The night stretched long and sleepless before Khaya. She leaned over the balcony and let her gaze wander to the farthest point on the horizon, where Baghdad slowly faded into the desert. Starlight spilled from the indigo sky into the river Tigris, meandering through night bazaars still glowing with light. The sight was beautiful, and struck Khaya with a longing for something she could not quite place.
Khaya's fingers went to the sapphires at her throat as she tried to stretch her hearing outwards, searching for a familiar voice. Her breaths deepened, and the sounds of the night came to her in waves. The clinking of armour as guards changed shift, owls and pigeons crooning in their coops, and the gentle splash of water against the river banks. She brought her awareness closer, to the heart of the palace where soft footsteps echoed in the wide hallways, but the presence she was searching for was absent.
The Prince had likely left the city at dusk, as the courtiers retired for prayer and rest. Khaya tugged at one of the glittering blue gems and wondered if she could reach him if she took off the suppressive necklace. Would she recognise the sound of his breath? The fall of his feet on the sand?
A sudden fatigue washed over her body, and her eyelids began to droop. Just that fraction of exertion had already taken its toll. Though she wanted to try again, Khaya returned to the warmth of her rumpled bed with a sigh.
There would be time again when the sun rose, to find his voice across the desert.
X
The deep toll of bells brought forth the dawn, calling the palace to prayer. Khaya rubbed the sleep from her eyes as the bustling crowd guided her towards the entrance of the grand palace mosque. There were far more people than was typical for the dawn prayers, and once Khaya entered the atrium she understood why.
In a rare occurence, the Caliph had arrived to pray amongst his people. He sat on a stone block between two commoners, perhaps guards in disguise, as he splashed his feet with water from a long trough shared with the rest of the worshippers. His presence seemed to stretch out and touch each person briefly, like rain watering a parched desert. The men reached out and lightly touched his shoulder or hand to take his blessing, while the women pressed their fingertips to their brows and moved further along where a screen shielded them as they cleansed.
Khaya lowered her eyes and followed them, relieved to finally rinse the sleep from her face. Much time had passed since she last congregated with the other women, and she was glad of their presence to distract her from thoughts of the departed Prince. As they entered the main hall Khaya's gaze rose to the ceiling, inlaid with geometric patterns of cerulean and blush pink. The carpet was plush indigo threaded with silver, making it appear as though she was walking on the sky, and staring up at the sea. The sight never failed to fill her with awe and reverence.
Leaving all worldly thoughts aside, Khaya opened her palms and drew her arms up for the first rakat. The sweet strum of an oud resonated against the dome above, each note matching the movements of the prayer. The women's whispers were sharp as a bell to Khaya's ears, mixing with the deep voices of the men in the hall beside them. Highborn and lowborn, royal and common, they all recited the same words with the same conviction, and all at once Khaya felt as though they were not dozens of lone people, but one person with one voice, rising in synchrony to invoke the divine.
Khaya rose from her kneeling posture and spent a few moments focusing on bringing the sounds to her and pushing them away again. Though her body was tense with concentration, it felt easier and more natural than before, like the jinn was becoming a part of her. The thought both frightened and excited her.
She made her way out, where people were still flocking to the doors, hoping to witness the presence of the Caliph. Faint streaks of sunlight curved over the horizon, staining the sky pale orange and blue and casting long shadows over the courtyard.
In the crowd Khaya caught a glimpse of a grey veil and dark skin; it took a moment for her to recognise the woman as Yahya's wife. She crossed the courtyard and stood by a stone pillar, watching the archway as people filtered out. Soon Yahya emerged, his hair pulled back in a high knot on his head, a silk kaftan patterned with streaks of blue falling from his shoulders like a swift river.
Khaya's brow creased in confusion, wondering why he was here and not on his way to Rey with the Prince. Was there some rift between them? Or was it such a paltry mission that only one of them was needed to accomplish it. Curious, she observed the couple as they greeted each other and made their way back to the palace proper.
Snippets of mundane conversation reached her with ease; they spoke of the mild weather, of the arrival of his sister's unborn child, but nothing of Rehan or Rey. Nothing of interest to her.
After entering the inner gate of the palace grounds the pair took the route leading back to the Barmaki compound, while Khaya headed in the opposite direction, towards the library. Their voices soon faded to silence.
Khaya breathed a sigh, bringing herself back to the present. For now, there was nothing to be done. She made her way through the library till she reached Parviz's office, and all thoughts of courtly intrigues were left behind.
X
The audience chamber of Vizier Khalid al-Barmaki was remarkably plain compared to the rest of the palace. A long oak desk stood at the end of the room, and a set of diwans were arranged in the centre, decorated with plain white-blue cushions. A simple map of the city had been painted on the wall, which was otherwise smooth and uncarved.
Afternoon light poured in through the archways along one side of the room, casting the stern faces of the Vizier's audience into sharp relief.
The Byzantine emissary and his retinue.
