Darkness

The square was in an uproar. News of the aqueduct being shut off had somehow reached the very corners of the city despite Firaz only speaking of it to a handful of ministers. Dozens of people had flocked to the central fountains to fill their casks and barrels with fresh water in anticipation of Firaz's formal order.

Khayzuran had no doubt that every well in the city would be drained by the end of the day. She stalked along the edge of the square, hood pulled low over her eyes. Despite her keen sense of hearing, which Yahya had forced her to hone on their journey to Rey, the throng of voices and movement here made it difficult for her to track by sound alone.

She touched the sapphires at her neck, a gesture that was beginning to become a habit, half tempted to pry one from its prongs to loosen the cage around her gift. But Yahya had warned her against it every time he saw her reach for them.

"It will be too much for your to bear." His deep voice echoed in her head, and she brought her hand back to her side. He still thought of her as a weak damsel, and trusted her far less than the other men in his family.

He and Rehan appeared intermittently between the currents of people going past. Their faces were obscured by hoods, but the sound of their breaths, their heartbeats was unmistakable to Khaya's ears. They prowled along the edge of an alley, peering through windows and doors but speaking to no one but each other. Khaya had heard enough of their conversation at the governor's residence to know they were searching for signs of the escaped Umayyad rebel.

They circled back to the same few alleyway entrances twice, thrice, but to no avail. The rebel had left no signs of his presence; none that could be seen by their eyes, at least.

The crowd around them swelled, and they disappeared from view. Did the people milling about the square know the Prince was here among them? Would they know his face if he removed his hood?

A moment later, Yahya came into view, Rehan missing from his side. Khaya whipped her head around, anxiously searching for his familiar black cowl through the gaps between the throng. The crowd suddenly parted, as if moved by an invisible force, and there he was.

Heading straight for her.

Khaya's jaw clenched and she planted herself where she stood, scarcely breathing. As he strode across the clearing his cape bellowed behind him like a phantom wind, sending her heart racing. If she was recognised here—

Her thoughts froze when he was an arms length away, and despite the danger, she risked a glance at his shrouded face as he passed. But his gaze was firmly fixed beyond her, to the base of the towering minaret at the centre of the square.

Khaya remained motionless until she heard the sound of iron grates behind her scraping against each other, and the fading of Rehan's heartbeat as he ascended the minaret. She exhaled a tight breath, letting the knot of fear in her shoulders loosen before she started towards where Yahya still stood.

A lock of hair had come loose from his braid, flicking across his face as he tilted his head. Despite the distance and the droves of people between them, his eyes found her effortlessly. He drew his gaze away so seamlessly, Khaya wasn't sure he'd spotted her at all.

She neared and stopped a few paces beside him, but still, he did not look at her. To the world they appeared two strangers, drawn together briefly by their shared interest in the alleyway before them.

"You shouldn't be here," he mumbled, but she heard it clear as water. "If he sees you, both you and I will have only a pair of hands between us."

She knew it was in jest, but she couldn't help but say, "He would never do something so cruel."

"You haven't seen him angry," Yahya barely breathed the words, as if muttering a prayer to himself. "I assume you know why we came here?"

She nodded once. "Is this where you lost the rebel?"

The alleyway narrowed into darkness, doors and windows and broken crates blending with the walls all the way down until they disappeared completely.

Yahya jerked his chin towards the right. "Rehan was coming from there, and I came straight through here. We met right where you are standing, where the rebel should have been."

Khaya shuddered slightly, shifting on her feet. "You mean he disappeared?"

His silence told her she was right. "Where is—"

Yahya sensed her question. "He went to see if the archers saw anything, but I doubt it. They are too high up."

Khaya forced herself not to look up at the balcony. "Have you got any theories?"

"A few."

When he didn't continue, she finally turned to stare at him. "And?"

"What are yours?"

She exhaled sharply, surveying the dark passage where it opened into the light of the square. Nothing looked amiss. The walls were of smooth stone, the ground of hard packed dirt. Khaya ran a hand over the stone and it came away with a film of dirt.

