A stack of documents rose from the Caliph's desk like a towering minaret, casting a long shadow across the room. Shiny wax seals were stamped on every report, beckoning the Caliph to the business of the treasury, orders of weapons from the smithies, the state of the wheat crop, the latest findings of the academics, and the concerns of his most ordinary citizens.
But his mind was currently drawn to the letter in his hand. It was a small scroll, barely the width of his thumb, and bore no seal. The message was short, written in half sentences and bursts of thought. It was a cry for aid from the governor of Rey, the eastern stronghold of the Caliphate.
The seeds of rebellion had begun to sprout much faster than he had anticipated, flooding the city with chaos and riots, upending the lives of laymen who had no interest in the rise and fall of empires, only of their daily bread and business. It would have to be quelled with a powerful and defining stroke, with no room for error or doubt.
The Caliph pulled out a fresh piece of parchment and tapped his inky quill on the side to begin writing. He trusted only three men to deal with this situation, one was himself, one his vizier, and the third his crown prince. After penning the short message he set his quill aside and rang for his clerk, who appeared like a spectre from the shadows, silent and ready to serve.
"Yes, Sayyidi?"
He handed the clerk the letter. "Send a runner, time is of the essence."
The clerk bowed and glided out of the room, like he was moving backwards in time, and in an instant the Caliph was alone again. He turned his attention to the pile of paperwork on his desk with a resigned sigh.
It seems that more often than not, a king's weapon is his seal, not his sword, he thought as he dipped his ring into a crucible of molten, blood-red wax and pressed it into the first document â a request for funds to purchase two hundred new war horses.
For what war, the Caliph didn't know.
X
The guard manning the doors to the Calipha's solar nearly jumped when the Prince emerged on the landing of the spiral staircase. He raked a hand through his thick curls, a faint smile on his lips as he dipped his chin in greeting and pushed open the doors to his mother's private hall. The solar was washed in peach and sky blue hues from the crystal lanterns hanging along the windows. The fresh scent of jallab and sweet meats filled Rehan's nostrils. It had been a long time since he'd leisurely dined with his mother without interruption on some court business or an urgent summons from his father.
The Calipha was busy pouring tea, a job more suited to a servant than a queen. She tilted her head up at Rehan's footsteps.
"Ah, just in time!" She rose to her full height, plump cheeks a rosy pink, and opened her arms to embrace her son. They sat opposite each other on low chairs draped with rich pashminas. Tendrils of steam rose from a platter of thinly sliced venison, accompanied by fattoush and saffron rice. Roasted eggplant, cool mint yoghurt, honey-glazed koftas, and fried sweet potatoes â each dish beckoned to Rehan's senses.
"Mama, I love you," he said with a grin, and began heaping spoonfuls of everything into his plate.
Arwi rolled her eyes, waiting for him to finish serving himself before she followed suit. "How was your diplomatic meeting? I heardâ"
"No, no discussing politics," he said through a mouthful of food, nearly choking. "Anything but that."
The Calipha's cheeks ached from holding in her laugh. "Okay, okay..." she swished her cup of jallab, sending the ice clinking against the silver. Her kohl lined eyes took on a teasing gleam. "How is everything with your new woman?"
"With Khayzuran?"
"Mm. I thought she was just the loveliest little thing when I met her. And very smart too!"
"Mama, you're talking to me like I'm some merchant's son looking for a wife." Rehan paused to refill his mother's glass.
Arwi allowed herself a giggle. "Am I?"
"Yes, you are. And besides, Khayzuran is..." an oasis, a dream, divine as the moon.
"Khayzuran is...?"
"None of your business." He shot her a glare.
Rehan didn't know how he felt about Khayzuran yet. When he had married Rayta, she was starkly similar to what Khaya was now â curious and kind, elegant and effortless. He thought he would fall in love with her, but as time went on she grew distant, throwing herself into her swordsmanship and the thorny thicket of courtly intrigue, leaving him far behind.
Khayzuran could end up being the same, and yet, she bloomed with a light and fearlessness he knew Rayta had never had.
For the first time in a long time, he was afraid of losing something.
The conversation moved swiftly on. His mother began rambling about her extensive group of friends and Rehan's extended family whose names and faces he hadn't bothered to remember. After all, Yahya was always there to remind him.
When their plates were wiped clean and the jug empty of drink, Arwi rang for the servants. One entered with a long platter of pastries and finger cakes while the others cleared up the remnants of the first two courses. The girl replacing the jug of jallab blushed when Rehan glanced her way.
