The Courtship of Wali Daad

Author’s Note: This tale was simply too charming not to tell. At one point during the editing process, my friend Alexandra likened these stories to a box of assorted chocolates, each of a different kind and flavor; if so, this one probably would be the maple-walnut crème, sweet and wonderful. I simply could not pass up the chance to share this adorable, funny little romance—obscure though it may be for a fairy tale—with the rest of the world. Here’s hoping you’ll enjoy my version of it . . .

THE trapdoor would not shut.

Lifting the panel back up again, the owner of the small cottage poked at the contents piled into the hidden space. Normally his table sat over the door, hiding the trapdoor from casual view. Normally, it looked like just another piece of his floor, age-worn boards polished more by the passage of time and a scrubbing brush than by artistry and oils. But not today. Not even when he tried rearranging the cluttered mass of metal discs yet again, as he had carefully done for the last few months.

The trapdoor would not shut.

Sitting back from the opening, Wali Daad sighed and scratched his head. For sixty-seven years, he had lived in this house, and the lid of the hidden cache had always closed flat. That was part and parcel of how it remained hidden.

There is no use for it, the aging man thought, shrugging his shoulders helplessly. I suppose I have too many coins.

A look around his cottage—which only qualified as a cottage because it had a wooden floor, otherwise it would have been a mere hut—showed there was nowhere else for the coins to go. Smoked meat and onions hung from the rafters, a barrel of rice for his morning porridge stood in the corner by the hearth, and there were a couple of shelves to hold his pots and a half-eaten loaf of wheat bread. He had two chairs at his table, for himself and a guest, and his bed sat in the corner across from the hearth, a simple, grass-stuffed pallet covered with linen and wool. On the wall by the door hung two scythes; below them sat a grinding wheel, while just outside sat his wooden wheelbarrow, sheltered by the thatching of his roof.

Everything was exactly where he wanted it and where he liked it, for Wali Daad was a simple man with a simple life and simple needs. Not simple in the sense of being a fool, but simple in the sense of being content with his life. Except the trapdoor would not shut. He had too many coins.

One wouldn’t think a simple grass cutter would have too many coins, but Wali Daad had never married, had no offspring to feed, and no relatives dependent upon his income. His parents had perished in a flood some fifty years before, leaving him their mud-caked home and a few surviving tools with which to make his living. It was a good living, too.

His home lay near the junction of three roads and three kingdoms, one to the east, one to the west, and one to the north, with several green fields leading down to the river, which lay to the south. Merchants traveled up and down those roads all year round, bringing caravans of hungry, laden camels and horses past Wali Daad’s home. Plus there was a well in the yard between the house and the three roads, a deep well filled with fresh, sweet water. Wali Daad charged the merchants a penny for every troughful of hay, which took three to four wheelbarrow loads to fill, but he did not charge anything for the water, no matter how many times he pulled the bucket up from its depths, or how many horses and camels and men wanted a drink.

These things made his home a popular resting point for many a caravan, though there wasn’t much of anything else here to entice people to settle this far from a town. No orchards, no gardens, just the river, the grass, the house, and the well. But he had enough customers to pay for his simple needs, and enough left over to tuck his unspent pennies into the cache in the floor.

Which would not shut.

“Too many pennies,” Wali Daad muttered aloud. “I have too many pennies. I don’t even need them! I just kept putting them in there because that was what Mother and Father would do. What am I to do with them?”

He tried closing the door one more time, but it jutted up a tiny bit, enough to be noticeable. It wasn’t that he needed the money, but he didn’t want some passing traveler to notice the uneven floorboards and think to attack and rob him. He liked his simple life, but he was no fool. Sighing, Wali Daad took out the coins he had just put in, plus a few more, and closed the trapdoor. Once it was flush with the floor, he dragged the table back into place, rearranged the chairs just so, and took the coins over to the barrel of rice. Lifting the lid, he dropped the pennies onto the grains, sighed at the copper brown blotches they made on the tan and white kernels, and sealed the barrel again.

Something had to be done with his money. Something good, Wali Daad thought. Something . . . well, not something for me, but something for someone else. The only questions are what should I do, and for whom? Wali Daad stared around his simple home, with its simple needs, and couldn’t think of a thing.

Noise in the distance made him discard his thought. Noise meant travelers, and travelers usually meant a need for water and hay. Sighing again, the grass cutter stepped outside. Coming up the road from the West Kingdom was a caravan of twenty horses and fifty camels. Their leader was a man with a blue-dyed turban wrapped around his head and a green and white striped aba, the loose but comfortable traveling robe of the Westerners.

“Ah! Hassim! Hassim! Welcome back, Hassim!” Clapping his hands together in delight, Wali Daad lifted and shook them over his head in acknowledgment that he saw his Northern-born merchant friend coming, then hurried to fetch his wheelbarrow and head for the hay shed. He loaded up his barrow with several bundles of grass, then brought them out to the long wooden troughs that served his caravan customers as mangers. By the time he had brought half a dozen loads of grass to the troughs, the caravan handlers had already sorted out their charges and were pulling water up from the well, pouring it by the bucketful into the long stone troughs for both man and beast to have a drink.

“Good evening, Wali Daad, and good fortune to you!” Hassim called out, hurrying to clasp arms with the grass cutter.

His robes weren’t plain linen, but fine cotton from the Eastern lands, which were further trimmed with bits of silk from the Western ones, proof of how his merchanting travels had allowed him to prosper. He had bracelets on his wrists and brooches on his riding boots, and a necklace of rare red coral strung around his throat. Even his beard was waxed and perfumed, forming a curly point as was currently popular in the Eastern lands. But for all of his finery, Hassim greeted the simply clad Wali Daad as an equal and a friend, for he had long been a merchant who visited the grass cutter’s resting point.

“Good fortune indeed,” Wali Daad agreed as they clasped forearms, thinking briefly of his collection of too many pennies, “and better fortune still to you! Come, drink, eat, and feed your animals my finest, fresh-culled grass!”

“A delight, as always,” the merchant master replied, grinning at his old friend. “No journey from west to east or from east to west is ever complete without a visit to your house. How have you been, this last month and a half?”

“Quite good; the sun has not been too hot, the rain has not been too heavy . . .” By chance, Wali Daad’s gaze fell upon one of his friend’s bracelets. It was crafted from bronze with inlays of silver, and quite lovely. Tucking his arm around the merchant’s shoulders, Wali Daad guided him toward the cottage. “Hassim, my dear friend . . . I have a request to make of you. Would you accept the hospitality of my humble home, and hear of my problem?”

“It would be my honor to listen, and my privilege if there is anything I can do to help you,” Hassim agreed readily. Pausing just long enough to give his caravan handlers their instructions, Hassim left them to feed and water their beasts. Accompanying Wali Daad into his home, he accepted the mug of water Wali Daad offered, and the bit of bread with a little pot of ghi for dipping. Once the matter of hospitality had been attended to, Hassim spoke again. “So, my old friend. What troubles you?”

“You are an honest merchant, my friend. Every caravan master from the East to the West, and even to the mountains in the North, speaks of how honest and honorable you are. I consider myself privileged to be considered your friend,” Wali Daad stated.

“And that you are,” Hassim agreed, bowing his turbaned head. “Your praise humbles me, coming from a man as honorable and wise as yourself. How can I assist you?”

“It is because of your honesty that I wish to ask a great favor of you,” Wali Daad stated.

“Name it, and if it is in my power, I shall do it,” Hassim agreed immediately. “What is this favor?”

Wali Daad rose and approached his rice barrel. Opening the lid, he reached inside and extracted the pennies he had dropped in there earlier. “It is a simple thing. You see, I have too many pennies.”

Hassim eyed the eight or nine small coins in the older man’s work-callused hand and blinked. “I’m not sure I understand.”

“I have a hiding place,” Wali Daad explained, returning to his seat at the table. “And I have too many pennies to fit into it. These are the ones that would not fit. I live a simple life, with simple needs, and simple expenses. I do not need so many pennies as I have saved over the years, and I would like to do something with them. But I did not know what, until I saw you.”

“What did you have in mind?” Hassim asked, intrigued.

“I would like you to take my pennies to a jeweler. The best of the ones you know,” Wali Daad stated. “I want you to take my pennies to this jeweler and have him make the most beautiful bracelet he can, given the money he will receive—and for your trouble, I would like you to keep a hundred pennies for yourself,” Wali Daad added. “Would you be willing to do this task for me, my friend?”

“I had thought when you first asked that I would be given a difficult task,” Hassim said, chuckling. “But this! This is an easy thing. There is a very fine jeweler I know in the East; in fact, he is the royal jeweler to Prince Kavi himself. As I am already headed eastward, your request is a simple enough matter. I will take your pennies to him, let him create whatever he may while I carry out my business, then pick it up again when it is time for me to come back. So! Tonight we shall count out your pennies and put them in my strongest coffers, and I shall treat you to the cooking of my best chef, and we shall pay for several more bundles of your best grass, to start replacing what you are about to spend. Or would you prefer to add them to your order?”

Wali Daad chuckled and shook his head. “I should probably keep a few, in case my grinding stone should break, or I should need a new fishing hook, or one of my scythes should break. But only a few, as my needs are simple, and my life is quite happy for it.”

“Then we shall save out a few, and tomorrow I shall take the rest of your too many pennies with me to the Kingdom of the East, along with your request for the finest bracelet the jeweler Pramesh can possibly make. Are we agreed?” Hassim asked, holding out his palm.

“We are agreed,” Wali Daad said, clasping hands with his merchant friend. “Come, let us move the table,” he added quietly, “and I shall show you my problem of too many pennies.”

Hassim raised his brows, but obligingly moved his chair out of the way and helped shift the modest table. His brows rose a second time when Wali Daad lifted up a section of floor . . . and rose so high they all but disappeared under the edge of his turban the moment he saw the large opening stuffed full of copper coins. “I see . . . You do have too many pennies, my friend. I shall have a struggle to find enough room in my coffers to carry even half of this wealth.”

“Well, I cannot keep it here any longer. I am left putting pennies into my rice, and I should not like to mistake coin for corn in my porridge on the wrong sleepy morning. This jeweler, Pramesh, will have a very fine commission headed his way,” Wali Daad agreed, closing the trapdoor. “And I want every single penny I send with you to be spent on this bracelet he is to make. The finest bracelet my pennies could possibly buy.”

“I will consult with him personally on the matter,” Hassim promised, “and I shall not return until the bracelet is perfection itself.”

THREE months later, when the summer sun blazed very hot and high in the sky, when the grass which had been so green just a season before was now yellow and brittle, Wali Daad spotted the green and white aba of his merchant friend at the head of the caravan coming up along the eastern road. The deep blue cloth coiled around Hassim’s head had been replaced with a pale blue one, soaked with water as well as sweat in the effort to keep its wearer cool.

This time, Wali Daad hurried to lift buckets of water into the stone troughs first, for man and beast were undoubtedly parched. Though the river in the distance was low from the lack of rain, the well had been dug down deep and provided cool, clean water for his visitors to drink. This time, the caravan handlers unpacked their tents for much-needed shade as the very first thing, setting them up before the grass cutter had finished distributing dry but still green grass into the wooden troughs.