They appear and disappear in every district as if they were lurking there all along, Rehan had said.

"Could he be like me? Gifted, but not of your bloodline."

"I thought so, but I should have sensed it. Unless he was masking it somehow."

She raised a brow. "Is that even possible?"

"I don't know," he admitted. "I wouldn't rule it out, considering the fact that until I met you I didn't believe there were any others like us."

The very notion sent a shudder down Khaya's spine. She recalled her meeting with Ibn Fakrid, when he told her the Nizaris used to work for the Umayyads. She looked sideways at Yahya. Was he thinking the same thing?

"We checked the doors here as well. None of them lead to anything. Just long-forgotten storage rooms," he added, and Khaya was grateful for the change of subject.

She finally risked a glance up at the balcony behind her. The sun was shielded by the tower, casting its front into deep shadow. She made out the soldiers circling the balcony, marked by the large bows and full quivers slung across their backs.

One stood out among them, dark as night. She did not forget why she and Yahya had come here.

"You should go to him, I will see what I can find," she said to Yahya.

"Are you sure you will be alright alone?"

She nodded. "I'll meet you at the Blue Mosque."

The grand dome rose in the west, tiles twinkling like aquamarines despite the dreary smoke clouds rising from the ashen bridges of the aqueduct. A bright beacon of peace among the chaos.

Yahya headed for the minaret, his grey eyes turning silver in the sunlight.

The clamour around them had thinned since the time she arrived as people left the fountains with their canteens and casks and barrels filled with water. Khaya clung to the shadows as a family of four carrying a large chestnut barrel between them plodded down the alley. How long would that last them?, she wondered.

Once the family disappeared around a bend, she surveyed the door on the left wall of the alley. It was closest to the square, and seemed the most obvious route of escape. Yahya had said the doors here led to nothing, but she wanted to see for herself.

She braced her shoulder against it and heaved until it finally creaked open. A thick, earthy smell filled Khaya's nostrils when she stepped inside.

The room was larger than she expected, with shelves on every wall filled with glass bottles, some empty, some full, and dozens of wooden crates arranged in neat stacks on the floor. The noise of the square reduced to a din as she focused on the sounds in the room.

Silence.

She closed her eyes and directed her focus to each corner, each wall, but still no sound, save for her own breath, came to her. She tilted her chin up, and there—

Activity on the floor above— tottering people, clinking glasses, and some kind of grinding. Stones perhaps?

Whatever it was, Khaya sensed this was not the way the Umayyad had come. The room was too undisturbed, too neatly kept for someone to have burst through while running for his life earlier that day. And there seemed to be no passages leading anywhere from here, no concealed doorways or hidden walls or false bookshelves as in the library in Baghdad.

Khaya carefully backed out of the musty room and closed the door, grimacing as she tugged on the rotted wooden knob to shut it completely.

The alley remained undisturbed. Another door stood opposite, farther down into the alley yet still close enough to the square to be significant. It swung open with a nudge from Khaya to reveal a much smaller, ill-kept anteroom. The floor was covered in shattered wooden planks and chipped ceramics, and there was hardly a sliver of space for Khaya to step without the risk of tripping and catching herself on something sharp.

Long-forgotten storage rooms indeed.

Khaya propped the door open with a broken clay pot and carefully picked her way inside. This seemed an even less likely route for the man to have taken, but she still swept a keen eye over the space, then stood in the centre and listened.

Again, silence. She turned to each wall, looked up at the ceiling. Nothing. She tried again, this time focusing on the corners. The two nearest to her were silent as tombs, but the one furthest away, shrouded in shadow, suddenly erupted with a with a low whistling sound, then went silent again.

Intrigued, Khaya stepped closer, dodging the angry shards of a glass panel at her feet until she was an arms length away from the dark corner. The sound grew to a constant hum, like wind across an open desert.

Khaya opened her mouth in wonder, then frowned. Could it be that simple?

Suddenly she was back in the library, listening to the voices travelling down from the Barmaki's solarium. This sound, the low whistling and groaning, was almost identical to the air in the spiral staircase.