A knock at the solar's main door brought her back to herself, and she avoided his eye.
"Yes?" called Arwi. The guard peeked through the crack in the door. Rehan could only see her nose jutting out from where he sat.
"A message for Prince Rehan from the Caliph, Sayyeda."
Rehan let out a disgruntled moan. "What part of don't disturb us did you not understand?"
The guard began to stutter. "He said it's urgeâ"
"It's always urgent." Now he turned around so he could look at her square in the eye. "I said do not disturb us. Do you need a translator?"
The door closed without another word, and the servants made themselves scarce just as quickly.
"Rehan," his mother began, "you didn't have to be so... stern."
"I know," he sighed. "I just never have a moment, especially with you."
Arwi beamed. "Well, as you said, you aren't a merchant's son. A prince has just as many responsibilities as he does frivolities."
He cocooned himself into the cushions and grumbled, "Lately it's been far more responsibilities and not enough frivolities."
They polished the desert platter clean in a matter of minutes, and the afternoon lull hit shortly after. The Calipha would likely retire to her bedroom to rest, but the Prince had to attend to his father, amongst other things. He rose and dusted the flaky remnants of baklava off his doublet.
"Oh before you leave, I had to mention something about the girl, Khayzuran."
"Mama I told you to stop meddling, everything is fine with herâ"
"No, not about that." Her voice was earnest. "I heard she has been meeting your father's Vizier."
Rehan's eyes betrayed his shock. "Uncle Khalid? Why?"
A hundred things ran through his mind at once, but the one which rose above them all was spy. But what reason would Khalid have to spy on him? The Barmakis were his closest ally.
"I don't know, but Yahya was there as well. I don't know what she is up to with them, but just be careful."
He thought of the night in the desert when his life was in danger and it was Khayzuran who jumped to his rescue. Could it have been about that incident?
"Thanks ma," he gave her a quick bow, but his mind was obviously elsewhere. "I'll be careful."
The doors closed behind him with a soft click and he paused to take his father's message from the guard. He flicked it open, and was immediately dismayed.
Oh hell.
He started down the stairs, but hesitated and backtracked after a few steps. "I'm sorry about earlier," he said to the guard. An awkward silence bloomed between them, and then he was off, racing to his father's war chamber.
X
The blow sent Khaya flying across the courtyard. She landed with a painful thud, but by now she had grown used to it.
The training had begun almost immediately after she rose from her trance. Ayaan had volunteered to act as her enemy, hurtling whirlwinds and gusts of wind at her like rocks, knocking her to the ground every time. She should have been able to hear the attacks, as she had with the snakes, but the sounds weren't coming no matter how hard she concentrated. It was like her power had simply vanished.
"Ugh!" she threw her hands up in annoyance, "I can't do this."
"Yes, you can," said Tahir from across the clearing. He was sitting on a diwan with his legs crossed, sipping on a cup of cardamom coffee. Its thick aroma floated around though Ayaan's wind magic, making him even more energetic and feisty than he was.
All it gave Khaya was a headache.
"You can do it sahiba!" Ayaan shouted, pumping his fist in the air. "You have to bring the prana to the tips of your fingers," he held out his hands and curled his fingers softly, "and push!" He thrust out, and the bells hanging from the arch nearest to Khaya chimed violently.
"I don't have ears at the tips of my fingers..." she grumbled, and dusted herself off.
Tahir rose and made his way to her side. Magic flowed from his palms through her tunic to heal any bruises and minor injuries from today's session.
"Before, it was easy because you were letting the jinn do all the work."
"And what's wrong with that?"
"What if the jinn doesn't want to do the work?"
Khaya opened her mouth, then closed it.
"See?" Tahir raised a brow, "It's a trade off. More power with less control, or less power with more control."
She touched the dangling sapphires around her neck. Each one had been cut for the sole purpose of repelling jinn.
"You must bring forth the power of your own volition," Tahir continued, "Hm... perhaps you need more of a mental grounding. Ayaan, go stand over there and talk to the wall." He motioned to the side of the courtyard furthest from Khaya, and Ayaan jogged over obediently. "Listen to what he's saying," he instructed Khaya.
She straightened to a cross-legged position and sucked in a deep breath. This was the easiest use of her power, she shouldn't have any trouble.
"..."
Her mind converged to a single point, trying to block out all other sounds and thoughts, but all she could hear was her own laboured breathing.