This time, when Hassim followed Wali Daad to his small cottage, the merchant was carrying a stout, iron-bound box. Once the door was shut and bread and water had been shared, Hassim centered the box on the table, unlocked it with a key from his pouch, and turned it to face his grass cutter friend.

“Here it is, my friend. You not only had a handful more pennies than you could fit into your hiding hole, you had a handful more pennies than a single horse could comfortably carry. So when I brought them all to Pramesh the jeweler, he made not one bracelet, but two. As perfectly matched as he could make,” Hassim related, nodding at the casket. “You will not find better outside of a royal palace, I’ll wager.”

When Wali Daad just sat there, Hassim gestured at the lid.

“Well? Go on! Open it and see what all your hard labor and careful savings have bought you. Every penny has been accounted for, I assure you. Even the hundred you would have given me has gone to buy this casket to help keep them further safe for you. Open it, and wear your new bracelets in good health and great fortune!”

Wali Daad lifted the lid and stared at the contents for a long, long moment. Then he smiled and shook his head slowly, carefully closing the lid again. “Your generosity and friendship warms me more than any hearth fire could during the coldest of monsoons, my friend. But I did not buy these bracelets for myself. I thank you deeply for the trouble you have gone to on my behalf . . . but I must task your generosity with one more request.”

Puzzled, Hassim scratched the side of his waxed and pointed beard. “Another request? I would be pleased to fulfill it, if again it is within my power but . . . What request?”

“Bracelets of such incomparable beauty are not meant for a man like me. I live a simple life, and I am blessed with deep contentment by it, as you know,” Wali Daad told his friend. “When I saw your bracelets on your last visit, I knew what I could do with my money . . . but it wasn’t really my money, for I had no use for it. Do you see?”

“Well, no . . . but you and I have different things in our lives which give us satisfaction. For you, it is living a simple life, watering and feeding the caravans who pass by your house day after day, year after year,” Hassim said. “For me, it is bringing news and new items to distant lands, to delight, entertain, brighten, and ease the lives of others. I love to travel, and I love to make a good bargain. Though I would not care to live your life, I do respect it, for it brings you happiness. So if you say this is so, I shall believe it for you, though it is not something I would believe for myself.”

Wali Daad bowed his head. “Thank you. As I said, since I did not need it, I felt the money was not mine, so how could bracelets made with that money also be mine? No, my friend . . . as you do travel so extensively, and meet so many people, what I need now from you is a name. In specific, the name of a woman of incomparable intellect and virtue, a woman of great wisdom and compassion. A woman as beautiful in her mind and soul as these bracelets clearly are.”

Hassim blinked. He hadn’t expected that question. While it is true that Wali Daad is an elderly man, of an age where most men are grand-fathers, he thought, I suppose even a man who lives a simple life could be interested in courting a woman . . .

“Uh . . . the greatest woman who comes to my mind is the Princess Ananya, she who rules the West Kingdom. She is young—young enough to be your granddaughter—but her youth is tempered by a great maturity of mind, and a youthful wife is a good thing, if the man is still healthy. If your, er, sap can still rise to bedew her flower, I suppose she, or a woman like her, could bear your . . . You are blushing?”

Wali Daad quickly shook his head, lifting his hands for emphasis. “No! No, no . . . I am healthy, yes, but I do not wish to take a wife! What woman of great learning and wisdom would want to live as a mere grass cutter’s wife? No, her knowledge and her compassion are best used where they are, serving the people she rules. I simply wish you to take these beautiful bracelets and give them to her as a gift. Tell her they come from an admirer for her wisdom and her worthiness, and that she should be adorned on her outside in a manner befitting her inside.

“I am a simple man,” Wali Daad repeated, touching the unbleached linen covering his chest, faintly stained by years of wear and toil. “I wear simple clothes, for they are suitable to my life. But you are a fine merchant, and wear fine things to reassure people of your prosperity, which speaks in silent eloquence of the good deals you have to offer. How much more should a woman of incomparable virtue and enlightenment be adorned? Please, take these bracelets to Her Highness with my compliments and my purely spiritual admiration. I am too old and my life too content for anything more.”

Nodding, not quite understanding but getting a glimpse of what his friend meant, Hassim turned the casket around, locked it again, and promised to take it to the capital of the West Kingdom, since that was conveniently where he was headed next.

BOWING low with every step, Hassim entered the audience chamber of Her Royal Highness Princess Ananya, Flower of the Land and Light of the West. Such obsequience was more than what protocol demanded, but he could not help himself. Next to the opulence and riches of this palace, the visual delights of the carvings and the paintings, the gilding and draperies, the aural delights of songbirds and sweetly placed string instruments, the olfactory nirvana of a thousand flowers in riotous bloom, he felt as if his life were as simple as Wali Daad’s.

“Hassim the Trader, caravan master of the Northlands,” the master of ceremonies announced, rapping his staff on one of the sections of pattern-tiled marble floor not covered in thick, ornately woven rugs. “Hassim comes before Your Highness with a gift of admiration and esteem.”

Hassim, so busy bowing and bobbing, was startled by a soft, feminine chuckle as gentle as water babbling down a brook.

“Come and rise, good trader,” the woman bid him. He lifted his head cautiously and found himself staring at a youngish woman clad in cloth of gold embroidered in bright hues and stitched with precious jewels. Her dark hair was draped with creamy gold pearls, and her dark eyes gleamed with good humor. The curve of her lips was a graceful, friendly curve, like a hunter’s bow that had been strung but not nocked with an arrow. “I would not have a traveler such as yourself lose his way in an excess of politeness, nor allow him to trip and injure himself. Lift your head and be the man you are, and honor me by it.”

Blushing at her praise, embarrassed by his overwhelmed awkwardness, Hassim straightened, gave one last hasty bow, and lifted the casket that had been tucked under his arm, presenting it to her.

“I . . . Your Highness is most gracious to receive a humble merchant such as myself. I come on behalf of Wali Daad, who wishes for me to present to you this gift of beauty, which until now I thought was incomparable. But now that I have met you in person, I know that it is comparable, and I am afraid it now seems flawed . . .” Aware he was babbling—for while her nose was ever so slightly crooked, the warmth of her spirit made her look like a deva-angel to him—Hassim struggled to remember his message. “Wali Daad sends you this gift, which was made by the hands of Prince Kavi of the East Kingdom himself—I mean, by the royal jeweler of Prince Kavi, by the jeweler Pramesh, he who crafts all the adornments of His Highness’s court. It was made by His Highness’s jeweler.”

Princess Ananya blinked. “It . . . was made by the jeweler who serves Prince Kavi of the East?”

“Yes,” Hassim agreed, relieved he hadn’t made too much a fool of himself.

“The name of the jeweler is Pramesh?” she asked.

“Yes, Your Highness,” he confirmed.

“Then who is this Wali Daad?” Princess Ananya inquired.

“The wisest man I know,” Hassim told her. Then he quickly bowed, in case his bluntness was offensive. He fumbled for the key to the casket and unlocked it as he spoke. “It was requested that these be given to the most wonderful woman in the world. A woman of high intellect and compassion, of noble virtue and great wisdom. We immediately thought of you, Your Highness—Wali Daad said that only a woman whose inner beauty exceeded all outer expectations could possibly be worthy of these bracelets, commissioned and crafted by the royal jeweler’s own hands. Indeed, Prince Kavi himself could not have owned a more beautiful pair, and so he wanted you to have them.”

Opening the lid, he displayed the bracelets. Her Highness drew in a sharp, startled breath. Hassim blushed, but this time with pride, not fumbled embarrassment. Even the guards and servants attending Her Highness stared wonderingly at the contents. Wrought from the finest filigree gold, the finger-length cuffs had been encrusted with tiny pearls, each no bigger than a lentil in size and all carefully matched in color so that they formed zigzagging bands of pale blue and pale pink, creamy gold and silvery gray. Each cuff mirrored the other, so that one could tell left from right, but such was the selection and the craftsmanship that it was the only discernible difference between the two bracelets.

“Ohhh . . . these are beautiful,” Princess Ananya whispered. Gently removing them from the silk-lined casket, she turned them over and over, examining them reverently. “You say His Highness wishes them to go to a woman as beautiful on the inside as these are on the outside?”

“Uh . . .” Not quite sure how to correct the ruler of a nation, Hassim shrugged helplessly. “After consulting with Wali Daad—who is the wisest man I know—he said they should go to a woman as beautiful on the inside as these gems are on the outside. Without any doubt, that woman is you, Your Highness. Your people sing your praises more about your compassion and your skillful management of this land than they do of your face. Having seen you for myself, I can say that you have the face of a deva on earth, yet it still cannot match all the good things for which you are renowned.”

Gently caressing the pearls, Ananya smiled. She even blushed, her tanned cheeks taking on a charming rosy hue. “Such a beautiful compliment should not go unanswered . . . Chamberlain?”

“Yes, Your Highness?” a man clad in crimson silks asked, stepping forward from the side of the chamber and giving her a deep bow.

“Give this good merchant a camel to take back with him to his patron, a camel laden with the finest weavings of the West. Silks, brocades, and even a length of our best cloth-of-gold, all of it from the looms of our royal weavers. As a token of esteem for this wisest man in the world, that he should name me the most beautiful woman solely for what lies within, not merely what is seen without. Good merchant, pass along my gift to this Wali Daad, along with my thanks to His Highness, and His Highness’s jeweler, for the crafting of these bracelets,” Princess Ananya added formally. “When I wear them, I shall think fondly of the men of the East, and the great skill and wisdom they possess.”

Bowing deeply, knowing when he was dismissed, Hassim bobbed his way back out of her audience chamber. I have been to the palace of the West, and I have seen the most beautiful woman in the world . . . and I shall live to tell the tale!

A thought crossed his mind as he straightened outside the chamber and let the guards who had escorted him into the hall of the princess now return him to the main courtyard. But . . . if Wali Daad did not want all of those pennies, and he did not want those beautiful bracelets . . . what will he think of a camel laden with the finest silks and brocades that are woven in the Western lands?

WALI Daad stared at the camel. He stared at the bolts of fabric being unloaded by the caravan handlers, silks in more brightly dyed shades than a rainbow had hues, fancifully woven fabrics, and even a carefully folded length of cloth-of-gold. All of it contrasted against the sturdy linens and cottons worn by most of the caravan crew, who were busy with the task of watering and feeding their animals. The monsoon rains had come over a month ago, leaving today a cloudy day, but enough light shone through the clouds overhead to make that cloth-of-gold gleam.

Wali Daad stared in utter dismay, until his eyes stung from staring too much.

“What am I going to do with all of this?” he finally demanded, his voice cracking as it had not done for the last five decades. “I thank you most deeply, friend Hassim, for delivering the bracelets along with my admiration . . . but what am I going to do with all of this? Do you want it?”

Hassim blushed. “As much as part of me would like to say yes . . . after having seen the palace of the West and all of its wonders, I feel I have far more in common with you and your simple life, Wali Daad. Such riches are not meant for me.”

“It would be payment for your many troubles on my behalf these last several months,” the grass cutter pointed out.

Hassim shook his head. “No. What I do for you, I do for friendship. I am content with that. And it has not been a trouble, nor really out of my way.”

“Well, if I do not want it, and you do not want it . . .” Covering his chin with a callused hand, Wali Daad thought for a long moment. Finally, an idea struck him and he snapped his fingers. “Hassim, my friend, I have another request of you, if I may . . . ?”