Steam from scalding hot tea clouded the space between them and the Vizier, who sat cross legged on a cushion. They remained silent until finally the doors swung open and the Caliph strode through, accompanied by two heavily armed guards. His kaftan shimmered ebony and silver with every movement, dazzling the foreign envoys as he walked past them to the low stool beside his Vizier.
"Ambassador Damius, apologies for the delay," he said as he settled himself down and reached for a cup of tea. He took a long sip before meeting the grey eyes of his opponent. "To what do I owe the pleasure of this unexpected meeting?"
A young man with dark skin and wiry hair cleared his throat and translated the Caliph's words to the Byzantines in perfect Greek. Damius' gaze shifted from the Caliph to the Vizier and back again. The translator waited for the Byzantine to finish speaking before turning the words to the Caliph.
"Your son, the young Prince, he is not here."
It was not a question.
"He is tending to matters of the crown elsewhere," said Khalid.
If the Vizier speaking out of turn annoyed Damius, he did not let it show. The translator took a few moments to relay Khalid's words and then spoke Damius' reply.
"We will not disrespect you by feigning ignorance, King of the sands. We know the white flag flies in the city of Rey."
Damius registered the shock on their faces before continuing, a smile crawling across his plump face. The translator's eyes widened in shock as he processed the message, clearly reeling from what he was hearing. "And if your Prince fails, you will have civil war," he finally said, disbelief in his voice.
The Caliph's relaxed demeanour stiffened to stone. It was impossible that they should know of his direct orders to his son, unless a spy had somehow intercepted his message. Or there was a traitor in his war room, willing to sell secrets to the Byzantines for some paltry sum or favour. He had underestimated Damius from the moment he arrived, thinking him a fool easily impressed by baubles and fine wine. But he had been the fool.
He betrayed none of these thoughts as he replied, "I can assure you this matter will not interfere with our plans for a peace treaty, Lord Damius."
Damius whispered to some of his men before firming his response. "If we were lesser men, we would have used this moment of weakness to strike, but instead, we are going to help you."
Khalid's expression finally changed, his brows creasing together. The Prince had been sent to Rey with a guard stocked to the neck with weapons and armour, and a strategist with the mind of ten men. The city itself was rich and thriving despite the rebels. So what could these foreigners provide that they did not already have?
There was only one way to find out.
"What aid can you provide us? You who are so far from home, in an unknown land surrounded by unknown people..."
When the translator finished, Damius let out a low chortle. "We know you need no material aid, for your coffers flow with gold. Instead I offer you this," he leaned forward, a sinister glint in his eye. The translator's expression turned grave as he comprehended the words.
"There is a plot to kidnap the young Prince while he is in Rey, likely to ransom him for the throne."
The words hung heavy in the air, and despite the panic that rose in his chest, the Caliph remained stoic. He sipped his tea slowly before forming a response.
"How are we to know this plot is not some false concoction?"
"We already knew of the threat in Rey, that should tell you that our information is accurate," said Damius.
The two men considered for a moment. It still puzzled them as to what the Byzantines could gain from warning them of this. Perhaps it was merely the preservation of the tenuous peace treaty, but Khalid sensed there was something else, for they did not have the demeanour of friendly allies offering aid, but of predators, hiding beneath a veil of sand.
Damius continued, "It is your choice whether to believe us, but consider this: you lose nothing by sending aid, yet will lose everything if you do not and my prediction comes to pass."
They could not argue against that. Rehan was the sole heir to the throne. Losing him would throw the empire into chaos, pitting dozens against each other in a bid for power. The court of Al-Mansur, transformed into a den of vipers.
The Caliph's expression was drawn and pensive. He would send a message to Rey after discussing the matter with Khalid. There was no need to involve anyone else, lest the information spread.
"Thank you for the warning, Lord Damius," he finally said. "I will bring it to the attention of my advisers."
With that, their meeting was adjourned. The Byzantines took their leave, and the two most powerful men in the empire finally allowed panic to draw on their faces. Without delay they penned a message of warning to the Prince, which the Caliph took to the coops himself to be delivered. Khalid remained, sending commands to his spies in ciphers.
There was no doubt as to who they would send to protect Rehan.
The empire's strongest soldier; Yahyaal-Barmaki.
X
As the day dragged on Khaya returned to the library to peruse the shelves for works recounting the history of the Caliphate, the topic Parviz wanted to touch upon in their next lesson. Some of the books were over a hundred years old, with first-hand accounts from soldiers, ministers, and Viziers during the Rashidun Caliphate.
A clerk watched her with a hawk like gaze as her fingers grazed the spines of the ancient, tattered tomes. No one was permitted to be alone here, lest someone alter or remove original historical records.
Khaya played with one of the sapphires on her necklace and turned to the opposite shelf as a shock of familiar blue-streaked robes swept past, closely followed by a pair of disheveled clerks. Khaya peered through the gaps between the shelves to see them turn down an aisle, where one of the clerks began fiddling with the books.
