CHAPTER THIRTY

THE ROOM WAS HEAVY WITH the odor of old blood and it reminded Amon of storm clouds heavy with rain, ready to let it plunge into the sand kept land. The uncle stood at the door, using the hands behind his back to slowly shut the door. The simple click of the knob was a reset to the middle-aged man.

He shall prepare for whatever was to come.

Every time he was in a room only accompanied by his nephew, his heart could not lie to his mind of how scared he was. Amon was never a man of many fears --unlike the boy that laid in the bed-- but one: the king himself, or rather, what laid inside him. Because he knew that everytime he stepped into the room, alone with no one but the two of them, it was of serious matter. It was everytime he was alone that he wondered one thing.

Who had summoned him here? Was it Khai or was it the smallgod within his nephew?

He tried to steady his heart and braced for what was to come. His heart was beating to the sound of a horses gallop. Amon would soon find out who had summoned him.

He spoke slowly, cautiously, fearfully. “To whom stands in front of me?”

Silence.

And then a very soft, “Khai,” so soft that Amon’s ears were barely able to pick it up.

“This must be urgent,” Amon picked out carefully, not leaving his post at the door, “if you are to call me here without the rest of the inner circle. What-”

“Something is wrong,” Khai growled out, louder than just moments before. His voice clipped and desperate.

Amon’s brown eyes widened. He had never heard his nephew’s voice like this before, full of uncertainty and fear. The last time he had heard such a tone brought up a memory three years ago. The king's eyes, which was usually thay of a predator, was nothing more than a prey already half dead.

Pivoting his feet, Sonya’s father made his way to his king’s side, the glint of Khai’s beloved dagger in its beautiful scabbard did not go unnoticed. “How can that be?”

Mazeeda’s husband brought his arm up to cover over his eyes, a cracked sigh coming out of his throat. “I do not know myself.”

"Fretting will do us no good." If his nephew was a ship, then Amon would make sure to be the anchor. "What clouds your mind? Speak freely with me, do not hold your tongue in my presence as there are no ears but ours in this room.”

“My body, it doesn’t feel right. Whatever arrow Mazeeda’s brother shot, it’s not only affecting me, but also the smallgod.” Khai’s brown wavering eyes flickered gold as he tried to search for any answer on his uncle’s face.

“How so? I had thought you told me this would never happen for as long as it lives in you.”

The king swallowed slowly, painfully. “None of this was supposed to happen.”

Amon took deep slow breaths so he could calm his mind, eyes wandering to every trinket and souvenir that was littered all around the room. His next words were as careful as picking a grain of sand, “If things turn to worse, when you’re body can no longer handle whatever it’s going through, when the smallgod in you decides it no longer wants you as a vessel, will everything the smallgod did in your favor be undone?”

The king looked at the copper bracelet that wrapped around his wrist like a vice. “It most likely will, afterall, those were the terms we bargained on.”

What exactly did you bargain on, Khai? he wondered. Amon had been chosento have the knowledge of what his nephew had done, he did not see any logic as to tell anyone, not after being called a lunatic when he had tried to tell Sinbad and Zaabit. Not after Khai had sat him down and spilled the story like ink on paper, explained why he chose his uncle and no one else.

“What will you do then?”

“There is nothing I can do at that point, as you know.”

“I refuse to believe that,” Amon said in a stern voice.

“In all my years I have known you as my counselor, uncle, and as a person, I have never taken you as an idealist. This hope that is beginning to bloom in you, do not put fuel on it, unless you wish for it to be extinguished.”

“And yet,” Amon picked up a trinket that was on top of a pile, observing it closely, before looking straight at Khai, his eyes unwavering as he said, “you’ve allowed Mazeeda to fuel yours. You let the scale tip out of balance if you are the only exception.”

The king looked away, wanting to grumble. His uncle always had a way with words, or rather, words that hit where there was flaw. He shouldn’t have expected anything less, afterall, he was Khai’s right hand man.

If Khai had the choice, he would choose Amon to take his place as king. He was, in more ways than one, more qualified. Amon was the king the people should have had instead of Omari, Khai’s father. If it were his uncle who sat on the heavy throne, perhaps they wouldn’t be in the position they are now.

"If you refuse to believe there can be nothing done, what will you do?" His nephew challenged him.

The answer within Amon spun quickly, faster than a prick of the finger on a spinning wheel. His answer lied in Mazeeda, but he wasn't willing to tell the king that. "I'll find a way,” he said, eyes flickering quickly to the untouched dagger across the bed.