The merchant stifled a groan, guessing what he was about to be asked. “As before, if it is within my power, I will gladly do it for you, Wali Daad.”

“This is another easy one, my good, well-traveled friend. What,” Wali Daad asked, his sun-burnished face crinkling with humor, “is the name of the wisest, bravest, smartest man in the world? A man of such virtue and honor, his exterior should be swathed in the finest cloth of the West, which is renowned for the undeniable skill of its weavers?”

Hassim didn’t bother to stifle his groan. He even chuckled a moment later. “That, my friend, is an easy request to fulfill . . . as I suspect will be your following request. The bravest, wisest, most spiritually exalted man in the world is Prince Kavi, ruler and champion of the East.”

Wali Daad touched the tip of his nose with the edge of his finger, grinning at his friend. “You have guessed my mind, O wise merchant. Pack up the camel when you leave, and take its contents to His Royal Highness, Champion of the East, and whatever else he may be. You may keep the camel for yourself as payment for your troubles, if you like.”

Hassim nodded. “I think I shall this time, as I did not keep the hundred pennies I turned into a casket for the bracelets. A hundred pennies is as nothing to a well-traveled caravan master such as myself, but a camel . . . well, a camel is worth its weight in gold!”

Both men laughed, and the caravan handlers sighed and started reloading the bolts of precious cloth back onto the placidly chewing beast.

THIS time, the merchant wasn’t quite as overwhelmed by the lushly painted and carved halls of the royal palace of the East. They were equal in their magnificence to the halls in the palace of the West, if different in the artworks and layout, but having seen one, Hassim was now prepared for the other. He still bowed deeply as he was brought into the receiving room of His Royal Highness Prince Kavi, Champion of the East and Defender of Justice.

“Rise, good merchant,” Prince Kavi ordered him before Hassim had finished kowtowing halfway across the hall. “You are no subject of mine, but a man of the North; you honor me with your bows, but they are not that necessary. Moreover, merchants share news and peace even as they share goods and coins with all the people they may encounter, and I would honor that side of your trade. Come, clasp hands with me!”

Flushing, Hassim clasped forearms with the prince, once again finding himself as tongue-tied as before. “Your Highness honors me. You are indeed as great a man as Her Highness . . . er, I mean as great a person—I come on behalf of Wali Daad, the wisest man I know, who wishes to honor you for all of your magnificent internal qualities. The honors and virtues, the courage and compassion you hold within your heart are matched only by the wisdom and grace of Her Highness of the West.”

“Your praises warm my ears, good merchant,” Prince Kavi told him. “But come, you said you bring gifts?”

“Yes, Your Highness.” Gesturing, Hassim motioned his five best caravan handlers forward. As he had done, they had dressed themselves in their finest robes, though their garments only made the rich bundles of fabric they brought look all the more exalted in comparison. “Wali Daad wishes to pass these fabrics along to you, which come straight from the looms of the royal weavers of Princess Ananya, Flower of the West. I bring you bolts of silk, yards of brocade, and even a length of cloth-of-gold. Wali Daad thinks that a man of such innate nobility as yourself should dress his outside to match his inside, and can think of no one better to wear the finest weavings of the West than you.”

Setting out the bolts, Hassim’s caravaners draped the fabric over the low-backed chairs and cushions in the prince’s receiving hall. Though the materials covering those cushions were already high in quality, they were from the looms of the Eastern Kingdom. The weavings of the Western lands were discernibly better.

“This is an incomparable wealth you bring me, Merchant Hassim,” Prince Kavi said in praise. His dark brown eyes flicked from bolt to bolt. “A gift this fine is usually not given without expectation of a return.”

“Wali Daad is not a man to ask for anything in return,” Hassim asserted, glad he was able to speak the truth with utter conviction. “He insists that these materials, the finest the royal weavers of Princess Ananya can produce, be brought to the wisest, most courageous, most just and capable leader in the world. Outside of Her Highness, of course, who is your equal in all ways. Knowing how much the two of you have in common, Wali Daad could think of no one better than you to be clothed in the softest silks and most intricate brocades woven in both lands. They are a gift given straight from her hands to my friend Wali Daad, and Wali Daad wishes for you in turn to benefit from them.”

“He does, does he?” the prince mused.

“He insists your outsides should match your insides, Your Highness,” Hassim asserted. “Her Highness gave this cloth to Wali Daad to do with as he saw fit, and he saw fit to have me bring it straight to you. The only other person Wali Daad and I know who could possibly be worthy of such beauty would be Her Highness, but as they came as a gift from her hand, they could hardly be returned to her, now could they?” He shrugged eloquently.

Prince Kavi chuckled. “Indeed. A gift given with no expectation other than the honoring of one whom someone admires is indeed a true honoring. But though it comes with no expectation, I cannot let the generosity of this Wali Daad pass unanswered. You shall spend the night as a guest in my palace, and in the morning, I shall send twelve of my finest horses back with you, as a gift for this Wali Daad. A man so wise and so generous deserves equal praise and presentation. Come!” Prince Kavi added, gesturing at one of his attendants, “My valet will introduce you and your men to the delights of my bathhouse, with its steam room, its talented masseurs, and the sweetest scented anointing oils from the four corners of the world . . .”

“TWELVE horses.”

“Yes, my friend.”

“Twelve horses . . . for me.”

“Yes, my friend.”

“Hassim, I feed horses!” Wali Daad protested, throwing up his hands. “I do not own them! What am I going to do with two magnificent, royally bred stallions and ten equally marvelous mares? Horses need exercising and tending and . . . and being put to work, either before a plow or beneath a saddle! What am I going to do with them? I cut grass all day!”

Eyeing his men, who were grinning as they went about their tasks of watering and grooming the horses and camels of the caravan, Hassim coughed delicately into his hand. “Well . . . you could always make another request . . .”

“And just have you pass them along to Her Highness with more of my compliments?” Wali Daad finished for him, his tone as wry as the twist of his lips. Hassim grinned, and the grass cutter sighed. “Fine! Pass them along to Her Highness with both my and His Highness’s compliments! She undoubtedly has far more need of such fine beasts than I ever would. I cut grass for horses. I do not stable and breed them—keep a horse for yourself, if you like,” he added, wanting to share such generosity. “For though you may travel that way anyway, you still have gone to great lengths for me in all of this.”

Laughing, Hassim shook his head. “No, no, my friend; a camel is worth its weight in what it can carry, but horses as fine as these are meant for warriors and queens to ride, not mere humble merchants such as myself. I shall not insult the royal breeding stock of the East by demanding they carry baggage. As I am headed to the West, I shall deliver these fine animals to Her Highness personally, exactly as you request.”

“Thank you,” Wali Daad replied. “You are a truly worthy friend, Hassim.”

“As are you, Wali Daad,” the merchant agreed.

THIS time, after the gift of the horses were presented and a few questions were answered, Her Highness requested that the merchant Hassim enjoy the delights of her fruit garden while she consulted with her advisors on a suitable reply to this newest gift.

Her grand vizier, an old friend of her father’s and a particularly wise nobleman, stroked his beard as they sat in council. “This is a very impressive gift. While our textiles may be accounted the finest, the royal stables of the West have nothing quite as good as these Eastern stallions and mares. And to send two stallions, with the potential to breed them to many more mares as well as the ten fine, four-legged ladies you have been given, Your Highness . . . this is a wealth above and beyond all expectation.”

“It is, indeed,” Princess Ananya agreed. “I cannot help but wonder at the motivation.”

“The esteemed merchant was very insistent that this was a gift of admiration, not of expectation,” the princess’s lady of the exchequery stated. Matronly but still something of a beauty, she deigned to wrinkle her nose in distaste. “But as it is such a generous gift, it does carry an obligation. Your Highness is right; we must wonder at his motivation.”

“If there were more ties between the West and the East, such generosity would be less fraught with worry over His Highness’s motivation,” the chamberlain pointed out. “We are not at war with them by any means, but, well, our dealings with the East have been cordial and polite at best for the last few generations. For His Highness to send these horses . . . !”

“Technically, he sent them to this Wali Daad,” the lady of the exchequery pointed out.

“Who in turn sent them on to us,” the grand vizier argued. “As he sent the bracelets, crafted by Prince Kavi’s own royal jeweler. Is this a prelude to a stronger treaty of trade and peace between our lands?”

“Priceless bracelets and royal steeds?” the chief enchantress snorted. She was originally from the North Kingdom, where wizards and enchanters were found and trained. She was also a plainspoken woman. “They sound more like courting gifts to me! On the eastern edge of the kingdom, where the grasslands stretch long and wide, it is not unusual for a would-be groom to gift the family of a prospective bride with a fine horse. If it is a custom so close to the border on our side, it may be a custom close to the border on their side as well, and His Highness may be trying to subtly capitalize upon such a similarity.”

The general of the armies spoke up, joining the argument. “But we do not know if this is the case.” He did not speak often, but when he did, his points were salient. All of the men and women in the room gave him the courtesy of their attention. “Your Highness,” he stated, addressing Princess Ananya, “we must ascertain what his motives are. But we must be cautious in doing so and not give offense. As wonderful as these gifts are, we must treat these things carefully.”

“My thoughts exactly,” Ananya agreed. “If we ask outright if this is a courtship gift and he says no, this could be a point of embarrassment between us, and thus a point of tension between our lands. If it is a courtship gift, and we do not treat it with the respect such an offer deserves at the very least, again we may cause offense. Thus we must probe subtly at His Highness’s intentions.”

“Do you have an idea, Your Highness?” the grand vizier asked.

“Yes. If this is a prelude to a closer political relationship, it would behoove us to exchange more information about our own cultures. I will therefore send back several gifts: some will be trade goods such as we get from lands beyond our far borders, some will be the finest goods from within our territory, and some shall be books of the history and customs of the West. Among these books, I shall include a few tomes that are my personal favorites. If this is a prelude to a marriage offer more than a mere treaty,” the princess stated, “I would like to know from the onset whether or not His Highness will respect my passion for knowledge and respect my tastes in reading material.”

The others mulled over her choice, and one by one they nodded, coming to an agreement. The lady of the exchequery summed it up neatly. “The books in Your Highness’s personal library are the finest in penmanship, illustration, and crafting I have ever seen. They are rare and costly, and would be valuable even to someone who does not read. I suggest you add a personal note or two in some of these books, notes requesting His Highness’s opinion of those of custom and history, and opinions of some of your favorites. Or at least a letter suggesting the opening of a personal dialogue between the two of you.”

“An excellent suggestion,” the chamberlain agreed. “If this is a prelude to a treaty, he will speak of matters of state more than of personal ones. If this is a prelude to a, well, a more intimate level of relationship, he will speak more of personal matters than of national ones.”

“It is subtle and strategic. I think this is good,” the general approved.

“Plus you will gain insight into the way how he thinks, by studying what he chooses to think about,” the chief enchantress added firmly.

“I shall consider carefully what to write in these notes soliciting Prince Kavi’s opinions,” Princess Ananya stated. “In the meantime, Chamberlain, please arrange for Merchant Hassim and his caravan to enjoy the delights of the palace. If he and this Wali Daad are the intermediaries between us and the Prince of the East, we should treat the messengers of His Highness with as much courtesy and hospitality as we would show His Highness himself.”

