XXXIX. Elucidation & Entertainment
"… so there I was, facing no less than Hilmi ad-Dib in the duelling ring. Armed with a short duelling knife, stripped down, chest bound with bandages. Now, yes, you might think that I had the advantage as a dragon child, but I don't hesitate to tell you – I haven't fought a duel like that since I was a much younger woman. And Hilmi was famed as a duellist; a man who had plenty of scars from the fights his fearsome temper got him in."
The main course is mutton stew flavoured with copious amounts of lemony sumac, served over coarse couscous. It's joined by soot-blackened rye bread and sliced pickled aubergine. It's simple, but tolerable. But people aren't eating it. They're listening to you, which is just the way you like it. You're tired and want to go to bed, but as long as people are looking at you you can hold it off.
"We started to circle each other, and as we did that, the jansi watching started to clap. Have you ever been in a duelling circle like that? In a fight to the death?" You look around your audience. "No? Well, let me tell you, your heart starts to beat along with the clapping. Ba-dum. Ba-dum. Ba-dum. And he was snorting like a maddened bull, but for all the drugs he'd taken, he was still sane enough that he didn't rush in. His knife danced in the air, like a silver fish. Outside, thunder cracked, from the mad wyldstorm. And all the time they kept clapping. Ba-dum. Ba-dum. Ba-dum.
You've let your voice fall, softening it so they lean in to hear you. So they jump when you snap, "Suddenly! He lunges! Our blades meet! Metal clatters. And I jump back, but he pushes forwards. And now his knife is whistling in the air, so close to my throat. It's like a blade on silk. Oh, I don't hide it, he's skilled. Very, very skilled. And with his knife moving like that, I was paying too much attention to it - and not enough to his other hand. He grabs me, spittle flying from his lips, huffing and puffing. And now I can't get away. And in comes his knife, closer and closer, and he rests it just here." You touch where he'd rested it, feeling the slightly raised, not-quite-yet-perfectly-healed line. "Cutting to the bone."
"I can't see a scar," says Joelle aw-Wardiyy-Kuri. She leans forwards, peering at you. You realise that she's old, behind the painted face and the shrouding robes.
"I'm a dragon-child, darling," you tell her. "I heal well. But he did it deep enough there's still a little scar. And well, I barely managed to get away. Barely." You hold up a hand, separating your index finger and thumb fractionally. "I got my hand around his wrist, and squeezed. And if you remember, poor Haitham had cut him there before." Hand pressed against your chest, you sigh melodramatically. "It was like he was there, beyond the grave, protecting me. As if maybe he'd known how
hateful and filled with rage Hilmi was.
"But I knew. Oh yes, I knew. You should have seen his face. It was like he was possessed; red as cherries, expression twisted up, huffing and puffing like a furious bull. And I knew he was a cruel, jealous man who thought he was far better than he actually was. One of the reasons he hated Hilmi was because poor Hilmi was actually good with the ladies." You raise your eyebrows archly at Lara am-Muskila. "I'm sure you must have noticed that there is a certain kind of man who takes it as a personal insult whenever a woman turns down his attentions. Even if he stinks like a billy-goat and can't talk but to lie about his accomplishments."
Lara smiles at that. "I have noticed that."
"Well, normally I wouldn't have thought of doing it. But I was bleeding quite heavily from my shoulder, so desperate times call for desperate measures. So I pointed out some of those things that I just mentioned to you. And my goodness, he took it poorly. He screamed, cursed me out, and charged in. Thinking that I was too hurt to be able to hold him off. I was in a lot of trouble."
Joelle chuckles. "Not so much trouble that you're not here to tell us about it today," she rudely interjects.
You smile, even though you're a little peeved about how she's breaking the flow of your story. "He slammed into me, knocking me down. I was there, pinned underneath him, him grunting and roaring. But the thing was, he was doing that not in victory, oh no. As the Peacock School taught me, a distracted enemy is one who doesn't notice your talons, and in his rage he'd forgotten that I was right-handed.
