[Storybit] Honor & Reputation
“I beg your pardon?” Badriya looked to the man next to her, her brows lifting. Around them, beeswax candles had burnt low, their soft aroma filling the air. No breeze stirred the pale silk that draped nearby, even though the doors to the balcony were opened wide to the night.
He looked to her, and repeated what he had just said. “I think that we should consider a formal arrangement.” When Badriya stared at him in blank silence, he pressed on. “A formal arrangement known to the public. Do you think that I wish to be a minstrel forever?”
She glanced away from Hakim, her features unreadable. A thousand thoughts spun in her head, and none of them were joyful. He was far below her, this musician, though talent and darkly handsome looks had drawn her to him. The man continued speaking, whatever words he had for her lost in the night, though he prattled on about the advantages of such an arrangement. All she could hear was her own sick, sinking knowledge of the truth: not only did she not love this man, but she did not even really like him. That, and that she had been a fool.
She looked to the flame of a nearby candle, thinking of her djinn and the obligation she might soon bear to him. Finally, though, Hakim’s words penetrated her contemplation. He was saying that he would speak to her mother himself on the matter. Suddenly, Badriya scowled and pushed herself to sitting. “You presume much. Leave me.”
He was the one stunned into silence, at that, though his silence was followed by an angry sputter of threats. He would tell her mother, he said. Her Majesty would be most interested to hear of a torrid affair with a mere minstrel. He would see to it that her reputation was ruined. The entire kingdom would know what she truly was, unless she agreed to an arrangement with him. The implication was, of course, that with that arrangement would come a title of his own, and with that title, power.
She let him rant, a chill neutrality coming over her features in spite of the warm candlelight that cast its glow upon her. Finally, Badriya held up a hand, and said, “You mistake reputation for honor. My reputation, I will sacrifice, if it means I never have to look at you again.”
Without another word, Hakim gathered his things, and left, though the scowl he wore hinted that she had not heard the last of him. As the door closed, Badriya breathed, “My honor shall remain intact, if it keeps power out of such creatures’ hands.” She rose, then, and went to wake her mother. Her Majesty would not be pleased.
He looked to her, and repeated what he had just said. “I think that we should consider a formal arrangement.” When Badriya stared at him in blank silence, he pressed on. “A formal arrangement known to the public. Do you think that I wish to be a minstrel forever?”
She glanced away from Hakim, her features unreadable. A thousand thoughts spun in her head, and none of them were joyful. He was far below her, this musician, though talent and darkly handsome looks had drawn her to him. The man continued speaking, whatever words he had for her lost in the night, though he prattled on about the advantages of such an arrangement. All she could hear was her own sick, sinking knowledge of the truth: not only did she not love this man, but she did not even really like him. That, and that she had been a fool.
She looked to the flame of a nearby candle, thinking of her djinn and the obligation she might soon bear to him. Finally, though, Hakim’s words penetrated her contemplation. He was saying that he would speak to her mother himself on the matter. Suddenly, Badriya scowled and pushed herself to sitting. “You presume much. Leave me.”
He was the one stunned into silence, at that, though his silence was followed by an angry sputter of threats. He would tell her mother, he said. Her Majesty would be most interested to hear of a torrid affair with a mere minstrel. He would see to it that her reputation was ruined. The entire kingdom would know what she truly was, unless she agreed to an arrangement with him. The implication was, of course, that with that arrangement would come a title of his own, and with that title, power.
She let him rant, a chill neutrality coming over her features in spite of the warm candlelight that cast its glow upon her. Finally, Badriya held up a hand, and said, “You mistake reputation for honor. My reputation, I will sacrifice, if it means I never have to look at you again.”
Without another word, Hakim gathered his things, and left, though the scowl he wore hinted that she had not heard the last of him. As the door closed, Badriya breathed, “My honor shall remain intact, if it keeps power out of such creatures’ hands.” She rose, then, and went to wake her mother. Her Majesty would not be pleased.