“You are indeed as wise as this Wali Daad has proclaimed,” the chamberlain murmured, rising and bowing to his liege lady. “It is an honor to serve and obey you.”

“AH, Hassim! Come and break your thirst at my well!” Wali Daad called out as the caravan approached along the road from the West. “I have fresh-cut grass for your steeds and some fresh-caught river fish for your friends! I was going to smoke it for preserving, but I can always catch more tomorrow.”

“Your hospitality is always a delight, and your offer of dinner shall not be turned down, my friend,” Hassim called back, reining in his horse so that he could dismount by the stone troughs.

Wali Daad craned his neck, peering at the strings of horses and camels, of baggage and handlers, before he returned his attention to filling the watering troughs. “You have no gifts for me this time?”

“Oh, the usual . . . but this time it is only a fraction for you. Do you wish to see any of it?” he asked.

“Oh, no,” Wali Daad demurred. “I am happy exactly as I am. Please send all of it to His Highness, save only for what you would like to keep for yourself from among the bits reserved for me. But what do you mean only a fraction of it is meant for me? I am curious.”

“It is an amusing thing,” the merchant informed him. “Her Highness seems to have the impression that these gifts you have been sending her are originally Prince Kavi’s idea, as a prelude to strengthening the ties between these two lands . . . and I have decided not to disillusion her. Now, as you are the wisest of men in all the world—or so I have proclaimed to the rulers of both lands—can you tell me why?”

Wali Daad thought about it as his callused hands hauled on the rope again and again. He hadn’t quite finished filling the six watering troughs radiating out from the well when the answer came to him. “Peace and prosperity! You think these exchanges of gifts are good for both lands, Hassim, for it makes each ruler think fondly of the other. Am I right?”

Hassim chuckled and clasped Wali Daad on the shoulder. “That is exactly right, my friend. I feel as much like an ambassador of peace as a man of business these days. I have been hosted very well by both Highnesses, and while I am very content with my life on the road, it is a delight to see I am spreading a joyful new friendship and a deeper understanding between these two nations, as well as bringing each side the finest goods the other has to offer. Only good can come of this, Wali Daad. Only the best of good!”

Equally happy, Wali Daad nodded his age-grayed head and made sure the last of the stone troughs was properly filled.

IT wasn’t until almost a full month after Merchant Hassim’s departure that Princess Ananya discovered the book.

She only discovered it because it was raining lightly and she wanted some solitude in which to think. That meant leaving her ladies-in-waiting behind to enjoy the much drier, indoor delights of the palace while she wandered the garden. Demurring to the need for an umbrella boy, she protected herself from the light pattering of rain with the end of her sari held over her head while she moved from gazebo to gazebo, lost in thought. Not until she reached the far pavilion did she find the book, and only because the rain was starting to come down heavier than the silk of her garment could easily have withstood if she’d tried to return at that moment.

Seating herself on one of the cushions to rest and think, she found herself sitting on something hard and lumpy. Puzzled, Ananya dug under the cushions and pulled out a jewel-crusted tome. A familiar jewel-crusted tome, with a cover worked in age-darkened silver, amethysts, and rubies. It was one of her favorite books of heroic tales, some of them based on historical fact and others embellished beyond all recognition of any kernel of an authentic origin.

It was also one of the books she had shipped off to His Highness.

This cannot be right; this is the book I tucked my letter into, inviting His Highness to consider discussing the contents of my personal favorites! I know I ordered this one packed. She looked out at the increasing rain beyond the carved stone and wood walls of the broad gazebo, and debated risking the hissing downpour it was becoming. The thought of the book in her hands—even if it was the wrong book—stopped her from leaving just yet. Books were too valuable to risk getting wet.

Which makes me even madder that someone should hide it here, of all places. Covered by a pillow, yes, but otherwise exposed to the weather. But . . . who would do such a thing? And why? . . . And where is my letter? she thought suddenly. Without the letter, Prince Kavi wouldn’t know these books were not just a personal gift from her, but a chance to open a dialogue between the two of them, to hopefully draw the two rulers closer in understanding and perhaps even into a friendship. Peace between their lands was good, but peace was always fragile without more ties than just a treaty or two to strengthen it.

By the time the downpour had eased, Princess Ananya was confident the letter was not in the pavilion. She had turned everything upside down that could be turned upside down, moved everything from one side to the other and back, and worked up quite a sweat in the process. The exertion was good, since it kept her warm in the rain-cooled air, but it left her disheveled rather than composed. Doing her best to repair her appearance, she straightened the folds of her sari. Lacking a mirror, she was checking her neatly braided and bejeweled hair with her fingertips when the chamberlain approached, two umbrella boys in tow: one to shelter himself and the other clearly for her.

“Your Highness,” he said in greeting, bowing along with the teenaged boys. “I would not disturb your meditations, but it is nearly time for the afternoon petitions to be heard.”

“Yes, of course,” she agreed, doing her best to shift her mind from the mystery of the book to the needs of her people. Except she couldn’t quite let it go. “I have a task for you. This is one of the books that should have gone east with the merchant Hassim, the one acting on behalf of Wali Daad and Prince Kavi of the East. It was the book that had my letter of correspondence hopes tucked within it, yet I cannot find the letter, and I should not have this book in my hands here and now. Would you please find out what happened for me while I attend to the requests of our people?”

“Of course, Your Highness—I am as puzzled as you,” he added, “for I thought I saw this very book being placed into the chest when I checked on the maids, which was just as they finished their packing.”

“I will trust you to be thorough in the investigation and to bring all of your findings to me,” Ananya instructed him, smoothing a wayward wisp of dark brown hair behind her ear. Her maidservants would tell her if she needed a moment more to look presentable, but if the chamberlain had come personally to fetch her, then the hour of petitions was very near. “We will hold off any punishments until we know why this has happened, as well as how. Right now, mostly I want to know how.”

THE truth was revealed shortly after supper. Bowing himself into her presence as Her Highness sat in consultation on a point of taxes with her lady of the exchequery, the chamberlain brought with him Princess Ananya’s cousin, Pritikana. He pushed the younger woman to her knees before Her Highness with a heavy hand upon her shoulder.

“This is the one who took the book, Your Highness.”

Pritikana tried a smile on her cousin. She was not nearly as wise or as learned as her cousin, but she was sweet by nature. “I meant no harm by it, dear cousin. It was just a book! And I made sure to put another book in its place. I even tucked your letter into it, because I figured you wouldn’t want that to be left behind.”

Feeling the beginnings of a headache coming on, Princess Ananya frowned at her cousin. “Why would you take a book—one which I had personally selected for His Highness to read—and keep it for yourself?”

“Because I hadn’t finished reading it, of course! But it’s all right, for I just put in another book of tales,” Pritikana offered. “You were going to give one book of tales, so I figured another one would be acceptable. And I made sure it also had a cover of silver and rubies, so it would be just as pretty.”

Sitting back, Ananya calculated which of her books of tales were bedecked with silver and ruby gems. There weren’t many on the list, but there were enough to need it narrowed down a bit more. “Do you remember which book of tales it was?”

“It was the one I didn’t like, but which you did,” Pritikana replied blithely. Her smile slipped a little as her royal cousin frowned. “Er . . . the one about the very strange people. With the story of the princess on the glass hill? Only it wasn’t a glass hill, but the moon, and they were talking about many strange and boring things which I couldn’t understand.”

In the entire of the Her Highness’s collection there was only one book with a tale about a woman who lived on the moon . . . and yes, it was a book that she did indeed like. A lot. Ananya was glad she was already seated, for she would have fallen down from shock as all the blood left her head in horrified realization. Dizzy, she felt the lady of the exchequery patting her face and bathing her wrists with water from one of the goblets on the table.

“Highness, Highness, please. Surely it isn’t that bad?” the lady of the exchequery asked her as she roused out of her half swoon. “Is your cousin wrong? Is it a book you hated?”

“No,” Ananya croaked, throat dry with trepidation. She reached for her own goblet and had to steady it with both hands in order to take a drink. “No . . . that isn’t the case. I liked that book for other reasons. My fool of a cousin never got past the first few pages and never read the rest of each story. Did you?”

Pritikana shook her head, her brown eyes wide with confusion. “It was full of strange words and concepts—you know, the sort of thing you like to read about. With strange sciences and wild speculations, and a very bizarre way of life. I didn’t like it at all. But I thought that, if you liked it, and you’re very smart, then His Highness might like it, for he also is reputed to be smart. And I knew you wanted to send him books that you yourself liked, to see if the two of you had anything in common. I also knew you really like reading that book at the end of a long day, for I’ve heard the maids mention how they’ve found it on your bedside table many a time in the mornings.”

Ananya felt the blood rushing back into her face. “Pritikana . . . you should not have been named for ‘a little bit of love’—you should have been named Piki after the cuckoo bird! That was a book of erotic tales! Very erotic tales!”

“Oh, my!” the lady of the exchequer gasped, paling.

The chamberlain clutched at his silk-clad chest. “Gods in Heaven, preserve us!”

Ananya set the goblet back on the table before her hands could shake out its remaining contents. “If His Highness wasn’t contemplating the thought of anything more than peace and prosperity between our two lands before this point . . . he will be now! Particularly since my thoughtless, selfish cousin put into that particular book the very letter inviting him to discuss its contents with me!”

Pritikana buried her face in her hands, hiding from Princess Ananya’s glare.

“It has been too many days to send anyone after that caravan, even at the pace of heavily laden horses and camels,” the chamberlain murmured, still rubbing at his tunic-clad chest. “We cannot stop the book from arriving . . . but maybe we can have our chief enchantress contact his chief wizard? Maybe he hasn’t received the book yet?”

Ananya found herself shaking her head before her thoughts caught up with her subconscious instincts.

“No . . . no, we will not mention this unless he mentions this,” the ruler of the West explained, reasoning it out aloud. “If His Highness is interested in a marriage possibility, to deny the book we sent him would be seen as a discouragement and possibly an insult. If he is offended that it was sent at all . . . how he reacts in his offense will tell us much about his character and reveal much about how any deeper treaties between our two lands will be handled. And if he is offended, we will plead our ignorance that it was sent, explain how it came to be sent at all, and apologize profusely at that time. Not before.

“No, this is a monsoon we will simply have to endure.” Her gaze sharpened, focusing on her kinswoman, who was still hiding her face. “In the meantime, cousin . . . I shall have to punish you. Your selfish act of bad karma, wanting to keep and read a book which I had specifically set aside for someone else, will have to be balanced. You are hereby assigned to the city hospice, where you will report to the sisters of the goddess of compassion. Under their orders and instruction, you will bathe and feed and tend to the needs of the crippled and the ill, and you will spend your days comforting the dying, until such time as we know the fallout from this trouble you have caused.

“If I did not know you are a sweet creature at heart as well as a silly one, I would have had you locked in the dungeons. But I would rather find a better use for you. Be gone from my sight!” Flicking her hands, which were bedecked at the wrist with the same pearl-encrusted bracelets the wise man Wali Daad had first sent, Ananya dismissed her cousin.

Sinking back in her chair, Her Highness prayed that Heaven had given Prince Kavi of the East a high tolerance for honest mistakes, and a very healthy sense of humor.

