CHAPTER TWENTY-ONE

MAZEEDA WATCHED FROM AFAR AS Amon, Sinbad, and the late queen bombarded her husband with questions. Sonya was perched onto his lap, arms waving everywhere as she explained her day to him. Zaabit brooded against the farthest wall.

She smiled at the sight.

“Well?” Sinbad insisted.

Khai had such little patience for all of them at the moment, except for his grandmother and cousin of course. He caught the storyteller's lingering eyes, he threw her a questioning brow her way.

Are you okay? it seemed to ask.

She simply shook her head, smiling.

“Well?” The voyager repeated.

The king huffed out a breath, turning his attention back. “Well what?”

Sinbad placed his hands on his hip. “How are you feeling? You've been dodging that question since we entered.”

Khai rubbed his temples. “Tell me, exactly, why you are still here and not on your boat sailing far away from here?”

“There you go again, dodging my question.”

“Sinbad,” Amon said coolly, softly even, “leave it alone. He may not want to admit it, but we all know how much pain he is in.”

The voyager rolled his eyes, offended. “A pain in my ass is what he is.”

The Malik leaned back against the headboard, caressing Sonya's head. “Oh yes, indeed. Then you must be the reason why I have this pounding headache.”

From the corner of Mazeeda's eyes, she saw Amon covering his face with his hands. At first, she thought it was because he lost all patience for the two men as well. But then she realised he was trying to cover up his growing laugh.

Ezra quietly got up from the cushioned seat she sat on and walked up to her nephew. She bent down to kiss his forehead before whispering into his ear, “I will talk with you later. Take care of yourself.”

Once she straightened up, she nodded at everyone in the room before taking her leave, the door shutting softly behind her.

The Caliph's uncle beckoned his daughter to him, in which she shook her head stubbornly. Sighing, he said, “Are we to ignore the elephant in the room?”

Sinbad crossed his arms and sat at the edge of the bed. “Who? Mazeeda?”

Amon pointed across the room to a figure leaning against the wall quietly. “Of course not, I meant Zaabit.”

Everyone turned their heads to Khai's right hand man.

Zaabit raised a thin brow. “Oh, don't mind me. I'm just simply here to watch you guys make a fool of yourselves.”

Mazeeda and Sonya laughed. Amon and Khai secretly smiled. Sinbad frowned.

“And if that is so,” the voyager said, “then why be here at all?”

Pushing himself off the wall, Zaabit took his time, pulling on the lapels of his cotton shirt. His hair ruffled and falling over his eyes, jaw clenching and unclenching. He knew how to test his friend's patience, and he was doing it now. “I'm here to talk about what happened to our king nearly two days ago. Had you guys forgotten?”

The room fell silent, the only sound coming from Sonya's joyful whispers to Khai.

“What is it that you want to talk about?” Amon's voice boomed, instantly becoming authoritative. It showed just how fit of a king he could have been.

“There's something strangely dark brewing around here. I had thought to brush it off at first,” Zaabit admitted, “but now that I look at it from a different perspective, it's become so clear now.”

Another moment of silence.

“It makes sense,” Sinbad concluded.

The right hand man nodded. “Whoever these insurgents are, they mean to start another war.”

“Aye, I second you on that. It explains my trip to Evilla, a village preparing for an uprising.” Somehow, the voyager did not like where this was going. It made his stomach hollow and empty.

“Another war?” Mazeeda whispered to herself. “There was no war in the beginning.” She looked up and found Zaabit's and Sinbad's face expressed in disbelief. Amon and Khai seemed to have been stricken frozen, waiting to be shattered. “What is it?”

“I've told you before,” the sailor argued, “we had one. Do you not understand that?”

“There was no war,” the queen insisted. “I know it, just as I know when death will claim another in the desert.”

Her mind and body knew what it felt, and a war fought only years ago was not one of them. She knew something was wrong, something that was missing. And her instinct told her only Khai knew.

“The please, my queen, enlighten me on the thousands that died only four years ago. Explain why our kingdom is at its lowest in politics and economics than all of the other four lands. Explain why Sonya's mother is dead.”

“Sinbad,” Amon growled, his tone deadly sharp and edge; enough to pierce through even the strongest metal. “Enough.” He knew his friend was pushing all their buttons to the limit today.

He stuck out his hand, silencing Khai's uncle. “No, no.” He laughed coldly, getting up from the bed he perched on, stalking around the room. “She has to get this war through her stubborn head. She needs to know what it cost Yaheisea. What it cost us. Everyone seems to be so stubborn to talk about this topic.”

“I-” Mazeeda began.

“The war just takes and takes and takes. It ruined everything I ever built for the woman I loved. Shattered Zaabit’s knees where he had to build himself back up. It took Khai’s entire family away and left only two behind. And now, those insurgents are ready to wipe out the rest of us. So tell me, Malika, how can your storytelling save us?”