Khaya pressed her hands into the stone, going up and down before moving along the wall. She ran her fingertips along cracks and ridges, searching for any sign of a doorway. She did not know how much time had passed before her palms were covered in a thick layer of black dirt. Sweat beaded on her brow, and she wiped it off with the back of her hand before returning to the wall. There had to be a way to the other side, she was sure of it.

On her second search, her finger snagged in a hole she hadn't caught the first time. It seemed luck was on her side.

She pressed her finger in, and it hit something smooth and metallic. A deep groan interrupted the whistling wind, and the corner of the wall began to peel open.

Ibn Fakrid's words from long ago rose in her mind. Perhaps what you call luck is not luck, but destiny.

A breeze shot out through the opening, whipping Khaya's hood off her head. There was a short stairwell leading into complete darkness - the light from outside would only penetrate so far.

Khaya squared her shoulders and considered her options. She could go to Yahya now and tell him what she'd found, or she could see where the passage led - if anywhere. Maybe it was a dead end, just another basement.

She opened the main door wider and wedged several woodchips underneath to keep it open in case someone tried to shut her in, then took a bracing breath before stepping down into the dark.

X

The passage swallowed all light.

It extended only five steps before splitting into two paths. Khaya extended her senses into the dark, but there was only the wind. It could go on for leagues for all she knew. She chose the passage on the right, keeping her hands on the wall and counting her steps as she went.

Forty steps, and she reached another crossroad; this time the path turned into a long corridor, running left to right.

It was here she finally heard the din of voices, down the left corridor. She strained herself to hear more, to discern their words, but they did not grow clearer no matter how much she slowed and controlled her breathing. The whistle of the wind grew cacophonous as dozens of tunnels meandered and merged into one another.

Suddenly, the air around her began to stagnate. Or was it her own fear, wrapping around her throat like a powerful hand and suffocating her? She pulled down her veil and gulped down several breaths before deciding this was enough. It would serve no one to get lost in this maze of tunnels, with no one to know she was down here.

No one to know if she got caught.

Khaya turned around, still keeping a hand planted on the wall and counting in reverse. Moments later, the voices seemed to increase in volume, and with them she heard footsteps. Were they heading towards her? Pure panic flooded every muscle, and she began running until she reached the first passage, where the soft light from the open storeroom beckoned above.

She took the stairs two at a time and spun around on the landing, frantically searching for the hidden metal latch. The seconds moved like minutes when the doors began to inch closed, slow as dunes.

Without waiting for them to close fully, Khaya jumped over the debris in the anteroom and kicked away the woodchips and pot she had propped up earlier, and slammed the door shut.

She was breathing hard, too hard for the short run. Using her gift must have taken a larger toll than she'd realised. Despite the exhaustion, she did not want to linger.

Khaya pulled her hood on, adjusted the veil over her mouth, and turned back into the square, eyes trained upwards in search of the iridescent dome.

X



As Yahya suspected, the archers were too far away to get an accurate shot while the white-clad man was on the rooftops, and lost him completely once he had reached the ground.

They would learn nothing more by lingering, so Rehan reluctantly left the men to their own devices, with new orders to shoot anyone in white should they find them.

The crowds had thinned by the time they made their way back to Firaz's mansion, but Yahya knew they would return once the black flags were flying high on the spires of every tower in the city, announcing the presence of their Prince to both friend and foe.

Rehan stepped through the gates, but Yahya paused at the threshold.

"I am going to the Blue Mosque," he said.

Rehan looked over his shoulder and raised a brow. "I've never known you to be particularly pious."

He wasn't, nor did he have plans to start now. "It's my first time in Rey, I wanted to see it."

Rehan paused, eyes narrowing a fraction. Yahya prayed he would not ask to join him and delay his rendezvous with Khaya.

"Why did you really come, Yahya? I know you bear no ill will, but I am curious. My father said I was to do this alone."

There was no mincing words with him, thought Yahya. "And you are. I came because I was idle in Baghdad. Nothing interesting happens when you're not around."