PRINCE Kavi was so aroused, he couldn’t stand. Which made it a good thing he had decided to save reading this book—after skimming its pages and realizing its true content—until the end of the day. Lying on his side in his bed, with one hand propping up his head and the other fondling his loins, he reread the first of the stories contained in this astounding tome sent to him by the equally astonishing Princess Ananya of the West.

Some of the trade goods this time around had been spices and fruits, some of them minerals and gems. Rare oils and perfumes from far-off lands. Included with such mundane items had been a collection of books on various aspects of Western life and land. Some of the tomes on religion and custom, history and law had contained notes penned by Her Highness, offerings to discuss any differences and similarities between their two nations in the effort to “get to know our dear Eastern neighbors that much better, in order to cultivate a greater peace and understanding, and to emphasize the many things we have in common as fellow human beings.” A smaller number within the proffered selection consisted of books which Princess Ananya apparently enjoyed reading for pleasure and relaxation, not merely for information.

This book, one of the books in the chest designated for Her Highness’s personal favorites, had contained a note as well. An invitation for the two rulers of the East and the West to “get to know each other on a personal level, to see how much we might ourselves have in common as two fellow intelligent, learned humans having renowned interest in exploring the many facets of thought and understanding, from the factual to the fanciful. I hope you find yourself enjoying this particular book as thoroughly as I myself do. After all, at the end of each day, we are human beings as well as rulers of mighty nations . . .”

Well, I certainly fancy her way of thinking, Kavi thought, eyeing the sensual descriptions of the lovers enjoying an intimate interlude in their strange, science-heavy universe. Too many noblewomen think they must be prim in order to be proper, and this throttling of natural feelings leads them to be stiff and formal in their private lives as well as their public ones.

That was one of the leading reasons why he hadn’t married yet. Kavi wanted a wife who was his intellectual equal, who understood the burdens of leadership, who could share those burdens, yes to all of that. But he also wanted a wife who could be a wife as well as a queen, as he wanted to be a husband in addition to being a king. Women who were prudish because they thought it was the proper thing to do weren’t going to make the kind of wife he wanted, and women who were passionate weren’t always capable of being proper in public. On top of these considerations, he needed a woman with the level of education necessary to be his equal.

I will not settle for anything less than an equal, unless I have no other choice, he repeated silently, enjoying the stroking of his fingers. A smile curled up the corner of his mouth. It seems as if Heaven is smiling upon me, for here is a woman whom all report to be as cultured as she is wise . . . yet she clearly has a passionate nature deep inside . . . and a requirement for the same in me, to have asked me to discuss her favorite book of tales with her . . .

My suspicions have been confirmed, he thought, satisfied mentally, if not yet physically. She does want to discuss a marriage as well as a treaty. From everything I’ve heard, she’d make any man a magnificent wife. A marriage between us would unite our lands and bring greater prosperity for all . . . but she could have selected a worthy enough man from her own realm, rather than run the risk of possibly being rejected by the lord of a rival nation. Even though I rule the East and could have any woman within the boundaries of my own kingdom . . . I am flattered she has chosen to send all these gifts to me, of all possible men . . .

The thought of the gifts she had sent, and this book in particular, made him frown in sudden thought. He would have to consult with his cabinet of advisors on what else to send: spices and herbs from his own lands and the realms of lands farther east, pashmina goats for their wool, and rare woods meant for carving, and of course books on the history and customs of the East, with annotated letters of his own pointing out whatever similarities he might find. And of course the good merchant Hassim shall have to enjoy my hospitality for a few more days as I quickly devote my time to finding those similarities, so that I can take her more publicly proper requests as seriously as they deserve . . . but answering this book requires a very personal touch.

I shall have to think . . . heh . . . long and hard about what to send back to her personally when I send all the other goods. Smirking, Prince Kavi rolled onto his back and finished sating himself with both hands, thinking about all the things he might send to share with Her Highness his own opinions on such important, intimate matters. It can’t just be another book, though I think I shall send her one of my own favorite erotic tomes, in the hope she will like it as much as I like this one. No, I should send her something extraordinary on top of all the other gifts, to reassure her of my appreciation of her passionate nature . . . and soothe any hesitancies she may have had over sending such a bold, personal, and . . . mmm . . . intimate gift . . .

THIS time, Hassim rode a full hour ahead of his caravan. His current mission troubled him, and the nature of it had prompted him to rise early, saddle his mare, and instruct the members of his caravan to take their time in following him, giving them an admonishment to keep their lips sealed as to the location and the nature of Wali Daad.

His solitary approach caused the weather-browned face of the aging grass cutter to wrinkle further. Wali Daad hurried to meet him, calling out as he approached, “Hassim, my friend! Have you lost your caravan? What ill fortune has fallen upon you? Tell me the gods have not turned their back upon you, of all people?”

“No, no, my old friend. I come alone only because I come ahead of my camels and men,” Hassim reassured him. “They are on their way.”

He let Wali Daad lead his horse by the reins to the troughs, where the grass cutter left him to fetch the first bundle of hay. Hassim dismounted and started drawing the water from the well to satisfy his mare’s thirst. Once the animal was comfortable, with her tack removed so that it could air dry as she rested, the two men retreated to the shade cast by the eaves of the thatched roof and a bench Wali Daad had thoughtfully bought with his meager hoard of saved pennies.

“If you come early, you must have a strong reason to leave your men to follow,” Wali Daad reminded him, pouring water into a cup for the merchant.

Hassim nodded, sipping at the liquid. It was a plain pottery cup, not the fine blown-glass goblets he had drunk from at the palaces of the West and the East, but the taste of Wali Daad’s simple well water was just as fine as any of the wines he had sampled. “I come because there are not just goods in this caravan. There is also a contingent of guards, and a woman.”

Wali Daad frowned, scratched his head in puzzlement, and frowned again. “She isn’t a gift for me, is she?”

“No, no. You have been sent the usual—fruits and spices and carvings from the East,” Hassim said dismissively. “No, the woman and the soldiers guard a casket said to come from the hands of Prince Kavi himself, the contents of which are to go into the hands of Princess Ananya herself, and no other. And the woman who rides with us, she is the mistress of the chambers!”

Hassim said it with awe in his voice. Wali Daad blinked. “What does that mean?”

The merchant flushed behind his beard, then grinned. “The mistress of the chambers—I believe the West has a master of the chambers as well, though I am not completely sure—is the person who instructed His Highness in the courtly art of passion.”

Wali Daad blinked again. “Forgive me my friend, but . . .” He flopped his hands loosely on his linen-covered lap. “Well, I do not understand. Why would His Highness send his lover to Her Highness, if all this going back and forth—which we started—is now happening because they are seeking to unite their two kingdoms in marriage?”

“It is because of the gift she brings, which she brings as a reassurance that though it must not be placed into anyone’s hands but Princess Ananya’s, it will not harm Her Highness,” Hassim explained. “I was told all of this so that I, too, would know what would happen. She will kneel with her head under a sword blade while Her Highness accepts this mysterious gift, and willingly offer up her life in punishment if it harms the Flower of the West even by the tiniest bit.”

Wali Daad sat back against the stone and plaster wall of his hut, absorbing this extraordinary news. Hassim sipped at his water, then smiled.

“She told me herself how she volunteered for the job also to personally reassure Her Highness that His Highness was properly instructed in how to please a woman, as is the custom of the Eastern lands. Since it seems His Highness is very much interested in pursuing the possibility of these two rulers and their two lands wedding together as one.”

The grass cutter rubbed at his age-salted hair and finally shrugged. “The ways of the highest ranks in both lands escapes me . . . but I will hope Her Highness is not insulted by this visit, and pray she sees this as a good thing. I am a simple man, and I lead a simple life. Perhaps I missed out on passion, but I find my joy in other things, and I am content. Who am I to question the ways of those with more complex lives?”

“Yes, well, it is because of this woman and the guards who accompany her that I have come early to meet with you, my friend,” Hassim cautioned him. “I have not said who you are, other than the wisest, most generous man I know. Or rather, I have not mentioned how you live and what you do for your living. I did not do so out of shame—you have taught me by example that the man who is content with his life is the happiest, healthiest, and wealthiest of men, and there is no shame in that, only something worthy of honor in my eyes—but I kept silent because I did not know how you would feel to have yourself revealed.

“You are as you say you are, a simple man who leads a simple life,” Hassim said, gesturing at the cottage, the well, the troughs, and the hay shed. “To reveal this simplicity to others might complicate matters beyond what you might find comfortable. So I have come ahead of my caravan to ask you if we should reveal who you are, or keep your identity private.”

Wali Daad blinked and sat in thoughtful silence, absorbing his merchant friend’s words. He sat for so long that the line formed by Hassim’s caravan came into view in the distance, rising up out of the rippling stalks of grass as they followed the road from the East Kingdom. Hassim did not pressure Wali Daad for an answer, but did rise with the intent of filling the rest of the stone troughs with water for his animals and men.

Sighing heavily, Wali Daad rose to follow him. “I think it best to keep my identity a secret. I may have started this because I could not shut my trapdoor on all the pennies I had collected, but this has become far greater than you or I, my friend. We have played our parts in the start of it, but the blessings of Heaven have taken over. It would be presumptuous to claim anything more.”

Hassim nodded. “I thought you might feel that way. So. You shall simply be the grass cutter with the well and the sweet hay at this stop along our journey. Though I ask that you do not hesitate to greet the mistress of the chambers; I wish your opinion of her . . . since if Prince Kavi and Princess Ananya wed, she will need some other occupation. It may be presumptuous of me to say this, and I may be reaching beyond the stars themselves . . . but she and I have been getting along very well on this journey. Her name is Bhanuni, and she seems to me at least half as wise and beautiful as Her Highness. A jewel who might be out of my reach . . . but one for which I feel I must strive.”

Wali Daad nodded at his wheelbarrow. “Then I shall fetch the sweet hay and collect my pennies for it as usual, and give the kindest of greetings to the mistress of the chambers for your sake, my friend.”

IT was in the closest semblance to privacy possible that Princess Ananya was presented with the contents of the fiercely guarded casket.

That semblance included five of her personal guards and her chief enchantress, the merchant Hassim as bond for his fellow travelers, the noble Lady Bhanuni, and the lady’s three guards, one of whom bore the small casket literally manacled to his arms by stout iron chains. The meeting for this personal presentation had also been arranged to take place after sunset. The guard with the casket knelt and bowed his head, lifting the metal lockbox in presentation. Lady Bhanuni offered Her Highness the key and a list of instructions on its contents.

“The item within this casket is an enchanted item, Your Highness,” the noblewoman offered, bowing deeply. “It is, by its enchanted nature, the most precious possession His Highness could possibly offer to you. Aside from his very self, of course. The nature of the enchantment cannot harm you, and as a reassurance it cannot, I have volunteered to kneel under a drawn sword while you receive it. Should it harm you in any way, my head is willingly forfeit.”

“And your head, of all the heads in the Eastern lands, is forfeit because . . . ?” Princess Ananya asked, looking between the key in her hand and the lovely middle-aged woman lowering herself gracefully to her knees.

Lady Bhanuni lifted her head and smiled. “Because I am the mistress of the chambers for His Highness, and I am also here to give explanations and reassurances for any questions you may have about my liege’s abilities in matters of love and marriage. The proposed merger of two kingdoms is a matter for rulers and their advisors to discern, but the merger of two people is a different matter.”

