The Serpent's Veil

The Sapphire

Khaya drew her legs up on the wooden chair, eyes vacant as the same few moments in the tunnel replayed themselves over in her mind. The huff of breath as Rehan leapt off Farhad's back into the fray, the searing slash of his blade against flesh that gave way like water. The rest was a muted blur, faded into the background as all her power merged to a single point of focus.

She had been dimly aware of Yahya's fingers tightening around her wrist, pulling her behind him. The flickering light gave her brief glimpses of violent movement, like a series of paintings set on a canvas of darkness.

And then it was over. The rebels lay fallen, and her breath had died in her throat with them. She was grateful for the dying light, so she would not have to see their blood flooding the stone, drowning her. But it was still bright enough that she had seen Rehan, the inertia in his movement, the glaze over his eyes after Yahya translated the enemy's final rebuke.

And all she could do was stand there. Silent, motionless, as if she too were dead.

The thought finally settled over her, and she knew now, that it had always been there, buried deep under her pride and arrogance and reliance on Yahya and concern for Rehan, waiting for this moment to reveal itself to her as truth.

She was not strong enough.

What ever made her think she was?

Her room was dark, but for the distant twinkling stars shining through the honeycomb windows and a small candle in the corner, on the verge of winking out. Yahya had put her in one of the rooms in the servant's wing, just close enough to hear what she needed to, and far enough that he wouldn't see her. She wondered what Yahya had said to Firaz, if he had used his power on the old governor to make him forget that she was staying in his house. Was he powerful enough to do such a thing? To erase a memory.

A soft knock sounded against the door, and she jolted upright, arm reaching for the discarded turban strewn over the chair. She breathed deeply as she wrapped her hair in quick, sure movements.

A moment later, the door eased open and Yahya carefully stepped inside. He looked at her, face equally drawn and haggard, hesitating a moment before finally moving to sit on the bed.

"I... I keep wondering if there was something I could have done, some way it could have turned out different," she said into the silence.

"There wasn't, Khaya. Trust me."

She shook her head, still consumed by her earlier thoughts. "Maybe if I had heard them sooner we would have been able to capture one of them alive and without bloodshed. This would not have happened—"

"Stop." He tilted his chin down, let out a long breath through his nose, as if bracing himself, then pressed his palms against his bowed forehead. "All of us could have done something, but it does not matter right now. There are more pressing concerns."

Finally, he looked up, past the open archway leading to the balcony and into the warm Rey night. His eyes shone like dulled steel, weary and worn from battle. She had never seen him so tired. So lost.

"Something happened to Rehan when we were down there. He has been consumed by visions and portents about these rebels, and he knows I am hiding something."

Khaya nearly burst out of her chair at the news. Her hands gripped the armrests till her knuckles turned white. "What happened? How is he right now?" She had to be careful to lower her voice at this late hour.

Yahya waited for several breaths before answering. "He is afraid, more than I have ever seen him in my life. And truthfully, so am I. The council wants to announce his presence to the city when we still know next to nothing about this kidnapping plot, and these rebels are proving far more destructive than I thought they would be. And sooner or later, Rehan is going to figure out that you are here, too."