The War Room

The faces seated around the roundtable were cast in deep shadow from the flickering torchlight. The oak doors flung open, crushing the silence with an echo as Rehan strode through, his crimson kaftan cascading behind him like a bloody waterfall. He had tied his messy curls in a low bun, mouth turned down at the corners. The men present — his father, Khalid, several high ranking ministers and Emirs — looked at him with equally grave expressions. To his surprise, Yahya was not among them.

He came to his father's side without a word, and they continued the discussion where they had left off. His mind drifted to Khaya, her tear stained face creased in sadness as she wept in his arms. As much as he wanted to be there when she wakened, to know the cause of her tears and thwart it, his father's summons always took precedent. He would return once this was done.

"What is the situation in Rey currently?" asked Iman, the minister of the interior. He was a seasoned soldier, now plump from age and a steady surplus of food and drink. His thick eyebrows were drawn low and stern.

"The governor says there are riots in the streets," began the Caliph, "Several dead or injured. There is talk of the gold souk being looted."

Everyone stiffened. "And they are sure it is the zealots?" asked another minister.

"Yes, they bore white flags," said the Caliph.

Rehan's eyes remained placid. His father had already shared these details with him the previous evening. Nevertheless, the rest of the ministers could not hide their shock. The white flag was the symbol of the previous regime, the Umayyads. Rehan's uncle, Al-Saffah, led the armies that decimated their forces on the banks of the Great Zab River. There had been plenty of rebellions in the empire before, but none were in league with the Umayyads.

Rehan was just as surprised when he first heard the news. He glanced at the Caliph sideways, noting his rigid posture and dagger eyes. He had never seen him this perturbed.

"You were right to summon us, Sayyidi. The seeds of rebellion must be stamped out before they can sprout," said Khalid, his deep voice rumbling. "I will send our finest crop of soldiers to tend to the matter."

"Prince Rehan is leading the charge."

Rehan's face was steel, but his pulse jumped in his wrists. His father had sprung this on him unexpectedly, but he couldn't allow them to sense any nervousness from him, not when the Caliph was putting this in his hands. The preservation of their regime was of paramount important to every man in the room, and he would be the one to do it.

"I am honoured, Sayyidi." He bowed deeply. "With your guidance, Vizier, I will crush them."

The spark of confidence turned into a flame tingling from his fingertips to the back of his eyes. A battle fury swelling for release.

I will crush them.

The men whispered in hushed tones, then turned to the Caliph for further instructions.

"Sharan, I am trusting you to map the route and strategise."

Sharan al-Barmaki nodded once. He was their chief strategist in both war and peacetime, and though he was brilliant, he and Rehan could not be more different. Where Sharan preferred avoiding conflict wherever possible by using spies and assassins hidden in the dark, Rehan moved better on the frontlines, leading armies under the blazing sun.

"This is of paramount importance," the Caliph announced, rising from his seat. "I will not have my brother's legacy marred by the putrid remnants of a dead dynasty. No one speaks of this until the Prince has wiped them clean from the face of the earth."

Shadows passed over his eyes, memories of hard-fought battles on the banks of the Zab, as fresh as the day they happened. Rehan was barely six years old then.

The men began to filter out of the room, giving Rehan words of encouragement and offers of aid should he need it. He didn't need any of them, except Yahya, who wasn't here.

Sharan lingered behind to speak to the Caliph, presumably about their plan to set out for Rey, much to Rehan's chagrin. He wasn't a boy who needed coddling and supervision.

He left the two of them to their whispers, exiting the war room as theatrically as he came. He had to return to Khaya, and begin planning the journey north from Baghdad. The presence of a new enemy churned in his mind, bringing up memories of ones he had already defeated.

His first time leading a battle was at age fifteen, against the insurrection of Rahman bin Azdi in Khorasan. Fifteen hundred men clad in night-black armour followed his lead, and for thirty days and thirty nights they besieged the city to drive out Rahman. Rehan directed the men to sling his lieutenants' heads on pikes to crush the souls of the fighting forces. He took his first life in that desert, a boy who could have been his own age. It happened so fast, Rehan barely saw the body flash in front of him before he struck it down. Lifeless eyes stared up at him, reflecting the fire and steel of the battlefield.

Where he should have felt dread, he felt elation.

Hundreds of bodies fell to his sword that day, and for each life he took, the thirst for violence grew stronger.

It was his one weakness, that uncontrollable desire to sink steel into flesh, to dance with death and come out unscathed.

The Rey mission would be tepid compared to Khorasan, yet the battle hunger flared feral within. He would need to be careful to rein it in, lest he lose control. This wasn't going to be an open battlefield, there would be civilians in the streets. His people.