“I would rather you explained a bit more about this enchantment,” the chief enchantress interjected as Princess Ananya blushed. “What does it do?”

“It, erm, links His Highness to this prized possession. The nature of the enchantment is to key it to the touch of one hand alone, the first hand to touch it since the moment it was enchanted. And once it is keyed, it is enspelled to animate the object when that hand alone is touching it,” the mistress of the chambers explained. “It has been declared a death sentence by Eastern law for any hand but yours to be the first one to touch the item His Highness has sent. It is also realized that this is not the kingdom of the East, but it is hoped that you will give due consideration and honor to Prince Kavi’s wishes in this matter.”

“We would not insult a gift of such esteem by ignoring His Highness’s requested precautions, though I do not think you will need to bow your head to a drawn sword,” Ananya returned politely. She lifted the key, then nodded at the wizardess at her side. “My chief enchantress will keep an eye upon this Eastern magic, of course, but I will put my trust in Prince Kavi’s words, and in his desire for this alliance.”

Lady Bhanuni chuckled, making Her Highness aware of her choice of words. Blushing a little, Ananya unlocked the casket still being held aloft by the Eastern soldier. She lifted the lid, peered at the contents . . . and blushed a lot. Dropping the lid, she covered her face with her hands for a moment, trying to cool the heat burning in her cheeks, then lowered them slowly. Princess Ananya had to be sure she had seen what she thought she had seen, so she lifted the lid a second time.

The contents were the same at a second glance as they had been at the first: nestled in soft red and gold brocade—some of the very same red and gold brocade she had sent to Wali Daad, who had apparently passed it along to the Prince of the East—was a golden phallus. Every ripple, every wrinkle, every vein had been carefully crafted, making it the most realistic metal penis she had ever seen. From the dimpled slit at the tip to the bulbous bollocks of its sack, it was a proud curve of crafted manhood.

“Er . . . and . . . I’m . . . supposed to pick this up?” she managed to ask politely, finding her voice.

“Yes, Your Highness. Once you do, it will respond to no other touch. His Highness requests that if you refuse this gift, it must be locked and returned to him utterly untouched by any other hand, for he offers this enchanted opportunity solely to you.” Lady Bhanuni paused, then smiled again, though this time the smile was more puzzled than warm. “He did not say exactly why, but he did mention something about the two of you having similar tastes in many subjects, including . . . bedtime stories. I am afraid I did not understand his meaning, and he did not explain.”

Blushing again, Ananya nodded. “I do understand myself, and that is enough; you need not ask why. I do accept this gift,” she stated, reaching into the casket and curling her fingers around the metal, which warmed rapidly, “and thank His Highness for the great trust he displays in offering it. I shall do . . . Oh! It moved!”

Lady Bhanuni smiled. “As I said, it is enchanted.” She gestured and the soldier holding the casket lowered it, offering it to the mistress of the chambers. Reaching in, the older woman plucked out the phallus. “You can see for yourself how in my hands it is nothing more than a bit of sculpted metal.”

Knocking it on the side of the casket made both the iron and the gold clank loudly as they were struck together. All of the men in the room winced in sympathy. Unfazed, the mistress of the chambers held out the phallus to Princess Ananya, continuing her explanations.

“Even when we both touch it . . . see?” she said as Ananya reached for the proffered phallus. “It is still nothing more than metal. But the moment I let go . . . it becomes as one with its progenitor—you cannot harm him by it, of course, not even if you were to place it upon an anvil and strike it with a hammer under the force of your own hands,” Lady Bhanuni added in caution, “but every touch that inspires pleasure and passion will be transmitted to him. And every response he feels through your pleasurable touches shall be displayed in return for you.

“To this end, it is strongly requested by His Highness that you refrain from touching it at any point during the hours of daylight. He does have a kingdom to run, and it would not be good to startle him when you did not know he was, oh, descending a long flight of stairs, perhaps. Or sitting in judgment on a petition brought to him by his people.”

“Of course, of course,” Princess Ananya hastily agreed, still a bit embarrassed by this presentation.

She wasn’t an innocent; members of the royal house were instructed in passion as thoroughly as they were instructed in geography or riding. Her embarrassment was more on Prince Kavi’s behalf, to have had his manhood displayed before her watchful guards and her magical advisor, even if only through a metallic proxy. Treating it gently, she set it back into its padded casket and closed the lid. One of the other soldiers came forward with a second key, which he used to unlock the first soldier’s shackles.

Ananya gestured at the box as it was set at her feet. “This is indeed a gift beyond all . . . beyond all imagining. I find myself overwhelmed by His Highness’s generosity and his, er, thoughtfulness.”

She hesitated, then looked at her chief enchantress, who leaned in and whispered in her ear. Nodding, Ananya addressed the others.

“You may all go—and a suitable reply shall be formulated for you to return with to His Highness on our behalf, noble merchant,” she told Hassim. “In the meantime, you are invited to once again enjoy all the delights of our palace. The same hospitality shall be extended for you as well, good soldiers of the East. Lady Bhanuni . . . if it would not be too much trouble, would you care to stay and answer a few more questions for me? I realize it is late, and you have traveled a long way to get here.”

All of the others, save for one Western guard, bowed themselves out of the private salon serving as their audience chamber. Lady Bhanuni remained on her knees, ignoring the lingering bodyguard. “I would be honored, Your Highness. His Highness has been increasingly interested in your overtures of courtship, and—”

“My overtures of courtship?” Ananya raised her voice, catching the others as the last of them filed out of the room. “Merchant Hassim! Come back in here!”

The merchant came back promptly at her sharp command, along with another one of the Western bodyguards as an escort. He bowed his way up to her and knelt. “Yes, Your Highness? You wish something of me?”

“Did you, or did you not, bring these bracelets to me on behalf of Prince Kavi?” Ananya asked, lifting her wrists.

Hassim blushed, scratched briefly at his beard, and finally shrugged. “Not exactly, Your Highness . . .”

“Not exactly?” Princess Ananya repeated, arching one dark brow. “What does that mean? Were these bracelets not made by Prince Kavi’s own royal jeweler, as you have claimed?”

Hassim bowed his head, choosing his words carefully. “I brought them to you, as I said, at the behest of Wali Daad. He decided in his wisdom that you deserved them, and he requested they be made by the finest jewel crafter I knew . . . which happened to be the artisan Pramesh, who was appointed royal jewel crafter to the Prince of the East just over two years ago.”

“So these came from Wali Daad, and no other. Not in any way or shape from His Highness of the East. And the silks and brocades and the cloth-of-gold I sent back to him?” she asked, flipping open the lid of the casket at her feet. Hassim glanced at the contents of the box out of reflex, then quickly looked away, flushing. “This very same gold-woven silk was among the bolts I sent back with you to this Wali Daad as a thank-you gift for the generosity and thoughtfulness of these bracelets I wear. How did this cloth come to be in the possession of the Prince of the East?”

Hassim shrugged. “Wali Daad decreed they were too fine for himself to wear, and selected Prince Kavi as the most suitable recipient. Just as he felt you should be adorned so that your outsides match your insides, he thought such fine cloth should adorn such a fine man.”

“And the horses?” she asked.

“They were a gift from Prince Kavi to Wali Daad as a thank-you for his generosity for sending such fine fabrics to him,” Hassim admitted.

“But were they a gift meant for Wali Daad or a gift meant for me?” Ananya quizzed him.

“They were a gift meant for Wali Daad,” Hassim confessed. “But in his wisdom—”

Ananya held up her palms, cutting him off mid-explanation. “Yes, yes; I am beginning to see his machinations. It is not His Highness who started this offer of negotiations between our two lands and this . . . this courtship between our two selves, but this Wali Daad who instigated it instead. This is his courtship decision and not His Highness’s idea.”

Hassim, very nervous inside, daringly offered her a smile. “Well, yes, Your Highness. But isn’t it a most wonderful idea? There have been no wars between the East and the West for three generations. Just a long span of peace intermixed with some prosperity. Yet there haven’t been many changes in the treaties of the two lands to make the peoples of both realms move closer toward friendship and understanding. And there Wali Daad sat, straddling the crossroads of the border, thinking nothing of himself and only of bringing delight and happiness to all others.

“He saw the possibility of bringing you delight and happiness, Your Highness, as a reward for all the good you have done, and he seized upon the opportunity it presented,” the merchant added coaxingly as she listened to him. “It is he who saw the possibility of passing along further delight and happiness to His Highness as a more worthy recipient of your generosity . . . only to find the admirations and delights blossoming further like a flower under the spring sun. Is it such a terrible thing he has done, in passing along these things between yourself and the Prince of the East? Or is it a good thing which even the gods in Heaven would praise and honor?”

“Not to mention, in the meantime, he has made himself a fortune off our generous replies,” Ananya muttered darkly.

“Oh, no! He has not kept a single penny of any of it,” Hassim quickly reassured her. “Not in all of these exchanges he has facilitated. In fact, he gave up his own pennies to have those bracelets made, a veritable fortune willingly traded away for nothing more and nothing less than the satisfaction of knowing he honored a person as worthy of it as yourself.”

“Well, what of yourself? Have you not kept any of it?” Princess Ananya asked, eyeing him warily.

Hassim flushed and rubbed at the back of his neck. “Well . . . none of the fabrics, and none of the horses, and none of the spices and such . . . but I did keep the original camel you gifted to him, the one which bore the original shipment of cloth. At Wali Daad’s insistence.”

“The camel,” she repeated. She spotted the smile on the face of Lady Bhanuni, half-forgotten to the side. Ananya began to see not just the absurdity of this situation, but its humor as well.

“Yes. Because I am a merchant, and it is a camel,” Hassim said, shrugging. “And because Wali Daad insisted I should take it. But all else has gone into the making of your bracelets, and the transporting of the cloth, and the herding of the horses, and the . . . the rest of it. So on and so forth. Erm . . . if you are offended, Your Highness, I could give you the camel back, I suppose?”

Unable to help herself, Ananya sat back in her chair and chuckled. It became a laugh, which she half-muffled as she turned her head and rested it in her palm, elbow propped on the armrest of her makeshift throne. “A camel . . . And a wise man who saw the wisdom in leading His Highness and me by the flattered nose to an arranged marriage.”

Relieved by the way it looked like he wasn’t going to be beheaded, Hassim daringly said, “If I may be so bold, Your Highness, Wali Daad merely opened the path to the possibility of a marriage, just as I merely carried out his requests, as a good friend should. The two of you decided it was a path worth walking upon. You are both wise, benevolent rulers who wish only what is best for your people, as well as yourselves. You decided to do this much more on your own.”

Princess Ananya chuckled again, unable to refute his honest assessment. “That we did, good merchant . . . that we did. You may go. And you may still enjoy the delights of my palace. Sleep well, Hassim. You have earned it.”

A flick of her pearl-and-gold-clad wrist banished him and his escort from her presence. Ananya sighed and stooped. Scooping up the casket, she rose and offered her hand to the kneeling mistress of the chambers. The bodyguard, a stoutly muscled woman handpicked and trained from early youth to be able to guard a member of the Western royal family, came to attention and followed them out as Her Highness led the way.

