for.”

Of all the things that happened this morning, Yagara was forced to forget.  She’d met this man’s would-be assassins and had moments ago decided to leave his life or death on the shelf.  How was it his words so easily made up her mind?  She could not kill this man.  Or have this man die.  This decision wasn’t based off any moral obligation or because she pitied him.  A man who can admit he has nothing, deserve to see the day where that changes.  That is what she honestly believed.

“You’ve earned the respect of your subjects, my lord.  For that, you have more than duty to live for.”  She spoke softly but said every word clear and without regret.  As soon as she left the bath room, she would return to his quarters and destroy that pitcher of poison.

“Yes, but I have yet to earn the respect of an equal.”

Is that what he meant by asking her to call him by his name?  Did he wish for her to treat him as an equal?  Did he want to earn her respect?  If he did, there was only one way…  “Why did you raid our village?”

Though it was off topic, he had no reason not to answer.  He sat up and started to stand.  Horrified, Yagara lowered her eyes quickly, stuffing a large apple slice into her mouth as her face flushed with color.

Jach’ad, amused by her embarrassment, walked, stark-naked, over to the bench against the wall behind her and retrieved the robe laying there.  He had one arm in the sleeve when he said, “A moon ago, a nomad stole an artifact from Caseiandre’s palace and fled into the desert.  Me and a hundred of my chosen men were sent to capture the thief and retrieve the stolen artifact by any means.”

“Did you find him?”  Yagara found herself asking.

“No.”  Jach’ad frowned where Yagara couldn’t see, his failure wasn’t something he didn’t liked being reminded of.  “We had already searched six other tribes before we came across yours.  The Casei had us return after that and dispatched his own personal guard to keep looking.”

“It must have been very important for you to burn a dozen homes.”  She commented bitterly.

Jach’ad slipped his other arm into the robe’s sleeve and wrapped the garment around his hips, tying it at the waist.  He slicked his hair back, away from his face and walked over to where Yagara was still sitting and offered her a hand.  “I’m sure the Casei will burn more than that if it means he gets his precious stone back.”

“Stone?”

“Ah yes, the Heron.” He said and then fell silent as if filled with deep thoughts.

“The bird?”  She asked, looking up only to stare at his exposed chest.  Shyly, she took his hand and allowed him to assist her as she stood.  She made sure to grab the plate of food before standing.

After she got to her feet, Jach’ad released her.  He couldn’t help but laugh at how innocently she asked the question.  “Um, no, though I suppose it was named after it.”  He then took a strip of fried pork and ate it, the meat crunching audibly between his teeth. “Anyways, where are my clothes?”

And then Yagara remembered the adventure getting his headband had been. “The girls left them by the door, my lord.  I picked out this headband but if you don’t like it then I can go exchange it.”  She pulled the cloth from her breast, reaching into her cleavage.

Jach’ad was surprised to see her reaching into her bosom but immediately calmed down when she produced a headband.  He took it from her and tried not to notice the warmth.  “Thank you.”

Taking it as her queue to leave, she headed towards the door.  The secret of the commander’s would-be assassins, stayed with her.  She wasn’t sure what she was going to do with the information yet.  She’d dispose of the poison but say nothing about the intruders.  For now…

Author's Note

Any advice is better then none so throw it at me. Or, simply tell me your thoughts about it, is it you type? What you don't like about it? Where you hope it will go, story-wise? It doesn't even have to be advice or criticism. Just let me know what you think.