The next day passed in a blur. Jasper didn’t know how long he would get to stay in S̆addānu, but there was a lot he needed to accomplish before he was sent away again. By the time the first rays of the sun had peeked their sleepy heads above the distant peaks, he’d been up for hours.

Task one was dealing with the S̆addu’â guards he’d recruit. His uncle’s interference had gotten the S̆addu’â guards into the palace complex and registered as auxiliary troops under Jasper’s command, but that was as far as S̆arrābī was willing to help. The rest was up to him.

Unfortunately, although the guards may have been forced to tolerate the S̆addu’â’s presence, their hostility toward the mountain Djinn was disguised only by the faintest pretense of civility, as Jasper quickly discovered when he tried to secure bunks for his guards in the barracks. The captain - the same Djinn whose mustache could make a walrus green with envy - turned him down flat.

“The barracks are only for the Royal Guards, scouts, or other soldiers officially employed by the Royal House. Auxiliaries are simply not allowed,” he’d objected. The Djinn’s mustache drooped so low over his lips that they were almost hidden from sight, but Jasper felt sure there was a smug smile.

Jasper let out an exasperated sigh. He had a feeling his uncle could sort out the issue with a few words, but after his last chat with S̆arrābī, he knew the man would want him to solve it for himself. “Then where exactly am I supposed to put them, captain?”

The captain repeated his suggestion from the gate. “Have you considered the taverns by the docks?” This time Jasper definitely did see a smile on the man’s face.

“That’s not an option,” he growled, but the captain just shrugged. “I’m sorry, my lord, but those are just standard regulations.”

Scowling, Jasper changed the topic. “What about training then? Surely, even auxiliary troops need at least some training?”

The Djinn captain took his time responding, his face scrunched up like he was sucking on an unripened lemon. “I suppose that would be the usual expectation,” he begrudgingly conceded. “But since they’re supposed to be auxiliaries to the scouts, it wouldn’t make much sense to have them train with us, though,” he added.

Jasper shook his head. “No, there will be scouts and soldiers under my command. I want my auxiliaries trained with the best, and that would be your men, would it not, captain?”

The Djinn wasn’t taken in by his flattery, but he slowly nodded his head anyway. “If that’s your wish, my lord, I suppose we’ll have to accommodate it. Training begins sharply at dawn. If your men are late, they won’t be included.”

“They’ll be there,” Jasper promised.

But even though he had their training arranged, Jasper faced a larger issue: accommodations. Stationing the S̆addu’â somewhere outside the palace complex was a bad idea for a host of reasons. Somehow, he doubted the royal guard would happily let them in each morning; if he had his guess, they’d ensure the mountain Djinn were late to training. But even if he was wrong and the guards didn’t cause any problems, he still didn’t feel comfortable leaving the S̆addu’â so far away. Despite their size, they were borderline children, after all.

Unfortunately, seeing as how the only piece of property he owned was his mother’s old manor, he wasn’t exactly blessed with a lot of choices. By early afternoon, a small tent city had blossomed in his back garden. For now, the tents were neat and orderly, freshly bleached by the manor’s maids, but he had a feeling that wouldn’t last long.

That still left the young woman and her son. As part of his monthly stipend from the Royal House, the manor was already lightly staffed with a permanent maid and groom, and gardeners who occasionally stopped by to tend the flower beds. Which meant that, despite his uncle’s warning, the only position he really felt a need for was a cook.

She’d been nervous when he approached her, her hands twisting nervously as she rose to meet him. But when he’d asked if she knew how to cook, her grey features had brightened immediately. “Of course, my lord. My mother ran a food stall in the city and I helped her out from the time I first started to walk.”

“Oh? Why’d you stop?” Jasper immediately regretted the question when the woman blushed and cast her eyes downward. “Never mind, I shouldn’t have asked that,” he quickly apologized over his faux-pas. “But you’d like to cook?”

“Yes, my lord,” she nodded eagerly. “Although…” she trailed off into silence, an uncertain look on her face.

“Yes,” he prodded.

“I thought, perhaps, that you had a different role in mind for me,” she finished awkwardly, not wanting to meet his eyes

“A different role?” His confusion lasted only a second as his uncle’s words came back to him. “Oh, that.” He paused, unsure how to respond. Surely my uncle wasn’t right?

The S̆addu’â woman came to his rescue. Brushing her hair out of her face, she offered him a weak smile. “It’s fine, my lord. I’m happy to be your cook. And Ramû?” she asked uncertainly. “He can stay with me?”

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Jasper nodded vigorously, relieved to have been spared the awkward conversation. “Of course! I wouldn’t dream of separating a mother and her child. Ramû can stay with you here in the manor, and I’ll talk to Annatta about arranging some sort of schooling for him.”

Her eyes brightened, and she bowed her head. “Thank you, my lord. I’ll get started right away.”

The lunch he sat down to later that afternoon was…interesting. Somehow, in the space of an hour, she’d managed to hit the markets and track down a wide variety of food he hadn’t even seen in his time here. What appeared to be a filleted and roasted serpent was coiled around his plate, with the snakeskin artfully wrapped around the edges. The center was filled with small boiled eggs that were a sickly yellow color, and it came with a bowl brimming with a dark red dipping sauce that Jasper hoped wasn’t blood.