"So I'd ducked his blade, and exploded - exploded! - upwards with a stab into his gut." You can hear the winced-intake of breath from your audience. Holding your cutlery, you slowly lift it up. "I drove it in, to the hilt! His spittle was dripping onto me, and he was scratching away, trying to desperately kill me with his dying breaths, like a mad dog howling out its last. But then I rolled him over, and pulled up, up, up, opening him up from gut to ribcage. And the blood was everywhere.
"Do you have to talk about this at the dinner table?" asks the androgynous water-priest Harun am-Ma-Kuri.
"No, no, continue, I'm enjoying this," Fahd says. You glance in his direction, and he looks at you appreciatively over the top of his wine. "Don't you like hearing the tale of a beautiful woman fighting to the death? What were you wearing, Meira?"
"Oh, very little, as is the custom. And there's really not too much to say," you say with false humility. "He was in so much pain, enough that it brought him back to sanity. There he was, pounding his heels on the ground, gasping, trying so hard not to scream but failing. And I'll tell you what. Despite everything, I felt sorry for him. But it was in the end his fault for murdering a man I liked. And I wanted him to know that. So I leaned over him, and whispered to him, 'This is for Haitham'.
"Then I cut his throat. To put him out of his misery. I rose, holding my knife, soaked in blood - mostly his - and curtseyed to the watching jansi to thunderous applause. And that, ladies and gentlemen, was how I avenged the death of Haitham ak-Kas. For as they searched his belongings, they found a trophy he had taken from the poor murdered Hilmi, and that confirmed his guilt in the eyes of all."
That earns you quite a bit of applause. "Masterfully told," Fahd tells you. "You're quite the talented woman, I see."
"Oh, please, my lord, by no means am I an amazing storyteller," you lie. No, you are a fucking
incredible storyteller, and everyone here should know it. "I just have some small talent at it."
"And some small talent at duels?"
"Well, one might say so."
"Very nicely told," says Haldun Farran, with a distinct twist to his lips. Your rival scavenger lord scowls at you. "A wonderful story. I might question how true it is, but you're definitely skilled at telling tall tales."
"I'm so
glad you liked it," you retort. "But of course, if you want to tell your own story, I'm sure it'll be equally interesting."
"Can we perhaps save the storytelling for later?" Reem ak-Kaslan says. "The food is waiting."
Yes, and it's not at all that she's been shooting you hateful glances because you've been the centre of attention. "Oh, of course." You give everyone in the room a sparkling smile. "I'm so sorry to be keeping you from your meal, Reem."
It's not that you're calling her a glutton, at least in the eyes of everyone else in the room. She would disagree, but she's the only one who picked that foul implication hidden in your perfumed words. Still, she has a better sense of self-control than the scavenger lord, and only retorts back with a, "You're too kind."
With that said, the pace of conversation slows notably as people focus on the lukewarm food. You do exchange a few interesting words with Harun am-Ma-Kuri, the water-priest who is neither male nor female. The priesthood of Ma, they explain, serves the god of the deep water; the water that lurks below sight and does not evaporate in the heat of the day. Groundwater, you ask, only to be told; no. Ma is not only the god of groundwater, but of ancient water. Your grasp of Firetongue reaches its limits as he moves into abstract theological matters, but your shift into the divine language helps clarify matters. Ma is, as said in the spirit's tongue, the god of water denied to the sun; the god of water that exists outside the cycles of the world.
Such a thing. To your Cheraki mind, such a concept is ridiculous. In the mountains of your holdings - your former holdings - there are plenty of underground lakes and deep rivers, but that is it; they are lakes and rivers. In time they return to the world, having carried life through the deeps. Only in places where the world is sick do they not return in time, and those are where they touch the impure lands of the dead. But according to Harun, the towns of Cahzor would be graveyards if it were not for Ma's waters.
Which raises the unpleasant question; from where does this water come? You don't ask them, because you have your suspicions. Such a parched city which was once greater must have once had more water available to it. Just like the jansi and their silver, Cahzor lives beyond its means in water too.
