Free The Sand Prince by Kim Alexander

He just knew that when he said it, his mother nearly took his head off.
    "Is it as bad as all that?" a gentle voice asked. There was humor, but it didn't seem to be directed at him. He looked up from his torn leggings to see a woman sitting just inside the doorway of a crumbly stone building. He rubbed away some angry tears and stood to face her.
    "Sorry Mother," he said politely, addressing her as he had been taught to call all older women who were not part of his mother's retinue. "I've got a big hole, see?" She didn't lean forward to look. "My mother will be angry. But sorry."
    "I know you," she said. "You're the Queen's boy." Now she did rise from her stool, and leaning heavily on a carved stick, came out into the alley. She was tiny—at eight Rhuun was already nearly her height and her thin hair, cropped close to her scalp as was the prerogative of widows, was more grey than black. Her mouth was heavily bracketed by lines, but the skin around her eyes was smooth as a girl’s.
    She can’t see, so she doesn't squint , he thought, so she doesn't have lines.
    "I am called Mother Jaa, and I was there when you were born, young Prince." He knew he was easy to spot, a tall boy with strange eyes was a well-known sight in the Old City, but how would she know who he was? If she was one of his mother's ladies, why wasn't she at Court? She didn't look like any of the ladies he'd ever seen, that was sure. For one thing, none of his mother's ladies were blind.
    "Come inside and I'll make you some cold water. You seem a bit overheated." He hesitated, but the thought of learning something, maybe a secret thing, about his life was irresistible, so he followed her in. The house had no door, just a white curtain covering the doorway. She had it tied to one side so she could sit on her stool and take the breeze. If it was a house, it was the smallest he'd ever seen. The room where his mother kept her robes and silks was bigger. He looked at the table and chairs, the cot in a curtained off corner, the vase and bowl.
    "Where's the rest of your house?" He didn't see a door leading to a courtyard, or a corridor, or even a dryroom where she might refresh herself.
    She laughed and handed him a cup of cool water. "This is all I need. Now, there was some trouble with your leggings, I understand?"
    "I fell," he said, and left it there. She nodded and went to a cabinet in the corner and retrieved a needle and thread. He watched, amazed, as she threaded the needle on the first try. "How did you do that?"
    "I know where things go," she told him. "Now let me see," and she took his knee in her small, warm hands, and joined the ripped edges of the fabric, "My clan sister's eldest daughter is your mother's Lady of All Work—Diia. And when you came into this world, I was there to greet you. What a set of lungs! We thought you'd call the daeeva down from the mountains!" She smiled at the memory. "Your mother was very brave—no screaming or crying from that one. She was very happy to see you."
    Rhuun wondered if, because she was blind, Mother Jaa was thinking of a different woman and a different baby. The daeeva , now, that was superstitious nonsense, as his mother called it, the spirits of the dead which came around if a child misbehaved or made too much noise. Diia had threatened him with the daeeva more than once, until the Queen had taken her aside and reminded her they lived in a royal city, not in a hut with the pigs. There weren't pigs, not anymore, but he’d never heard about the daeeva again—until now.
    "There." His leggings were perhaps not as good as new, but good enough to avoid his having to offer an explanation. "Now, what about this?" She laid a crooked finger on the fresh burn on his arm. He couldn't recall anyone outside of his mother touching him as much as this old woman had in just the few moments since he'd come inside her house.
    "It's nothing. It'll go away." In fact, it made him see bright lights behind his eyes with even her