"I can't do it," she hunched over. Without the stones caging her jinn, it had been as effortless as praying. Now it was more like trying to cut through a steel wall with a wooden spoon.
Tahir rested a gentle hand on her shoulder. "Prana is controlled by the breath. Focus on your breathing and let the energy flow."
Is that supposed to make it any clearer, thought Khaya. She filled her lungs with new air and straightened her back again.
In.
Out.
Minutes passed and nothing had changed, but she continued at the same pace.
In.
Out.
Her thoughts faded one by one, and in the darkness behind her eyelids, a small blue dot appeared. It swirled into an intricate pattern of circles and loops, then slowly faded to grey. A fragment of a word resonated between Khaya's ears. It was at her fingertips, all she had to do was reach out...
"âthree white herons, twenty... and some nightâ... also flamingoes I think..."
What the hell is he saying? she thought, but that was enough to break her concentration, and she lost the rest of the words.
"Well?" asked Tahir, now seated by her side.
"He was talking about... birds?"
"Are you asking me or telling me?"
She huffed. "Telling."
He rose and went to where Ayaan stood, still facing the wall and yapping away. The boy was apparently reciting the most recent set of gifts from the Spaniards, who apparently only dealt in the collection and distribution of exotic birds.
"That's all for today, Khaya. You can take the blindfold off now," he called after a moment.
Finally. She untied the silk cloth and looped it around her hands absently. Ayaan and Tahir moved to the centre of the courtyard and took up positions opposite each other. The boy was bubbling with energy despite the hours he'd been training Khaya to dodge his attacks. More like attempting to train her, seeing as how she hadn't been able to evade a single one.
She rubbed the back of her neck and pushed herself off the ground. Her mouth was dry and she hadn't eaten in hours, but her stomach made no sound of complaint. Ayaan let out a grunt as he clashed in hand-to-hand combat with Tahir, and she wondered if she would eventually be made to do the same. It would be a miracle if her little body didn't shatter.
The dusk sun fell below the roof of the courtyard and cast an orange glow over the two Barmakis as Khaya left them behind.
A strange emptiness grew in her chest while she made her way through the hallways and arcades of the palace. When the Bedouin brought her to Mecca, to Yahya, she'd finally let go of the possibility of ever going home. Home was here now, in Baghdad, in the harem, with Rehan and the Barmakis and this strange power she never asked to have.
I wanted the boy, the jinn had said, and she found herself wondering about what could've been if Ghatrif had been bitten instead of her. Would he survive the bite? Would she still be kidnapped and sold, or would Ghatrif have saved her?
The weight of her thoughts turned dense and suffocating. She squeezed her eyes shut and felt wet trails stream down her cheeks, staining her veil.
She touched her tear-stained face in confusion and dismay. Why...?
But she knew why. For the first time since she had been whisked away against her will, she was letting herself feel the loss. The loss of her home, her family.
After an age of walking in a listless daze she hardly noticed the clinking armour of the guards ahead.
"What is your business here?" one of them asked, raising a curious brow.
Khaya blinked. Her idling steps had not brought her to back to the harem, but to the Prince's chambers. They should have recognised her from her earlier visits, but she was dressed in plain, almost drab clothing, and the light was dim. Without a word she pulled back her sleeve, revealing the glittering red bangle.
The guards stiffened to attention, and one discreetly slipped through the door to announce her arrival to the Prince. After a brief moment she was escorted through to the anteroom. Small diamond shaped mirrors patterning the door frame filled with her tired, bloodshot reflection; she quickly wiped her face with her sleeve and muffled a wet snivel. Soft lamplight pooled out from the inner chamber, welcoming her with warmth.
Rehan was hunched over a sprawling map, scribbling here and there intermittently. At the sound of her gentle footsteps, he looked up.
His beaming smile and bright eyes fell in an instant. "Khaya? What's wrong?"
Khaya slowly parted her lips, and immediately felt her insides seize. "Iâ"
Emotion fought to be released like a latent storm, and her tears began to gush uncontrollably. Her throat tightened, aching to repress her sobs, but once Rehan's arms were around her she set them free.
He squeezed her small frame into him, muffling her shaky cries until they reduced to slow, stuttering whimpers.
"You're safe," Rehan whispered, but it sounded far away, like he was speaking through water.
You're safe.
X
Tried to make this chapter a little longer. Please leave comments about what you think!