“Come, milady,” she said. “You and I shall retire to my private chambers, where you shall instruct me in all the touches His Highness likes best. And though I do not think my chief enchantress has the skill to replicate anything of an equivalent nature, I will send my master of the chambers back with you when it is time for you to return, so that he may reassure His Highness that I have had equal instruction in such matters myself.”

Lady Bhanuni chuckled. “Trust me, Your Highness. If I am to teach you all that I know, His Highness will know exactly how skillful you are. Remember, if I touch it, he will feel nothing at all. The same will not be true for you. He will feel everything you do . . . which is why I am here to help instruct you.”

Blushing, Princess Ananya carefully carried the casket to her rooms.

THE first touch came as he was enjoying a performance in the palace theater. The feel of warm, soft fingers encircling his shaft startled him. They shifted and squeezed a little, and it felt so real, he couldn’t help but glance down. No one had a hand in his lap, though he could still feel the sensation. The phantom touches paused for a few moments, then came back as the invisible hand held him once again, then finally stopped.

Blinking, Prince Kavi returned his attention to the words and actions of the actors on the platform. Thankfully, they were in the final act of the drama. Unfortunately, they were only partway into it. No sooner had the second of three scenes begun than he felt the phantom touch of a woman’s hand again. At first it was just a grasping sensation, almost like she was carrying him. Then he felt her circling his shaft with her fingertips, exploring his skin. She stroked his glans and trailed her fingers down to his sack, gently weighing each of the soft globes tucked within.

Her random explorations aroused him. He felt her sliding his foreskin back from the tip of his rod, and wondered if it really was being physically slid back. Another glance at his trousers showed his flesh beginning to strain against the brocaded fabric. Realization struck; he nudged his grand vizier, whispering for the older man to pass the word that he wanted to speak with his chief wizard.

Rising, the Northern-born man moved along the row of chairs in the royal viewing box and crouched in front of his liege, whispering, “You wished to see me, Your Highness?”

Leaning forward—grateful that he still could—Kavi whispered in his ear. “Your special spell is working very well. Too well. Now you will do something about it.”

“I beg your pardon?” the chief wizard whispered back. “Do you wish me to end the enchantment, Your Highness?”

“No.” The feel of the hand of Princess Ananya—given the instructions he had sent with his envoys, it could be no other—was too seductive to give up just yet. “I need you to cast an illusion upon my clothes so that I may stand up at the end of this play with my dignity still intact.”

“Ah.” Mouth curling up in amusement, the chief wizard bowed his head. “Of course, Your Highness. And tomorrow, I should have an amulet ready for you to wear which will keep the illusion going. Even if I have to work all night to enspell it.”

“Thank you.” Keeping his chin up, Kavi watched the play as the mage chanted quietly over his lap. A slight tingle was the only proof the magic had worked. The chief wizard bowed and returned quietly to his seat, leaving Prince Kavi to enjoy the rest of the play. Or at least the appearance he was enjoying the play.

It wasn’t the daring flash of swordplay between the hero and the villain in the historical drama that made him suck in a sharp breath. It happened because he felt a soft pair of lips press themselves to his skin, followed by the lapping of a warm, damp tongue. A glance down at his trousers showed them in their normal, slightly loose fit, but he knew his shaft was engorged enough to rise from his lap. He could even feel the fabric straining with the pressure of his arousal. But most of all, he could feel her lips and her tongue, and the slightest, lightest scrape of her teeth.

The one thing that helped him keep his sanity was how sometimes his shaft would go numb to sensations, and other times it would be tapped and prodded and touched gently, without much in the way of pleasure . . . only to be followed shortly by more deliberately experimental touches. I do believe Lady Bhanuni is giving Her Highness . . . Ah! Exquisite instruction, he thought. Sweat seeped onto his brow, making him grateful there weren’t any oil lamps lit beyond the ones focused on the stage. If I didn’t have a public image to maintain, and didn’t want to disappoint or insult the performers, I would leave . . . Oh, Heaven! Oh, Heaven help me . . .

She was sucking on his sack. His own had a thick dusting of dark hairs, but his phallus did not, allowing the soft, mobile lips of the Flower of the West to draw upon first one, then the other of his royal jewels without impediment. Oh, Goddess . . . I finally see a reason to shave down there . . . OH!

A ripple of her fingers on his shaft, coupled with those lips, coaxed the milk of his loins up and out unexpectedly. Fingers clenching the armrests of his chair, throat locked tight against the need to shout, Kavi endured his climax in silence. He wanted to relax as the euphoria ebbed, but she was still touching him with her unseen hands, still keeping him aroused.

The play came to its end, but Prince Kavi didn’t hear or see it. Only the applause of his court woke him to the fact that something had happened. Sweating, aware that he had to stand up and walk away, he glanced quickly at his lap before putting his hands together. Everything seemed normal, thankfully.

That was good, because he felt more like he had been fitted with the bowsprit of a sailing ship. Rising, he managed to make a few comments about the play being good and being willing to see it again another time. Such as when he wasn’t hypersensitive to the fact that Her Highness was now rubbing the tip of his phallus between her soft, wet, crinkly-haired netherlips.

Somehow, he got to his feet. Somehow, he walked serenely—if stiffly—out of the performance hall. Somehow, he made it all the way back to his private chambers, where a curt order and a flick of his hand dismissed everyone from his presence. And somehow, he walked all the way to his bed, which he couldn’t really see, and dropped onto it. Faceup, of course, because there was no way in Heaven or Hell that he was going to break the spell-hidden shaft Her Highness was now enthusiastically sliding in and out of her slick, enchantment-distanced heat.

She was torturing him and didn’t even know it. Unable to control her touches, to guide her and advise her, Kavi was rendered helpless by her enthusiastic exploration of whatever pleased her. Because it pleased him too much, to the point where his body wanted release, but his brain longed too much for more of her unwitting torments.

Her thrusts became more rapid, more erratic. He felt her flesh constricting around his shaft, then felt the pulses of her pleasure as she shuddered. Only then did he, too, shudder, letting his body loose itself like an arrow from a bow. In the privacy of his quarters, Prince Kavi let himself tense and release without restraint, panting and groaning openly with satisfaction. As his own pleasure ebbed, he felt her tongue flicking along his shaft and draped an arm over his eyes.

Part of him wondered if he should call the creator of his enchanted phallus into his chambers to end the spell. He didn’t know how much more of this he could take. After a moment, he realized that he was now being rubbed by her fingers and what felt like a warm, damp cloth. A few moments after that, blessed numbness came back as he felt her replace his phallus in its strongbox, leaving him with only the tangible, real sensation of his exhausted shaft nested on his belly, cocooned in a pool of its own juices and the silk of the trousers clinging because of it.

Arm still draped over his eyes, Kavi wondered if he was insane, because the larger part of him didn’t want to end the enchantment. Mouth quirking at his own perverseness, he set his mind to the task of merging their two kingdoms quickly, so that he could merge their two bodies all the sooner—the rest of their two bodies, to be specific.

NEVER had Wali Daad seen so many couriers riding back and forth between the road to the East and the road to the West. For three months, couriers and messengers and officials of all sorts rode back and forth, carrying with them all number of proposed laws, ordinances, and suggestions for comingling the customs, beliefs, and traditions of the East and the West. And the word from the caravans that passed back and forth said that the people of both nations were quite happy with the proposed merger.

A part of him was pleased he had started all of this, but the aging grass cutter was also kept very busy. The dry season was coming, and with so many more animals being sent back and forth by their riders and handlers, it was all he could do to keep up with the demands of each day and still store enough hay for the long wait for the rains of the next monsoon season.

Indeed, he had taken to leaving a sign, scratched on a scrap of wood with a nail, for people to help themselves to the hay he laid out in the troughs twice and three times a day, and to leave pennies in the jar under the sign. He had no choice; he needed to spend most of his time out in the fields, cutting and bundling the long stalks of grass, rather than trotting back and forth to tend to the various couriers. His visitors were generous, often leaving him more pennies than the hay was worth, but that was all right. Wali Daad had plenty of empty space beneath his trapdoor.

It was late when he returned one day to his little thatched cottage, with the sun beginning to set in the west. Wali Daad found an exhausted horse nibbling tiredly at the hay left in one of the wooden troughs, with the mare’s tack resting on the ground and no sign of her owner. Confused, the grass cutter pulled on the latch-string of his door, only to find his home already occupied by a very frazzled, shadowed, worried-looking Hassim.

Wali Daad immediately fetched his cups and the pitcher of well water waiting for him. “Please sit, my friend. It must be a very grave concern to have brought you all this way in such a great hurry. Is something wrong with your caravan?”

“No! No . . . Business is . . . business . . . Oh, Wali Daad, a terrible thing is about to happen! I ran away from Her Highness, and I suppose from His Highness, too—and they will be here in just a day or two!” Hassim babbled, wringing his hands together. “Oh, Wali Daad, what are we going to do?”

Blinking, Wali Daad took his pacing friend by the elbow and guided him into a chair. “Please, sit. If I am to understand what has happened, you must calm yourself. Sit and drink. Eat, my friend,” he added, fetching the loaf of bread waiting for his supper, along with some strips of dried fish and slices of dried fruit. “You must rest, then you will think more clearly.”

“Yes . . . yes . . .” Seated, the merchant nibbled on the offered food, his brown eyes still a bit wide and a little unfocused. Only after Wali Daad had refilled his cup did he focus them again. “They want,” he announced with a disturbing solemnity, “to hold the marriage . . . here.”

Wali Daad blinked again, unsure he had heard his friend correctly. “Here? At the crossroads?”

“In the home of the inestimable Wali Daad,” Hassim corrected gravely. “They are on their way here, right now. I let it slip that you lived at the crossroads here at the border, but they think you live a little ways off, perhaps a little to the north.” He flung up the hand not holding on to his cup in a wordless gesture of disbelief. “I was to guide Her Highness there—here—with all of her entourage, and then go east and meet up with His Highness and all of his entourage, and bring them all to the home of the wisest man in the world, the great Wali Daad! They are expecting a man who lives in a mansion, and they wish to be married in your magnificent gardens!”

“And so you ran away?” Wali Daad asked, wanting clarification on that point. He could barely think about the rest of his friend’s news as it was.

“I escaped two nights ago on the road, just took my mare and left, riding as fast as I could to warn you. They want to meet you—they insist that they meet you,” Hassim corrected himself, “and they want your blessing upon the union of their two lands and the union of their two selves! Her Highness knows now that it was your idea, not His Highness’s idea, to send the bracelets one way and then the silks the other.

“I do not know if she told His Highness or not, but the one thing I have not revealed is that you are a grass cutter and that you live in a hut! Well, a cottage,” he amended, dazed and distractible in his distress. “It does have a floor . . . I do not know what we are going to do, my friend. I honestly do not know!”

Silence stretched between them. Outside, Wali Daad heard the mare nickering softly. He rose from his seat and patted his friend on the shoulder. “I will tend to your mare. You rest and continue to eat. Somehow, we will figure out what to do. If they truly want my blessing, then they will have it, if they still want it once we have met . . . though they may only have my fields of half-mown hay for their wedding garden.”