Well, you've just gone and ruined the dinner for yourself. The city is bad enough as it is; you hate the idea that it might become even thirstier, even drier, even deader. Your eyes wander to the giant tank of water, looking for the motion of the elemental - but you can't see it. What would a world be where people cannot make such pretty frivolities? The wine isn't very good, but you drink more than your fill. You deserve it more than other people. You've been sober for days. Days!
Fahd taps a little tuning fork on the table in front of him. "Attention!" He speaks softly, and the table takes a few moments to fall silent. "Well, wasn't that
fun, everyone? I'd like to particularly thank Meira of the Sayu, our so-esteemed foreign guest, for her little story. Quite the thrilling thing, yes? Blood and death at the dinner table, and for all that Harun doesn't like it, well, I think she's quite satisfactorily added to our entertainment here."
"My lord, please, I am your guest. The least I can do is tell a story or two," you say, because you get the feeling he's wanting something
He smiles genially. Yes, you were right. He wanted you to say something like that. "No, no, I insist. I can't leave all the entertainment to you. Although you've been enjoying the wine greatly."
"It is fine wine," you lie.
"Well, thank you. But yes, everyone, I'd like to offer my own entertainment," he says. "For your entertainment - and who knows? Possibly your education, too."
He sounds amiable. Even jovial. A host to a party of guests. But my, you can feel the others stiffen up. They breathe more softly; without meaning to, they look for the exits. It's not in horror, no; it's in terror. They're scared of what this means. And so you keep a table-knife close to hand.
"I will need to be there for midnight ceromonies," the elderly priestess Joelle aw-Wardiyy-Kuri says. "So I cannot linger over-long."
"Oh, but you can be there for this." Fahd claps his hands together loudly. "Soon we will be going through to watch one of my little spectacles," he says, beginning to pace around the table. "I hope you will all be awed and amazed by the sight! Indeed, I have found some new frivolity which you should all find delightful!"
Khair am-Muskila nods violently enough that his weak chin wobbles. "I am a great fan of your dancing girls, m-my lord!"
"Well, let us go, then!"
"Unfortunately, there is just one problem, one issue, one smallest of concerns I feel I must raise with you before we move onto the proper phase of entertainment. A question of conduct. Of behaviour. Of my laws!" Those last words are shouted.
You legitimately have no idea what he's talking about. Have you broken any laws since you got here? You're pretty sure you haven't. Which means this is not your problem, and this is - from your point of view - all part of the entertainment.
"Now," Fahd says, dropping his voice, as he continues to pace around the table, "is there anything that anyone wants to confess? Anything at all?" The room is silent. His boots click against the stone floor. "What about you, Soha? Anything you want to tell me about this year's harvest from aq-Qard fields?"
There is no sourness in her features now, but her pupils are very small and her hands are shaking. "It is expected to b-be about… uh, n-not very good, with the changerain and the d-damage it has done."
"Oh, that is bad news. That must have been why you were speaking with the Cult of Ma, mmm? Isn't that right, Harun?" He turns to face the water-priest. "Anything you want to get off your chest?"
"We have already spoken, oh Ulinke." Ah. That's interesting. They
aren't scared. They either know what's going on, or they think they're safe.
Fahd chuckles at that. "Yes, we have. And what about you, Lara am-Muskila?" His lips purse. "Anything you want to say?"
She swallows. "N-no, there is not."
"Hmm." He looks over the table. "How strange. No one seems to have anything to tell me." He rests his hand on Reem's shoulder while glaring at Joelle. "Nothing? Nothing at all?"
The room is silent.
And Fahd smiles. "Well, I'm glad there's nothing that's come up. Isn't that good? I think we should head through to the Azure Room, for the next part of tonight's entertainment."
No tension is banished; no fear departs. The terror still hangs on the air, so thick you can almost smell it, because he has built it up and up and up and refused to grant it relief. The Viper school has taught you the power of fear. The strongest warrior is nothing if his will is broken - and this man, this Ulinke of this little provincial town, knows its use well. You remember what your guides said, how he came to power fairly recently, and you wonder how tight his grasp on his position is.