Fortunately, his uncle’s warnings had been a bit over the top. Sure the food looked weird as hell, and it was a bit of a mental struggle for Jasper to get past eating a meal composed of snake meat and, as he discovered much to his chagrin, boiled viper eggs. And unlike the chicken eggs he’d grown up with, these had been allowed to mature long enough to contain vaguely recognizable embryos. But the truth was that the food, as long as one could wear a blindfold, actually tasted surprisingly good.

Plus, the sauce was definitely not blood.

He hoped.

After learning about the viper eggs, Jasper decided not to ask about the sauce’s strange metallic flavor. Sometimes, ignorance really is bliss.

It was late when he and Ihra finally departed for his uncle’s manor. Once again, Annatta had insisted on preparing them. He still didn’t like it, but this time he acceded to her demands more gracefully.

His usual lamellar armor was exchanged for a black, silk tunic emblazoned with the gis̆ātu emblem. He expected the Djinn to insist on weaving his hair with pearls like before, but she’d laughed when he brought it up. “Fashions change fast, my lord. None of the lords are wearing pearls now.” She held something behind her back, and Jasper stared at her suspiciously. He was almost afraid to ask. “So what’s in style now?”

Annatta grimaced. “Actually…some of the young lords at Shamsha’s temple have started wearing horn scarves.”

“Horn scarves?” Jasper cocked an eyebrow and waved his hand through the free and empty space above his head. “While I certainly can’t wear that, whatever the hell they are. What even is a horn scarf?”

“Well…” A faint smirk rested on her lips as Annatta revealed what she had been hiding behind her back.

“No. Absolutely not,” he snapped. The Djinn held in her hands a pair of short black horns with a wide verve in the middle. They were both adorned with a blindingly bright piece of apparel that Jasper could only describe as the unholy offspring of a fuzzy sock and an ugly Christmas sweater. “There is no way that is fashionable. A crime against fashion, I’d believe. And where the hell did you get a set of horns from anyways?”

The Djinn shrugged. “They’re a gift from your aunt, actually. You’d have to ask her where she got them.” She sidled up to him and started to try to attach the first of the horns.

“Stop!” Jasper squirmed out of her grasp and glared down at her.

“What?” She asked with an innocent expression; he didn’t miss, however, the hint of mischief in her eyes.

“I am not wearing those,” he ground out. “You got me to wear the pearls last time and I admit you were right about that, but I draw the line at fake horns.”

Annatta started to speak but cut herself off almost immediately, and the mischief died in her eyes. “Look Yas̆peh, you’re not the first noble to be embarrassed by their lack of horns. It sometimes happens to those with elven mothers, too, but these can suffice until your real horns come in,” she held them up hopefully.

Though her attempt at compassion completely missed the mark, it did soften his irritation. With a sigh, he pushed the horns away. “I’m not wearing fake horns just to impress woman, Annatta. It would be dishonest. It would be like…” He floundered for a moment, trying and failing to think of a suitable equivalent on earth. Even a wonderbra only exaggerated what was there; it didn't invent it entirely. “I don’t know, wearing prosthetic boobs or something,” he finished lamely.

His guard’s eyes softened with pity. “The women on earth prefer men with boobs? Are you considered unattractive over there, too?”

Jasper could only groan. “I’m not wearing the horns, Annatta. End of discussion.”

----------------------------------------

An hour later, Jasper met up with Ihra by the stables. She took one look at him and burst into peals of laughter. “Selene’s grace, Jasper, what happened to you?” She managed to gasp out as she bent over Keresh.

He scowled back. “Same thing that happened to you. Annatta.”

Ihra had always clearly been dressed by the Djinn guard, and women’s fashion must have changed as well. Rather than having her skin studded with pearls and gems, her arms and what showed of her torso had been painted with an intricate pattern of green, thorn-laden vines. Her antlers had also been decorated, wrapped tightly with a medley of grass and flowers that wound around the bottom of their bases.

“Nuh-uh,” she shook her head. “I got a little touch-up. You developed whole new body parts. By the maryannu’s blood, Jasper - how did she get you to agree to that?”

He hesitated a moment, then shook his head. He was glad his ruddy cheeks hid the telltale signs of shame. “I have no idea,” he admitted ruefully. “I told her no. I told her no again, more firmly. But somehow, by the time I was done getting dressed, the horns had gotten attached to my head. She’s a wizard, Ihra - that’s the only explanation. She put a spell on me that I couldn’t resist.”

Ihra smirked. “Nah, she played on your heartstrings. Let me guess: After all she’s done for you, after the wonderful weapon she crafted for you, would you really want to disappoint your aunt over something so small? Can’t you just wear the horns this one time?” Jasper narrowed his eyes as Ihra mimicked Annatta’s speech surprisingly accurately.

“Were you listening outside,” he demanded suspiciously.

“Maybe I’m just a psychic,” she laughed.

“And I’m Harry Potter.” He grinned back ruefully. “I guess I’m just a softie.”

She flashed him a wicked grin. “I don’t know. Those horns don’t look soft to me. Bet you’re going to get all those Djinn ladies all riled up.”

Jasper groaned. It was going to be a long night.