Sandstorm by Megan Derr

this to a prisoner.
    Interesting.
    The food was good, surprisingly so, though by that point Simon would have been grateful for nearly anything. Soft, chewy bread spread with a crumbling white cheese, slices of mutton heavily seasoned. Best of all - water. "You must really want to know what I'm doing here, if you're serving me real food."
    "I am curious, I confess," Bahadur said, and pressed another bit of bread and cheese to his mouth, pale eyes watching him intently.
    Simon took the bite, letting his teeth catch a finger, tongue just barely touching it, watching with interest the way those pale eyes flashed. "Curious about what?"
    "I feel sorry for the man or woman who has claim on you."
    "No one has claim on me," Simon said. "I have a friend, but that's all we are." Why he felt the need to say that, he didn't know. He accepted another bit of mutton, not missing the way fingers lingered every so briefly on his lower lip. "What do you want?"
    "Many things," Bahadur said. "None of which I am likely to get. Tell me why you came here?"
    If he'd ordered it, commanded it, Simon would have told him no. But there was something about the way he asked, a sort of…desperation…in those pale eyes that he was only just beginning to notice. "I was looking for something," he said.
    "What?"
    "I believe you said we were bargaining. What do I get for specifics?"
    Bahadur let out a soft huff of laughter. "What would you like?"
    Simon considered. "No more of that wine. Ever. And my arms are numb."
    "No more wine," Bahadur agreed. "But I'm not unbinding your arms."
    "Why do you not trust your Sheik then?"
    "Why should I trust you?"
    Simon leaned forward, stretching as far as he could, their faces not even a hand's width apart. "Because obviously you can trust no one else. Why do you not trust your Sheik? Why are you attempting to find an ally in a prisoner? If you want me to trust you, prove that I can, because I am the one who is in danger here."
    "You're not the only western man in this camp," Bahadur said quietly. "Though, I am realizing more and more that you are not western, except perhaps in body." He reached out to touch Simon's dark red hair, then realized what he was doing and dropped his hand. "They've been coming and going from camp, nearly every night," his voice had dropped to a whisper, and Simon heard a world of exhaustion and strain in it. "The Sheik and those closest to him have been trying to keep it from the rest of the Tribe. I only noticed it because…" he smiled briefly.
    "I'm sure you can guess."

    "You need to find better places to meet your lover."
    Bahadur rolled his eyes, then sobered. "I think they are making negotiations with one of the western nations, though all their languages sound the same, I've not been able to tell which…" His shoulders sagged.
    Simon narrowed his eyes. "So the west is invading the Desert. It looks as though I've stumbled across one of their entry points. Not what I came for, but it will work - if I can take the news to someone."
    "You believe me?" Bahadur said. "Other Tribes are involved in this?"
    Hesitating briefly, because if he was being set up then he was about to cause more deaths than merely his own, Simon at last gave a mental shrug and pressed forward. He had few options. "For some time we've believed the western nations to be planning an attack on Tavamara. We've been led to believe they're using the Desert to do it. We're just not certain how, though it would seem that at the very least they are coercing some Tribes and slaughtering others. Worse, they do so disguised as other Tribes."
    Bahadur's eyes widened as the ramifications of what Simon said hit him.
    "You have to let me go," Simon said, not ashamed to plead. Though only the Lady knew how he'd managed to stumble across the one man in the Tribe who was willing to stand against his Sheik. Was he the only one? "Is anyone else aware of what your Sheik is doing?"
    "Yes," Bahadur said. "We've simply no way of doing anything