You're rather interested in seeing how this all plays out. It is quite the delectable little bit of amusement.
Why do you say things like that? It only asks for disappointment.
The entertainment does not entertain you. Oh, of course you keep on an air of sophisticated decadence, but that mask is a familiar one. In truth, there is only one person who seems to be taking any pleasure from the dancers apart from Fahd, and that is the scavenger lord Haldun. Harun looks as bored as you feel, and the local jansi are simply too scared to take any pleasure from it.
It may be pleasant enough. Upon a stage, lit by candles reflecting off beaten-bronze mirrors, snakewomen twirl and dance to a lulling, hypnotic rhythm that brings to mind the baking sun of Cahzor, telling a story of love between women, betrayal, and violence. Some could pass nearly as human; others have the trunk of their legs shifting into tails, and others yet have long necks and the head of a serpent. They glitter, gleam, and shed clothing as needed. Over the years you have seen quite a few varieties of beastman. These ones must have been born from the formless whims of chaos - and recently, within the last few generations.
And so on and so forth. Yawn. In truth, the music is repetitive, the plot inane and largely an excuse for whatshername and the-one-with-the-snake-tail to wind up in intimate situations, and there's not one single handsome man on stage to at least give you something to watch. This is very harsh on you! You've still not had a proper rest since you arrived in Zorpearl, and now you're being made to watch a boring play while sitting on a comfortable seat in the dark. And you may be slightly tipsy. It's like the gods
want you to fall asleep!
Your head tilts forwards, and you jolt awake. No! Just a little longer! Until you can get to your bed. Your bed with your handsome toyboys. Yes. So much better. And - you bite on your lip and try not to yawn. You need a distraction, and subtly glance around. Fahd is having fun. He's sprawled back in his seat, and - your eyes drift to his groin. Yes. He is definitely pleased by the performance. He catches your attention, and misunderstands it. "Just you wait," he says, in a low voice. "One of the best bits is coming up."
You can't pretend to follow the plot of what's been going on, but up on the stage they are building up to a duel. They start to clap, just like they did in the one you thought, and the two snake-women start to circle each other. One darts in, and oh, how predictable, her rival's top is torn away.
And suddenly a chill strikes you, as you recognise the form of one of the dancers. That is a Viper form, or something akin to it. These dancers are not merely entertainers, and you yourself know quite well enough how to take advantage of being underestimated.
The jansi underestimate them, you are almost certain. And Fahd? He is a hard one to read. On one hand, he is the kind of man who would likely take further pleasure in watching killers dance for him. On the other, he is enjoying this spectacle a great deal, and perhaps he only hired them for their dancing.
Regardless, this is certainly something to take care for. Not least because that means they could likely recognise your own form as something akin to their own school - and you would rather not have it passed around how lethal a martial artist you are. After all, much like these dancers, you know the power of being underestimated.
Well. At least they have decided to give you something to apply your quite dazzling intellect to. For that you are thankful.
Thankfully, Fahd's display ends, and there is a general consensus that the party has come to an end. The jansi are almost improperly desperate to get out of here, before whatever they fear comes to pass, but none of them wish to be the first one to leave - especially when he's now offering drinks.
"Excuse me," you say, trying to sound as innocent as possible, "but do you have any liqama tea? I've grown quite fond of it here." Among other things, it'll help keep you awake; brewed strong, heavily flavoured with ground mint and loaded up with honey.
"Yes, milady," says the servant, and you feel Fahd's eyes on you.
"Do I offend, ulinke?" you ask.
"No, no. I'm just surprised. I can't stand the stuff. It's too sweet."
"I find it settles my stomach after a meal," you say. It's true, but you just need tea right now.
"Well, you young people should enjoy yourself," says Joelle aw-Wardiyy-Kuri, levering herself upright with an audible click of her knees. "I must beg your forgiveness, ulinke, but I have the midnight rituals to prepare for. I will therefore, with your permission, take my leave."