Amon watched Khai closely, how relaxed he was with Sonya still in his arms. He wondered why he was so quiet when his wife was being bombarded with irrelevant cruel words. Amon knew everything, just as much as Khai. The only thing stopping him from spilling everything was that wicked smallgod poisoning the Caliph's mind and soul.

Mazeeda crossed her legs, straightened her back, and placed her quivering hands in her lap. She wished she had that crooked dagger with her, wherever it was. “Do not bring storytelling into this when you too are one. We are more alike than you would like to admit, so parade me with cruel words, I’ll simply crawl myself out. Believe me when I say that I am sorry for all that you’ve lost, but I refuse to believe that there was a war only two years ago. I would have known, my village would have aided Yaheisa.”

Sinbad clicked his tongue. “Ironic, really. Now your village is turning their back against their very own kingdom.”

The Calipha went cold as a tundra. So her suspicions were true, her brother had attempted to kill her husband in hopes of triggering the war. She wondered if he saw her, and if he did, she wondered if it changed anything. Mazeeda wondered where Sokath was now.

The voyager clasped onto the arm rests of the seat the storyteller sat in and leaned forward, invading her space. “You know something. Spit it out.”

“I…” She was always a bad liar.

“Move away from her,” Khai demanded.

Sinbad only snickered, eyes still boring into the Malika’s. Her own stare was unwavering, challenging even.

“Now.”

He stayed. “And why should I?”

“Because,” the almighty king said sternly, “I know who tried to assassinate me.”

He swirled around, Sinbad's hair falling over one shoulder. “Who?”

HE MAY NOT WANT TO admit it, but Sokath was lost in Haalon. Even riding on his horse did nothing to help. And the fact that he hadn't eaten since he arrived does not help. He was doomed.

The thought of having to sell his horse was too horrid of a possibility. He didn't understand why his heart was feeling so heavy that it ached tremendously.

Because my sister is alive, he kept thinking.

He slowed Zaid --his horse-- down to a stop before climbing off. It was best walking on foot on this side of town.

Sokath never seen a crowd as mammoth as this one. Even in the morning, everyone was preoccupied with buying the finest materials there was to sell.

Nobody seemed to mind him, perceiving him as a loyal soldier to the Caliph.

If he had no money and nothing to barter, Sokath's only solution was to steal. Because those glistening mangos and the aroma it sent out swarmed his senses into overdrive.

Tying the reigns of his horse to the nearest pole, he stealthily made his way to the stand. Examining it, Sokath was satisfied with what he saw. If there was one thing Raine actually taught him on their caravan journeys with their father, it was stealing.

He knew what he wanted and he was going to get it.

“I wouldn't do it if I were you,” an edged voice warned.

Sokath turned and found a young women snacking on nuts. Her dark skin and caramel eyes were a contrast to her teasing face. The bun on her head was done tightly.

He watched as she stook out her thin hand that was enclosed in a fist. “Take it,” she said, nodding at him.

He warily opened his palms for her, I  which she dropped a fair amount of gold coins. It was enough, maybe even more than adequate.

“Buy what suits you best,” she stated coolly, voice smoother somehow.

Sokath opened his mouth, closed it in hesitation, before speaking. “Helping out a stranger now are we?”

The woman shrugged, popping a roasted peanut to eat. “I'm learning on the way. Can I give you some advice?”

The storyteller’s brother simply nodded.

“Never leave your horse by itself in these parts of Haalon. Especially a horse so healthy and built the way it is.”

They both turned to look at Zaid, who was glaring down at all those who dared to admire or pet her. She weighed at those who seemed a threat.

“I will take note of that,” the assassin considered.

“Strange really,” she looked at him. His hair was tied into a small ponytail at the nape of his neck, some strands flying loose against the humid heat. His face chiseled, hollow even. Skin burnt to a brown only the sun could give for staying out for so long. “I had mistaken you as a palace guard, but one look at your horse and I knew.”

“Knew…what exactly,” he choked out.

The girl turned to stare into his eyes, to see what they would tell her. “You are a foreigner to this city, to this kingdom. The way you carry yourself, the glisten in your eyes as if taking it in for the first time, how aware you are of your surroundings.”

He quirked a sharp brow her way. “Should I be worried?”

“Merely observing. I know a foreigner when I see one.”

“Keen eyes,” he complimented.

She brushed off the compliment as quickly as it came. She didn't need empty words.

“Sokath.”

“What?”

“My name is Sokath.”

The stranger said his name in her head, testing the waters before deciding to tell hers. “Fani.”

If there was one thing that Fani knew from working at the palace --even if it were only for a few days-- it was this: never trust anyone who offers their name first; especially if they had a proposition behind it.