As various scenarios roiled through his head, he finally reached his chambers.

"Is she...?"

The guards nodded. Khaya must still be asleep, or she hadn't bothered to leave. Rehan slipped through the doors to see her cuddled in the silken sheets, eyes half-lidded against the light streaming through gaps in the gossamer curtains. At his approach, she sat up slightly, the dark waves of her hair glowing chestnut. He wanted nothing more than to run his hands through it, but instead he sat at the foot of the bed and untied his hair.

The silence grew awkward. "Are you feeling alright?"

She nodded. "I'm sorry for barging in, it wasn't right. I—I just had nowhere else to go."

"I'm glad you came, then. What happened?" When she came into his chambers in tears last night he knew better than to bombard her with questions, even though he was burning with curiosity. He'd let her use his basin to wash her face and gave her a set of clean clothes, then lay beside her in silence as she drifted into a shallow doze. She looked so delicate in the candlelight, like she might turn to dust if he so much as brushed her cheek with a finger.

Now, Khaya stared at her hands twined in her lap. "I... I don't know. I was overwhelmed, and thinking about my family. I miss them more than I thought."

Rehan felt a pang grow in his chest. All he knew was that Yahya bought her from a slave market. He hadn't even stopped to think about her life before then. Of course she had a family. She must have been taken from them against her will, what other reason could there be for her being at the souk?

You're a damn fool, Rehan.

He reached for her hands and rubbed her pulse with his thumb. "Tell me about them."

She tilted her chin, letting her eyes roam everywhere but him. "My mother is an ink maker, the best I knew till I saw the stalls on the Road of Pages." Her expression grew wistful. "I helped her with her work, sometimes. We all did, but my brother was too clumsy, my sister too hyper and distracted." A small smile crept up on her lips as she recalled a sweet memory. "Once my brother tripped while holding a pot of soot and it spilled all over Salsal. Her skin was stained for weeks."

Some of the tension in her frame eased when she spoke of them. "They must be helpless without me," she mumbled.

"And your father?"

She shook her head. "We never really knew him. It was always just the four of us."

Rehan squeezed her hands in his, wishing there was something more he could do than just listen. An unsaid question hung at the corners of his mouth, but he was afraid to hear the answer.

Do you want to go back to them?

He said nothing, letting her fill the silence with more anecdotes of Jorash and her family until she caught herself rambling.

"I hope I'm not keeping you from anything," she said, looking down at their entwined hands. He could sense she wanted to say more.

Just then, the doors opened and a guard entered stiffly. Rehan and Khaya looked at him in unison, and he blushed.

"Sharan al-Barmaki for you, Sayyidi."

Rehan's relaxed, playful demeanour hardened to indifference. Sharan had the worst timing, to be interrupting him with Khaya, but he couldn't send him away.

"Forgive me, Khaya, it seems you were right." He chuckled and drew his hands back to smooth his robes. "Tell the Emir to wait in the anteroom, I'll be a moment."

The guard bowed deeply and slinked back to his post. The Prince's gaze shifted from Khaya's hands to her lips to her eyes. Though her aura had brightened from their brief conversation, she was still dishevelled and puffy from last night's outburst. "I feel guilty sending you away like this... do you want to have a bath?"

A blush tinged her cheeks, and he quickly realised the implication of his words.

"No, I didn't mean it like—" He avoided her eye, almost sheepishly, to his surprise. No one had ever elicited this nervousness from him before. When Khaya cracked a smile his air of confidence was restored. "Unless you'd like me in there with you? I would have to tell Sharan to wait a while."

This time the blush swept down her neck. "I—"

Rehan suppressed a breathy laugh. "I'm only teasing, Khayzuran. Although I'm not opposed to the idea, should your mind change." He finally stood and swept his kaftan out before ringing the bell for the servants. Within seconds a boy no older than ten sped into the room and stood stiffly to attention, pulling a smile from both the Prince and Khaya. "Draw a bath and get her some nice clothes," he whispered to the boy, and he scampered off through a cleverly hidden door blended into the wallpaper to carry out his orders.

Rehan's kaftan trailed behind him in crimson waves as he made his way to the anteroom. He looked over his shoulder one last time, eyes filled with a heady magnetism that sent Khaya's pulse racing in her wrists.

The door clicked shut behind him, and she was alone again.

X

The bath was pleasantly warm and bubbled with milk white suds from the sandalwood soap. Khaya immersed herself fully, letting her long brown locks soak in the sweet smelling water. The dirt and grime from the Tahir's training sloughed off her skin as the minutes passed. The servant boy had hung a set of deep turquoise robes with embellished borders on the wooden screen for her, along with fresh undergarments and a small silver hair pin. Khaya wondered if he brought out the same clothes for Rayta when she was here.