The room falls silent, and everyone looks at Fahd. He frowns, then; "Of course! Of course! I would no more deny the gods their worship than I would cut my own hand off." He strides over to the elderly priestess, taking her arm. "Priestess of Wardiyy, please, ignore my desire for your company. Do you need help to return to the temple?"
"I have walked these streets for a very long time," Joelle says, working her neck. "I do not need a guide."
"Why your pride may be the death of you, old woman," Fahd said, and you can hear the intake of breath. But he's smiling. The sound of the room relaxing is literally audible. "Farewell, then, aw-Wardiyy-Kuri."
And that opens the floodgates for people to start making excuses. Oh, they have prayers to get to; they want to see their husband; they need to make an early start tomorrow morning. Within ten minutes, you have your tea and the room is nearly empty.
"Goodness. I wonder why they didn't want to stay?" Fahd asks you. "I thought we were having fun."
You settle the tall glass down, and beam at him. "It has been a most enjoyable evening, Fahd." That produces one hell of a scowl from Reem, the only other person who remains. "Do tell me if I am imposing."
"You are-" she begins.
"Of course you are not! In fact, we will take this throw to my study. Since you are here, we might want to look over the contract details. A little more… intimate negotiation."
Goodness. You saw his proclivities for snake-women, and whether he consciously knows it or not, you are a viper. And also a peahen, but that's not relevant right now. And Reem is seriously irked now. Well, you
had guessed she was likely his mistress.
"That would be lovely," you say despite the fact that you really just want to go to bed, because… well. Look, you're tired. When you're tired, your judgement is negatively affected. That's just what apothecaries say. So really you can't be blamed for impulsive decisions when you're tired. It's not really your fault. You take a mouthful of your tea, just in case.
"Wonderful. Follow me through to my study, then."
"What are you doing?" Reem demands, squaring up to him.
"Just some business, my dear," Fahd says. "Don't worry. It's none of your concern."
"Excuse me?" Oh, there's fear there, now she realises she just had a little outburst. Fear and alarm and other things too.
Fahd spreads his hands, his diamond-tipped incisor gleaming in the candle-light. "Reem, my dear, my love," he holds her hands, "just wait a little. I have business matters to attend to with the lady as-Sayu. And I promise I will see you later tonight."
That seems to settle her, and she nods, leaning in for a kiss. You pretend not to look, though not very hard. With that said, she leaves, and he turns to you. "Let us head to my study. I have something I think you'll very much wish to see - and a proposition for you."
"Good sir," you say, "I am at your disposal, though I have been travelling all day. I do apologise if I seem tired."
"Oh, trust me," and he smiles again, "this is something you will very much wish to see."
His study is on the other side of the great tank of water. You can't see the dining room from this side of the glass, which shows the extravagance of this craft. It is a place of old stone and many strange statues no doubt gathered from the ruins. Light sources of antiquity cast a bluish light over the scene, centred on the two chairs in the room. With a strange device, Fahd brings up the angled lighting within his great water tank.
"Goodness," you say, looking around. "All from the ruins?"
"No, not all. Some are from further south, when I was a younger man>"
"You must tell me about that some day."
"Perhaps, perhaps." Fahd settles down in his leather armchair, glass of wine in his hand. His eyebrows rise as he looks at you. "Sit. Aren't you going to ask me what this is about?"
"I was rather under the impression that you'd tell me in your own time," you say, accepting his invitation. You sip your tea.
"Ah ha. Well, this is not the time. Thank you for being so collaborative with my intent. Really, I appreciate it." You sip, and listen for what he's going to say. "How are things in Zorpondam? I mean, apart from the no-doubt quite thrilling scandal between ak-Kas and ad-Dib. Do you know what that old hag who runs the place is up to?"
You chat with him, feeding out tidbits of gossip, but matters are quite interrupted when there's a visible splash in the tank behind him. You blink.
"Ah, took them a while," Fahd says, realising the reason for your shift in attention.
