A Princess for the Witch Doctor (Legends of Rahasia Book 3)

Chapter Forty-Five

I exit the bathing pools, undergarments scented with lemon-water and fruit-based skin creams. The women's leisure rooms, though surrounded by half-walls and mostly in open-air, are shielded by palm fronds. Zahra holds a washcloth for me, embroidered with black, flowering thread. Suddenly shy after my conversation with Mawar, I take the cloth and wrap it around my body.

"Here, let me help you."

Zahra lifts the wet plait of my hair, untangling the knots with a toothed comb. I relax, trying to chase those stupid thoughts from my head.

My people first. You cannot fall. Too much weight on your shoulders.

"What did you talk about?" The comb goes through my hair, scratching my scalp lightly.

"The sultan wants me to dance for him." I feel Zahra's fingers slip slightly, the comb treading over my forehead. "I chose a different path. I'm dancing with him instead, a dance of war. Something more in my skillset. Mawar can perform the other one, the one that requires actual dancing skills."

She relaxes a bit. "I'd suppose you need a mask, then. To hide your and Mawar's scheme."

I grin, glancing back at her. She focuses entirely on combing my hair and pressing out fresh şalvar and a batik tunic. It's hard to read her face. "You're always one step ahead of me, Zahra." She finally finishes with my hair, and I dress without a second thought to silly fancies.

"Did you discuss anything else?"

Yes. She asked whether I cared for you.

I pause, in the process of pulling the tunic over my stomach. "No."

When I finish dressing, I realize that the tunic's arranged differently. This time, it has a cord that requires tying behind my neck, to hold up the collar. "Here, let me help you." Zahra reaches behind me, her nails skidding along the ties. "I can carve your mask, if you desire." She loops the cord, one over the other. "The style here, it's a topeng  mask. Mostly woodwork. I can get someone for paints." She loops it again, patting the makeshift bow down over my skin, still damp from the baths. "Or I'll just improvise. We warriors are good at that, aren't we?"

I turn around, forcing a smile on my face, hoping that I can hide my confusion. "If we weren't, then we wouldn't have survived any battles."

"Yes," her brow pulls low over her eyes, running a hand over half her shaved head. Her gaze, like staring into the core of the earth itself. Like being anchored to land when you're otherwise whirling through the skies. "Are you feeling alright, amira?  You shouldn't hide things from me. I'd give my life to protect you, understand that."

That's what I'm afraid of.

"Just hungry." I shove past my emotions, clapping her on the shoulder. "What say we bother Mawar for some layered cakes and rambutan?"

Her grin matches my own. A plain-faced warrior's grin. No ulterior motives. No courtier's smirk or dancer's grace. Just sincerity. Simplicity. If we hate you, then we brawl it out. If we like you, then we'd die in combat for your cause.

"Sounds good, amira."  She hands me the final pieces of my attire: Baqir, my belt, and Ode's dagger. Wearing those, I feel complete.

And safe, for now.

***

Readers,

Intriguing.

-Sophia