Despite their growing intimacy, Sophia could not consider Penelope her only love. Yunan called her in so many ways. She wanted his touch, his voice, his approval. She wanted him to stroke her skin and tell her he loved her despite her size. Every night she prepared herself for his summons, but it never came.
Not matter how elegantly she served him during their evening meal, nor how sweet the songs she sang him, accompanying herself on the simple lap harp, his thanks were always profound and polite, but once the meal was over, he did not stay.
He would take his leave regretfully, wielding excuses like a handful of sugar plums to an indulged child. She could have born it if he were indeed engaged in managing his many business affairs or planning strategies for their safety with his warrior companions, but one night he called for Aysel, the dark-haired serving woman.
She stayed in his rooms until the pink light of dawn crept along the mountain tops. Three nights he called her and each morning Sophia heard her soft footfall as she made her way to the servants quarters down below. Even though Sophia asked her what service she performed for her master, the woman said nothing.
"The Master called and I attended," was all she would say, her dark eyes fixed on the floor beside Sophia's feet.
The girl did not like to press her further, even though the thought of Yunan taking a serving girl to his bed instead of the mother of his child made her want to scream.
It would have been easier if she could be angry with him, but there was no opportunity. She could not return his gifts, for he sent none. To refuse to talk to him would seem churlish during the short times they spent together, so she swallowed her feelings and tried to forget them.
Yunan enjoyed entertaining. Their evenings were often spent in the company of local dignitaries and their partners. Sophia noted how Penelope fell instinctively into the role of hostess, effectively complementing her father's hospitality.
In some ways, Sophia felt her presence must be an embarrassment to them and often left early, feigning tiredness. One night, though, she stayed.
Yunan arranged for a well-known, celebrated singer to entertain them. A small group of musicians played while they dined. The music was like nothing Sophia had heard before -- unworldly, ethereal. Very different from the music she used to dance to even when she used to dance as a small child before her family. It touched her in a way she could not explain, leaving her raw and open.
The singer sang them many tales -- of quests amongst the hills, ancient tales in a tongue most had forgotten, yet their meaning wove its way into their hearts. She told of living amongst the harsh landscape of the hills and of love, full and unrequited. Sophia wept.
When the singer at last pleaded fatigue and left with rich presents, the guests and Penelope also took their leave. Only the musicians stayed, playing soft melodies as Sophia and Yunan sat and looked at each other. Their eyes spoke volumes, yet still he did not take her to his bed.
As dawn broke, Sophia heard Aysel pass her door. This was intolerable! Sophia determined to make her feelings clear to Yunan, even if it meant risking his anger. She knew he often went to the rooftop gardens in the early morning, enjoying their peace and serenity before the heat of the day rose to make being indoors preferable.
She approached the garden along a sandstone stair case leading to tiled pathways where shrubs and scented bushes grew in tubs and long broad planters. In the centre was a fountain, gently burbling with clear, fresh water. She saw Yunan standing at the walled edge looking out across the hills.
She hesitated, reluctant to spoil his peace with her presence. The fluttering of her clothes must have caught his attention, for he turned and waved her over to join him.
"Come and see this view, Sophia."
She stood by his side, awed by the landscape in front of her. "The dawn always makes you think you can see until the ends of the earth."
"Sometimes I think this is the end of the earth."
They stood together in companionable silence for several minutes until Sophia asked, "Has this been your home for long?"
"It's not home." Yunan corrected her, "Not really - I can never relax here. There are too many hard memories, too many enemies." His eyes softened as he looked at her, "and too few friends."
Sophia could not meet his gaze. She was restless, ill at ease, not wanting to blurt out what was on her mind. "Did you sleep well, my Lord?"
"I sleep better these days. Now you are safe and here."
"Presumably you sleep better because you have your women here as well."
Yunan's smile did not falter. "Penelope said you were curious about my women." His finger touched her cheek. "I understand why you asked."
"Do you?"
"When I lay with you... it was ... you may think that .. I was accustomed to behaving that way."
"I have not thought anything about that time." Sophia interrupted.
"There are female servants here, but they do not serve me."
"Do they not? Forgive me if I find your remark somewhat strange given that you have asked for one to attend you several times this last week. I realise I am just the brood mare...but I...".she turned away from him, not wanted him to see the anger in her eyes. Somehow she kept her voice steady. "Forgive me, it is not my place."
Yunan sighed. He should have known he would have to explain himself to her at some point. He wished he knew himself why he had not yet confirmed her place with him. He knew he wanted her, wanted her too much sometimes, but something always held him back.
Despite the colour of her hair and her pale skin, she reminded him too much of his daughter. It was bad enough she now carried his child. He should have protected her instead of giving in to his weakness, his overwhelming need to join with her. He could not let her down again.
"Do you know the girl who has attended me these past nights?"
"No. I know her name, but she tells me nothing, only that she is one of your household."
"Speak to her. She will tell you how she serves me. She may even sing to you or perhaps recite you some poetry if you ask her nicely."
Sophia stiffened, "I am sure she is extremely skilled and well suited to the role of Scheherazade, whilst I, plainly, am not."
Yunan frowned, he wondered what he could say to dispel her jealousy, "Sophia, she sings to me and recites poetry. It helps me sleep. It is a weakness, but I cannot always be strong."
Sophia felt her voice catch in her throat. She stared out across the hillsides seeing nothing.