You look into the waters - and there, pulled under by the weight of her clothing is Reem ak-Kaslan. Her hair drifts around her like a funeral veil.
She sees the two of you through the glass, and beats her fists against it.
"This is all your fault, Reem!" Fahd lectures her. More for your benefit than hers, because you doubt she can hear him - and you don't think she's going to live to make use of what he says even if she can hear him. "I didn't want to have to do this. But there is a
law!" Those words are roared. "There is a law," he repeats, "about who you can sell to. You thought just because you were my mistress, you could ignore it? That you could sell plunder from
my lands to the Cult of Ma?
"No. No, that's not going to happen! I will not let you take advantage of me like that! Other people said you were greedy and impulsive, and I… I just thought too much of your better nature!"
She's screaming at him in a cloud of bubbles, pounding on the glass, and you can hear the beating of her fists like a drum.
"Well, now you're going to pay for
betraying me!" he screams at her. "You could have had me! Instead, you get Jhodi! And it's what you deserve!"
You do nothing. You don't want to get in the way of such a couple's squabble. Plus, and very importantly, Fahd has just proven himself to be a man who is willing to throw people who offend him to be eaten by an elemental crocodile.
And speaking of said crocodile - who you can only assume is called Jhodi - there is a dark shape moving in the water. Reem is trying to pull off her heavy water-sodden clothing that's pulling her down, but at this point it's meaningless.
You sip your tea as the water turns pink. Siiiiiiiiiiip. You can't let him see you're affected. Which you are, a little bit. It's not like you knew her, but still it's… cold.
"I really don't like doing this," Fahd tells you, shaking his head. His shoulders are hunched, and for a moment he looks his age. "It's so stressful. It ruins the dinner."
You force yourself to smile, almost tasting copper-rust as you inhale. The crocodile elemental is much larger than a mortal creature, and in the glimpses you see of it in the cloudy water you can see golden manacles on its limbs and around its neck. Some kind of enchanted chains, or he had a sorcerer to bind it for him. "Oh, I don't know," you say brightly. "From what I've seen in Zorpondam, many of the jansi enjoy bloodsports."
He cocks his head. "Are you suggesting I should have made this the entertainment? I nearly had her executed in front of the others at the dining table. But I decided it would ruin the meal. And perhaps it will scare the others more if there is somke question as to what happened to her..."
"I wouldn't presume to tell you how to enforce the law in your lands," you say, going for the safest option. "What will you tell them? And did you say that the Cult of Ma is inciting the jansi to sell to them?"
"Yes," he says, head in his hands as he sits back in his soft seat. "They are. Greedy priests! They ask for a fortune in sacrifices, and then go behind my back like this. It is disgusting."
"And I presume that they have too much power for you to throw that slimey priest to your pet?"
"You are no fool," he says, swirling his wine. "Yes, that is true. The Cult of Ma serves their master, who is lord of the dark waters. They know they have a power over the water - and the ability to cut it off. Ma is a jealous lord."
"Mmm."
"So when they abuse this… influence, well… I cannot strike back against them unless it is an intolerable violation of my laws. But they know how this is played. And no doubt they will offer me something in the next few days, and then that blood money will buy off my rage." He scowls. "I am sick of them, but… what can one do?"
"This is the nature of power," you say, letting a little bitterness out. "There are always people making claims on your authority."
"You have ruled over men?"
You shrug, hands wrapped around your mint tea. "Of course. But the chains of power get in the way of my actual interests." And there's the reassurance hidden behind your words; you don't covet his throne. You don't want to end up like Reem; a morsel in a crocodile's throat.
He runs a hand through his spiked, bleached hair. "If you wish, Meria, I have a proposition for you. From what you say, you haven't settled down in Cahzor yet - and you plan to be in this city for at least a year."
"Perhaps."