Still, Rehan did not break his gaze, though his mouth softened into a smile. "That is true. But I have a feeling there is more you know."

Yahya was inwardly surprised at his perceptiveness, and equally concerned by how he was able to read him so easily. He sucked in a long breath and answered, "As far as the Umayyads go, I know as much as you, this I swear. And if there is something I am keeping from you, I think you trust me enough to know that there is a reason for it."

"And if I command you to tell me?" asked Rehan, though there was no authority in it, no threat of consequence.

"I would answer truthfully."

The trust between them - the bond that had been forged since they were children and grew stronger with every passing day - would not be so easily broken.

Rehan's smile finally widened. "Go."

Yahya allowed the tension in his shoulders to ease, but did not move until Firaz's guards closed the doors behind Rehan. Better he was in a well-guarded fortress than out in the open streets of Rey.

His thoughts drifted from Rehan to Khayzuran as he made his way to the Blue Mosque. It was unlikely she had discovered anything new, but they would still have to discuss whether they should combine forces to help with the Umayyads, or keep their distance as his father had commanded.

The image of Rehan leaping from the aqueduct played in his mind over and over again. Though Yahya was wont to obey orders, especially from Khalid, the thought of not being present in that moment, of Rehan falling to his death because he had decided to remain in the shadows and observe, made his chest twist so tightly he couldn't breathe. He could not sit idly by as his Prince risked his life, and he knew Khayzuran felt the same, else she would not have followed him into such treacherous territory.

She had courage, he admitted, though that bravery could just as easily turn to recklessness if she let her emotions consume and control her.

Ahead, the mosque entrance came into view. Verses of scripture glimmered around the arch, each cursive letter embossed with a layer of gold foil, and gemstones inlaid into the marble formed beautiful red and yellow flowers. It was far more ostentatious than any mosque in Baghdad, even the one at the palace.

Few people milled about the entrance, but Khaya was not among them. Yahya stood by one of the pillars on the side and shrouded himself in its shadow as he scanned the clearing for a small hooded figure.

She emerged from a side street minutes later, swivelling her head in search of him.

"Khayzuran, I'm here," he said, no louder than he would have if she were right beside him. It took longer than anticipated for her to finally whip her head in his direction.

When she came closer, Yahya realised something was wrong. Her steps were heavy, eyes lidded and unfocused. She stumbled the last few steps, and he quickly reached out and caught her.

"What happened?" He kept his voice level to hide his panic, but his mind raced to the worst possible scenario. Did she encounter one of the rebels? Had they hurt her?

She was dead weight in his arms, and he had to lean her against the pillar to catch her breath before she could reply. "I found something, a passage."

That was the last thing he was thinking about. "Did you get hurt?"

"No," she breathed, "I'm just tired."

Yahya hesitated before brushing his fingers against her forehead. He let his magic touch her for the briefest instant, and knew she had exerted herself to the point of exhaustion.

"You have to rest. We can go back to our safehouse—"

"Listen to me, Yahya," she grabbed his forearms, suddenly lucid, "There's tunnels under the square, a whole maze of them. I don't know where they lead, but that must be how they are disappearing before they can be caught. And if they take Rehan down there..."

Terror coiled around Yahya's throat. If— if they lost Rehan down there, they could very well lose him forever. The only way to find him would be Khaya, but she was not strong enough. Not yet.

She released him and sucked in several deep breaths. Slowly, colour returned to her cheeks, her eyes brightened. "We must warn them," she said.

"I must warn them."

Her gaze turned hard, but they both knew he was right.

"Are we returning to the safehouse?" she finally asked.

"No, I'll find a place for you at the governor's residence. We need to stay close to him."

It was a risk, bringing her so close to him, but it was a bigger risk to keep her away when her power was so valuable in this mission. So much more useful than Yahya's own, he realised.

The sun was beginning its descent, casting the Blue Mosque into shades of silver and violet. They had lingered too long.

"Let's go," he said. She followed without a word.

There would be much to tell the council of Rey.