The shelf swung inward, and Yahya stepped into the shadowy doorway. Within seconds the clerks replaced the hidden door and scuttled away, and the aisle was silent again. Khaya's grip tightened around her necklace as she waited for them to walk past her and disappear into the maze of the library before making her way down the aisles to where they had stood.
With deep, slow breaths she calmed herself and began probing for sounds high above the library ceiling, where the hidden solarium lay. The air in the spiral staircase whistled and groaned, a faint muttering of voices drifting in and out of the invisible storm. After a few frustrating minutes she opened her eyes. She was half tempted to rip off the sapphires strangling her powers, but decided to fiddle with the books instead, hoping that one of them unlocked the concealed door.
When she tugged on a tome bound in black leather, the gentle sound of a latch snicking filled her ears like soft music. With a cautious push the shelf swung back into a dark stairwell, and she stepped in.
X
"You must set out for Rey at once."
Yahya had barely sat down before his mouth opened in protest. "What? Why now? I thought Rehan had it under control. Has something happened?"
"No," Khalid intoned, "but something is about to." Yahya's brows drew together as his father continued, "The Byzantines have intelligence regarding a kidnapping plot in Rey."
The shock was now plain on Yahya's face. So many questions rose in his mind at once, he did not know where to begin.
"I know you have questions, Yahya, but for now we are erring on the side of caution. Me and the Caliph both agreed it is best to send you alone. We do not want to draw attention by sending a whole contingent for something that may or may not even happen."
Yahya nodded slowly, leaning back into his chair. "Does Rehan know of this plot?"
"No, we do not want him to be distracted from his task."
Yahya let out a heavy sigh. "I suppose I do not have a say in the matter, do I?"
Khalid shook his head. "Is something making you hesitate? I would think this was an easy enough task for someone with your skills..."
Yahya paused, untying his hair and combing his fingers through. "It's Yasmin, I promised her I would be here when her baby comes. But it can't be helped."
His father smiled, a rare expression on an otherwise sternly carved face. "Do not fret for your sister, she has the rest of the family by her side. And besides, I suspect she only wanted you here to help ease the pain of childbirth."
Yahya let out a soft chuckle. "And here I was thinking she missed me."
They wasted no more time in hashing out the details of Yahya's mission; the route he was to take, provisions and supplies, who to contact in Rey to learn more about the alleged plot. Despite his outward levelness, Yahya was perturbed by this sudden development, and how the Byzantines came by such information when he himself had not despite his extensive spy network.
Finally, when there was nothing left to discuss, Yahya rose to take his leave. He clenched his jaw, thinking of the tasks newly set out before him. He would have to prepare an inconspicuous horse, and probably a squire to help carry his provisions and weapons.
The solarium doors closed behind him and he descended the spiral staircase slowly, still deep in thought. The small torches on the wall flickered as he passed them, throwing his shadow across the stairs like a phantom.
A sharp scrape echoed behind him, and he froze. In the corner of his eye, a shadow shifted, and in a single breath he spun around and pinned the stranger against the cold stone wall.
"What in the seven hells are you doing here?!" he hissed, staring into the frightened eyes of Khayzuran.
"I'm coming with you," she said, surprisingly calm despite her compromised position.
She must have overheard his conversation with the Vizier, so there was no use in pretending not to know her meaning. "No, you aren't."
She did not flinch. "Yes, I am."
Yahya suddenly remembered himself and dropped his hands from her shoulders, then stepped back to put a comfortable distance between them. "I understand, Khaya. You're worried about him, as am I, but it is too dangerous for you to come with me."
"That is not for you to decide."
He ran a hand through his hair, slightly shocked he was putting up with this infuriating conversation. "Yes, it is. Rehanwould have my head if you came in harms way."
"Butâ"
"And just because Tahir taught you a few tricks doesn't mean you are strong enough for a mission like this."
Before Yahya could turn away, Khaya stepped towards him and jabbed a finger into his chest. "I am not the liability you think I am, Yahya. I know I can help."
Her use of his name without an honorific startled him, and she used his silence to continue, "He doesn't even have to know I'm there. I can go in disguise."
Yahya's jaw tightened as he considered her argument. It was true that her abilities were well-suited to gathering information, but they still had no idea what awaited them in Rey, and whether she would be able to hide herself from Rehan.
"No, I can't let you do this," he finally said, then continued down the stairwell without a pause. She trailed after him, grabbing at the back of his kaftan desperately.
"Please..." her voice softened, "He needs us both."
He stopped, glancing at her over his shoulder. The torchlight drew a halo around her small frame, her stern face fiercely determined. If he denied her again, he was certain she would find a way to follow him.
After what seemed an age, he finally relented. "Fine, you may accompany me as my squire, but at the first sign of dangerâ"
His words stopped short when he felt her arms wrap around him from behind, squeezing him in a tight hug.
"Thank you."
X
Thank you for waiting for this update. I had deleted and re-written this chapter many times, trying to decide which way the story would go. Thanks for your patience and please leave comments on what you like/dislike.
-D