"My lands could be of use to you - and you could be of use to me. No doubt, as a scavenger lord, your interests here might well be extended. And unlike that
rat sent by the scholars, you have no real loyalty to anyone here in Cahzor. You probably seek only to profit yourself - well, that is a fine thing, as long as you follow my laws. But with my cooperation, we could profit together. In the face of these sneering, stagnant jansi."
"What are you looking for?"
"Ha! So blunt! Meira as-Sayu, you are a dragon-child."
"I am."
"More than that, you have wood blood. That makes you rare here. Most dragon-children born to the jansi are of the fire, winds or stone." He pauses. "You have power over the crops."
"Of a kind," you say, staying guarded. Oh dear. Hopefully he doesn't… misunderstand what you can do. You never really had the patience to be like some of the other wood-children and rootle in the dirt like a farmer.
"There are ancient sites nearby which were once grand gardens. Even as late as the sixth century. There is still power in them. Power I can't use. But maybe you can. Restore power to them..."
"I won't promise I can bring life to this dry land," you warn him. That cunning man. Offering you such places - things you can't take with you. Things that you'd have to stay with. "It's too dry."
"Oh, I'm sure that you have other things you can offer me. You are a killer, after all - one who can kill a man who was of no small repute as a duellist. And to profit as a scavenger lord, well, that speaks to your talents. I can aid your expeditions in return for a share of the goods." His eyes linger on your form. "We could definitely come to a very pleasing arrangement. After all, I have no mistress..."
Rather than reply, your eyes drift to the tank where Reem met her fate. What had he promised her, you wonder. And then you glance out the window, to the city beyond. It's dark outside. And Zorpearl is not as dry and miserable as the rest of Cahzor. If you don't have the fabulous wealth to live in the Cerulean Lotus - which you don't - then this place wouldn't be awful, at least in the short-to-medium term. He's god-touched from his theft of their power, but he's still a mortal man. And he's a man. One notably weak to your charms. Even if you don't bed him, you're pretty sure you can get the better of any deal with him.
But there's that other thought. Because this kind of brutality, to kill one of the jansi outright over such a small 'betrayal' - you could find allies here who would want him gone, and take over yourself. You'd be the ulinke of Zorpearl. If you wanted to be chained down like that. You're not sure if you do. Maybe you should just take what you can get here, and head back to Zorpondam with the divine power over your spell.
And then there is his other proposition. In that he is propositioning you. This is a dangerous man, but not unattractive. A man driven by his lusts, and you can use that. And the danger, the power he wields is something you have long been fond of. But maybe you don't want to get that close to him. Reem did, and look what happened to her. And you do have two pretty boys at home who should be more than willing to tuck you into bed.
Or at least something one letter away.
This vote here is two parts - the first is to whether she essentially decides whether she doesn't want to get further involved in Zorpearl (and she'll later get choices of other places to take up residence), whether she allies with Fahd for his assistance helping her further her own interests while doing favours for him, or whether she decides this town is nice enough that she wants to keep it and that means he really has to go. The second is, of course, whether she sleeps with Fahd.
Plan voting is not in effect - the two will be treated separately.
What intentions does Rena have towards Zorpearl?
[ ] To take what she needs, and then leave. She has no further interest in this place - not when Cahzor is so vast.
[ ] Fahd could be a useful ally, and the town is tolerable. She is considering whether to take up residence here, away from the eyes of the Demio, working with him as an ally.
[ ] Fahd could be a threat, and the town has potential. She is looking to see if she can usurp him, and rule the town herself.
Does she have a fling with Fahd?
[ ] Yes. He's dangerous, interesting, and not unattractive in a slightly paternal way. She'll keep him close.
[ ] No. He's dangerous and she has two lovely boys waiting for her in her room. She'll keep him at arm's length.
Note that the affair is orthogonal to her attitude, and she can succeed potentially on her Zorpearl intentions regardless of her amorous choice – for example, if she has a fling and allies with him, she'll likely become his mistress, while if she's looking to usurp him she's planning to use that as part of her betrayal. Likewise, an alliance doesn't require her to get involved with him in that way - if she allies with him without sleeping with him, it's simply a business relationship.