Hassim covered the grass cutter’s hand with one of his own for a moment, then dropped his forehead into his palm. Leaving the merchant inside, Wali Daad filled a bucket with water and led the mare to his hay shed, already three-quarters full with dusty, sweet-smelling bundles of grass. He found an old currying brush and stroked the mare’s hide, trying to think of what to do about the approaching wedding parties.

I am a simple man . . . I know nothing of pleasure gardens, nor did I ever think I should want to, he thought as he groomed the tired animal. And yet that is what these people are expecting to find. Stars were beginning to glimmer in the darkening sky. Wali Daad looked up at the jewels they made, and prayed.

Heaven . . . all of Heaven . . . if there is any way to give these people what they want, show me the path to it and I will walk it for them. But I am a simple man. I cannot craft miracles like a God! All I can ask is that You open the hearts of these women and men so that they see the beauty that I see whenever I wander through my home . . . and soften their hearts so that they do not take offense at being match-made and kingdom-wed by a lowly grass cutter.

All I wanted was to do something nice, to give a gift to someone who deserved it, he thought wearily.

He gave the mare one last pat and made sure she had the bucket of water close at hand, before leaving her tied up for the night. Having fetched her tack on the way back to the house, Wali Daad carried it inside. He would offer Hassim his own pallet for the night, since his friend had ridden off without a bedroll, and Wali Daad would sleep on the floor. It would make him stiff, since he was in his late sixties, but not much more so than these long days of cutting enough hay already made him feel.

“MASTER Wali Daad . . . It is time for you to awaken, Master. Oh, Wali Daad . . .”

Snuggling deeper into the cloudlike softness of his bed, Wali Daad grumbled and tried to ignore the quiet, lilting voice bothering him. The touch of a soft, cool palm against his cheek snapped his eyes open . . . and the sight of the arm and body attached to that hand did more to banish the urge to sleep than lighting a fire under his chin would have. That hand, and that arm, belonged to the body of a slender woman wrapped in a bright blue and purple sari studded with more than enough silver to match the ornate jewelry woven into her neatly braided hair.

“Good morning, Master Wali Daad! You have awakened just in time,” the young woman—well, in her late twenties, which was quite young compared to him—told him as he sat up. “Your bath has been readied and your clothing laid out. Once you are dressed and have dined on your breakfast, you will be ready to receive Their Highnesses’s outriders.”

Wali Daad was too busy staring at the opulent splendor of the chamber surrounding him to make much sense of her words. Carved marble had replaced the ordinary river stone of his cottage, and exotic woods now occupied the simple lumber beams which had once defined his home. Not to mention silk curtains, embroidered cushions, gilded paintings, and brightly colored bits of glass lining the five—five—windows to north. Five stained-glass windows showing a view of the crossroads from higher up than he had ever seen before, when he normally had just one, simple, wooden-shuttered opening down on a solitary, single floor.

“I . . . I do not understand. Where am I?” he asked as the young woman coaxed him out of bed by the hand, revealing how someone had clad him in soft, white silk garments instead of his age-stained, familiar linens. “What has happened to my home?”

The woman smiled, releasing his hand. Pressing her palms together, she bowed to him. “I am a deva, Wali Daad. Heaven has heard the prayer of your heart and granted you a home worthy of it.”

An angel of the gods! Wali Daad stared at her. Am I . . . Am I dead?

She straightened and grinned. “No, you are not dead, Wali Daad— Master Wali Daad, rather. And yes, I am an angel of the gods. You may call me Desna. This is the truth of what has just happened: You, Wali Daad, are honored by Heaven. Nothing more than that . . . and nothing less.” Sweeping her hands at the palatial chamber around them, she repeated herself. “Heaven has peered into your heart and remolded your home overnight to match it.”

“But . . . why?” Wali Daad asked. Part of him was a little frightened that she could read his thoughts, though she wasn’t frightening in the least. He felt as if he should know her, though he knew he had never seen her before. Everything was confusion, and he didn’t know what to make of these sudden changes in his life.

Tucking her arm in his, she guided him toward an archway hung with strands of precious pearls for its beaded curtain. “Because you are worthy. And because you gave a true gift, expecting and wanting nothing in return, and continued to give and give with no expectations. And because there are two mighty nations, both of whom honor Heaven, who are expecting to see what you have always seen. But . . . their eyes are busy thinking that wealth is equal to beauty.” Her smile slipped into a moment of sobriety. “It is sometimes easier for Heaven to transform a simple cottage into a magnificent palace than it is to open the eyes of the people to the natural wonders of the world.”

“So . . . this will only be here for the length of the wedding?” he asked, gesturing vaguely at his unfamiliar, opulent surroundings.

Smiling, she drew him into the next room, where several more youths, some of them men and some of them women, awaited with towels and anointing oils, with the promised bath and finely woven clothes to follow it. “It will be here for as long as you wish it, Wali Daad. For as long as your heart is true.”

Bemused and wordless, Wali Daad allowed himself to be bathed and readied for the day.

SHE was every bit as beautiful as her letters had proclaimed. Not in a listing of her features, which were indeed fine, but in the way she had written, full of wit, charm, humor, and intelligence. Her brown eyes gleamed with amusement, her mouth curved with kindness, and her cheeks blushed with awareness when Prince Kavi, Champion of the East, requested a moment alone with her in one of the palatial rooms in the home of the kind, quiet-spoken, slightly befuddled-looking Wali Daad. In a palace that his couriers and border guards, one and all, had sworn hadn’t been there just the day before. But the prince could not focus on that peculiar fact just yet.

Dismissing even the last of his bodyguards, he waited until Princess Ananya, Flower of the West, had reassured and sent on her way the last of her own guardswomen. Closing the door carefully, Kavi turned back to her. She looked like a painting from Heaven in her beautiful sari and pearls. A living deva. His wife-to-be.

“What did you wish to discuss in private, Your Highness?” she asked him politely.

“No.” Leaving the door, he lifted his finger between them. “Right now, there is no ‘Highness’ between us. No prince, no princess, and no nations. We will not have this chance to be alone again until late tonight, long after we have become the joint rulers of our lands . . . but right here, right now,” Kavi coaxed her, taking her hands in his, “there is just a wonderful woman and a very grateful man.”

Her smile widened and her blush deepened. “It is I who should be grateful. I had no plans for anything other than a marriage of state, but your letters . . .”

He lifted her fingers to his lips, deeply grateful he could finally touch them. “And yours,” he agreed. Drawing her closer, he placed her palms against his chest. He smiled and closed his hands as she flattened and spread her fingers. “Yes . . . touch me. Touch all of me. Did you know you have been driving me insane with passion nearly every night?”

Ananya smirked and stepped closer, brushing their bodies together. “Lady Bhanuni gave me some ideas to start out with, but most of it has been inspired all from my own imaginings. But this, touching the rest of you . . . this is better than mere imaginings.”

Cupping her face in his hands, Kavi kissed her. He kissed her deeply, thrilled when she returned each nip and suckle with her own lips. Aware of the passing of time, aware that they could not stand there and kiss each other forever—however much he longed for it—he reluctantly broke their kiss. Resting his forehead against hers, ignoring the slight scratch of her hair ornaments, Kavi spoke from his heart.

“Marry me. Marry me and make me happy, and teach me to be wise, and help me to be a good father and a good ruler, and continue to share with me all your excellent advice. Rule with me, so that all of our people may prosper, both West and East. Please?”

She grinned. “I was about to ask you something similar. I am honored to accept, Kavi. My Kavi . . .” Her fingers shifted a little, finding the hard beads of flesh beneath his ornately embroidered tunic. Deepening her smile, she rubbed them a little. “Do you think . . . ?”

Kavi groaned. “With your hands finally on the rest of me, how can I think?”

“I believe you can think about this,” she murmured, exploring further with increasingly bold fingertips which wandered southward down his chest. “Do you think . . . we have enough time . . . for a quick . . . ?”

Groaning, Kavi kissed her again, plundering her for everything implicit in that invitation. Their courtiers would have to wait, the palace servants would have to wait, and the inestimable, kindhearted, brilliant Wali Daad, the wisest man in the world, would have to wait. Heaven itself would just have to wait, though Heaven itself would surely agree why.

“YOU have a truly beautiful home, Wali Daad,” Queen Ananya said, praising her quiet, almost bashful host. She looked down the terraced slope of the gardens toward the river in the distance, lit more by colorful lanterns, made of dyed paper in the Eastern tradition, than by the last, glorious hues of the fading sunset. Nestled as she was in the curve of her new husband’s arms, she let loose a sigh that sounded somewhere between happy and wistful. “I wish we could stay here forever.”

“As do I,” King Kavi agreed.

Wali Daad looked at his transformed home. He looked at the gardens, at the walls, at the windows and the stables and the milling guests of two nations joined happily into one mighty land. All he wanted to see was his grassy fields and his little cottage, barely more than a hut with a wooden floor. But everyone was happy here, as they would not have been happy in his simple grass cutter’s home. He could not spoil their happiness at the expense of his own.

A glance to his side showed the attentive deva still hovering near his elbow, as she had lingered for most of the day. The name she had given for herself was Desna, which he thought was very appropriate, for it meant offering. He had been offered this palace for as long as he wished it. For as long as my heart is true . . . and my heart is saying I must do this.

Can you hear my thoughts, Desna? he wondered. The ones in my heart?

She smiled and nodded, giving him a single, graceful bow of her head. A bow of permission.

Pleased and relieved, Wali Daad turned to Their Majesties. “Then if you admire it so much . . . it is yours. I give you this palace and all of its delights to be your new home—it is well placed between the two arms of your new land, and the well has never gone dry, even in the deepest of droughts. But, as in all things in life, you must give generously of its water to all who come to visit, however long or brief, so that its generosity will never have cause to dry out.”

“No, we couldn’t accept your home,” His Majesty demurred.

“I insist. Heaven itself insists—and who are we to argue with Heaven?” Wali Daad added, lifting his hands in surrender, though he smiled as he did so.

Her Majesty touched him with one of her gentle hands, her wrists still adorned with the bracelets he had ordered made. “Then you must stay with us and honor us with your presence.”

Wali Daad glanced between her and the deva and smiled sadly, shaking his head. “I may come back for a visit, but my work here is done. This is your home now, and your life. Mine lies elsewhere.”

Bowing as gracefully as he could, Wali Daad escorted Desna away.

“That was a generous, true-hearted thing which you have done, Wali Daad,” the deva murmured in his ear.

Wali Daad nodded to his friend Hassim, who had taken his sudden change in households with a blink and a smile, and a prayer of thanks for Heaven having saved both of them.

“It was the right thing to do. But now . . . Now I must find a new home, and a new field or two, and new customers for whose horses I can cut grass. Would you know of any crossroads in need of an aging but very good grass cutter?” he asked her.

Desna leaned back a little, her pose coquettish. “Why yes, actually. The gods just happen to need a good grass cutter at the borderlands between the mortal realms and Heaven. They send Their devas back and forth several times a day, and though we are devas, our horses still need to drink sweet water and dine on the finest hay. If you accept, we will have a cottage with a wooden floor and a big field of grass waiting for you within the hour. It is a simple life, with simple rewards and simple pleasures, but I think it would suit you. If that is what you want, Wali Daad.”

“It would,” he agreed, relieved. “And it is. Thank you.”

“No, Wali Daad,” the deva corrected softly, kissing him on his age-weathered cheek. “Thank you.”