Her hands fidgeted absently with the sapphires at her throat. As per Yahya's instructions, she didn't take it off, even to bathe. If she wasn't wearing the suppressive necklace she would be able to hear Rehan's conversation in the anteroom clear as a bell.

You must bring forth the power of your own volition. Tahir's words came back to her.

She straightened, her breasts rising half out of the water, and stilled her mind.

Focus on your breathing and let the energy flow.

After five deep, conscious breaths, she found the tendril of a whisper. But instead of reaching for it, she let it come to her.

"—don't need supervision," Rehan said, struggling to hide his annoyance.

The Barmaki clicked his tongue. "You are overreacting, Prince Rehan. The Caliph wants me with you for my knowledge of the city, not to babysit you."

"Tch, I've been to Rey."

Rey? Is he going away? Khaya pushed the thoughts aside as quickly as they came, lest she lose the cord connecting her to their voices.

"—lived there for six years. I know the ins and outs, who to press for information, where to plan an ambush. I am asking you to put your faith in me."

Rehan let out a grunt of frustration. Khaya could practically see his eyes rolling into the back of his head.

"Fine, but I choose the men."

The Barmaki didn't protest further, and it seemed that was the end of their meeting. A quick shuffle of robes and the click of the door latch let her know as much. She opened her eyes and let her breath out in a loud sigh. Just that small amount of exertion had exhausted her, and again she wished she could tear off the necklace and let the jinn do the work.

More power with less control. Again, Tahir's words surfaced as she touched the gems around her neck. She wondered how they worked, how they suppressed such an extraordinary power.

"Khaya?"

Rehan's shoes clicked on the tiles leading to the bath chamber. "Ah, you're here."

The water splashed as she jerked in surprise, whipping her head around to see if he had brazenly walked past the screen, but she saw his sharp silhouette through the minute holes in the screen, leaning against the wall. He sat on the ground, and heat suddenly coursed through her at the thought of him being so close when she was bare. A part of her wanted the screen to fall away, and another begged it to remain.

"Apologies, once again my duties have pulled me away from you."

Khaya said nothing, instead focusing on squeezing the water out of her hair. She didn't trust herself not to say something stupid.

Come here, in the water with me.

"I... have to go away for a while." His voice was laced with regret. "To Rey," he added after a short pause.

She already guessed he was going away, but he revealed it with such anguish she wish she hadn't eavesdropped. "For how long?"

"A month, perhaps more." He sighed.

A thought struck Khaya as she carefully rose and stepped onto the cold tiles, the swish of water breaking the silence momentarily. If Rehan was going away, she would have to make her request known now.

"Prince Rehan, can I ask a favour before you go?" She wrapped herself in a warm towel as she spoke.

"Yes, of course, what is it?" He seemed eager to please, body craning forward. Khaya blushed when she realised he had probably seen her naked silhouette through the screen, but she continued calmly drying her hair.

"I want to send a letter to Jorash. I know you don't have pigeons from such a small, unimportant place, but if there's a way—"

"It isn't unimportant, Khayzuran. Never say that."

She paused her movements, shocked by the conviction in his voice. A warmth bloomed in her heart, not of desire, but affection. He truly seemed to care.

"I'll find a way, I promise."

She was glad for the screen between them, for he didn't see the sheen of tears in her eyes. After months, her family would finally know she was safe. "I... thank you."

Finally, she pulled on the elegant set of robes, then reached for the veil. For a moment, she hesitated, then decided to leave it.

"I'm finished," she said, and stepped out to see him standing a few paces away.

His eyes widened in surprise at her unveiled hair, then roamed down to her feet and back up to her eyes. It sent a ripple of warmth through her chest, down to her belly.

Stop it, she chided herself.

He stepped closer, almost hesitantly, as if she were a cat that would dart away at any second. She craned her neck to look up at him, raising a brow in question.

"Beholding you is a gift, Khaya," he murmured, and leaned down so their foreheads touched. "I'll miss you."

The air between them burned hot and wanting, but neither moved an inch. Khaya sucked in a shaky breath.

"I'll miss you, too."

X

Quick note - I am going to edit the chapter 'Moonlight' so that Rehan and Khaya do not sleep together so soon. I will only edit after I have completed the entire story, so for now it will remain. I wanted to change the dynamic between them to be more slow burn, and I like it better this way.

Let me know what you think! This is the longest chapter I've written in a while, so I'm quite proud.