“How?” he asked, almost desperately, as if he was praying for the stars to pour down from the sky. The storyteller’s husband sat up on his elbows, frantic and itching to hear what was to be said.

“Will it put your heart at ease if I told you?”

The boy coughed out a laugh, bittersweet, broken, lonely. “You know quite well it won’t.”

Amon lowered his head slowly, “Then I shall be on my way,” got up, and carefully made his way across the bed to the door. “I’ll send in the healer to check in on you again when morning comes. Until then, rest.”

Khai only sighed before turning onto his uninjured side, saying, “I’d like it if you tell Mazeeda not to visit me tonight,” over his shoulder.

The older man tenderly picked up the crooked dagger and tucked it into the sleeve of his shirt. “Of course.”

Amon closed his eyes as he leaned against the other side of the door, letting out a shaky breath. He wondered how Sonya was able to do this all the time.

Stealing felt like lying and he didn't know which one was worse. No, he knew the answer to that.

Sliding the small weapon out of his sleeve, he knew he only had such a short amount of time before Khai realizes what he’s done.

If Mazeeda was the fuel to his nephew’s hopes, then she could do the same for him. To Yaheisea. He would put his trust into the queen and hope her to raise a new dawn.

“PERHAPS IF YOU STARE HARD enough, those words will move.”

Mazeeda jumped at the calm smooth voice that was a contrast to Sinbad’s luxurious and caressing tone. The queen halted to a stop in the long open corridor and turned around to addressed the man. “Zaabit.”

The dark man respectively reciprocated the action. He looked at the note in her hands and raised a dubious eyebrow. “And what may this be?” Though, if the head guard was being honest with himself, he already knew the answer to his own question by the looks of the words written on the scrap of paper.

“They’re words written by Khai,” Mazeeda said, confused herself. “He wanted me to memorize and trace it until I got it down.”

A short cough of a laugh erupted from Zaabit’s mouth. “My queen, if I may have the pleasure to inform you, these words are nothing more than your name written over and over again.”

They began to walk in step, heading towards the exit of the east wing. This was an area where Amon and Sonya resided, opposite of the Malik and Maika's.

She couldn’t help but gawk. “Are you sure?”

“I’d like to believe so.” He brought a thick finger and traced each letter with perfect precision, almost as if he were wielding a sword. “The ‘M’ has two points like a mountain.” And Mazeeda absorbed everything he taught her, from the sharp turns of the letter ‘z’ to the soft curves of “b’ like the humps on a camel until she realized that it was indeed her name.

“Mazeeda Bahjat,” she repeated after her husband’s guard with perfect pronunciation. The very name her mother picked out and the last name her father gave her.

"Sinbad told me of a story, so long ago it could be mistaken as a dream, of people who valued their given names very much." Zaabit’s mind wandered off, trying to piece together the old memory. "They did not care about being called the honored one or other such titles unlike here. I remember my brother telling me, 'You don't need to earn a name when you are born with one. If you hide it, you let the world take it from you.'"

"If you lose your name, you lose who you are," Mazeeda said in awe, not quite sure if it was because voyager always had such a unique way with such stories or because it was the first time she heard Zaabit more than a few years. She knew he was a picky speaker, only plucking off the ones that were ripe and ready to fall.

Sinbad crafted his story at a level the queen didn't quite reach yet. He seemed to tell the tales of the dead, of those long forgotten. He told the stories of those whose voices could never be told, washed out and drowned out by those that were louder.

What she lacked was experience. Mazeeda wanted that, wanted to travel the world and gain a better perspective. That was, if the heart in her body was still beating long enough to let her wishful thinking come true  and not on a platter for the king to feast upon.

"Where are you off to today?" Mazeeds asked, still a bit in a daze from her thoughts. She couldn't allow herself to build a shrine of hope when she was still tethered to the king, not until she got all the secrets out of his mouth.

The scabbard dug into Zaabits thighs with every step he took. "The stables."

The queen nearly tripped over her dress. "What for? I had made the assumption that as long as I am alive there's no reason to go near it."

"Put your heart at ease," the guard said in a reassuring tone. "You forget that horses do more than just bring the king to the next village of his future wife. They are more than just bringers of death. They are alive like us, they have emotion, need to eat, sleep, and most of all, need to move. It has been months since the last time they felt the rush of the wind on them, I am quite certain they are feeling restless right about now."

"May I join you?"

"Of course, my queen," he halted and turned to her with one finger up, "but we will have company. I do believe I promised Sonya how to ride a horse."