Son of Mah

xix. born of a dancer

The last time Shahrazad had seen Zaman was when the latter was a tender eight. Shahrazad expected that he either was still the same or his qualities had amplified.

A blood-red carpet was rolled from the entrance to the grand hall till the gilded chair where the Shah was to sit. The servants, on the instructions of Parmenion, had decorated the place with irises. Each corner smelled like a garden. Shahrazad put a hand on his chest, pleasantly surprised to find that Parmenion was so considerate.

Maybe I should have guessed, he thought. A favourite.

Shahrazad clutched the pendant close to his heart, twisting and twirling the chain as his brows curved and lines appeared on his forehead. A pain he was so ashamed of accepting as his own plagued him. Do I want to be the favourite of this man? No. Never. Don't lure me in there, you devil!

It was chaos and confusion that consumed him. He didn't yield to them, flailing on their watery surface like a bird refusing to be drowned by the tendrils of ugly secrets. Now, he had to worry about his beloved Shahryar and his lovely sister.

From what his dreams had told him and the stories that spread like fire across the lands, Zaman had not visited this kingdom even once after the coronation of Shahryar. So what could be the reason behind this sudden visit? To Shahrazad it could be as simple as marriage or as crooked as a next stroke in a canvas of plots.

Chalices of copper and plates of silver were brought, filled with sweet wine and delicacies. The hazahrapatish himself arranged some of them. Shahrazad went and stood beside him. "I heard the Shah's brother is coming?"

"Yes. Revered Shah Zaman, the second child of late Shah Damun."

"He loves irises a lot it seems."

"Yes, and he loves sweet food sprinkled with syrup."

He must also have a very sweet tongue like me.

All the food, again, were tasted by Parmenion. Unlike the other days today he wore a relaxed demeanor.

"Oh! There they come! See, the doors open." The hazahrapatish ran towards them.

Shahrazad braced himself for what was to come. The doors to the hall parted to reveal the two brothers. And what a contrast it was to behold.

Shahryar's cheeks had sunken though his eyes had a soft, fragile glow to them. He wore white, like peace personified, bordered in the golden of divinity. On the other hand, Zaman donned the shade of obsidian like a new moon night. Rubies studded on his coat glimmered in the light of the chandelier.

Shahryar had been the one speaking to him all the while. Zaman, quiet as a dead man, kept listening with a placid smile. He kept his head lowered, and only when he reached the little round table did he raise his eyes. His gaze roved around the hall. He smiled when he found the irises and the plethora of dishes on the table. And then when he looked up from the sugary berries and pies, his eyes fell on Shahrazad. Zaman cocked his head to the side, beady dark eyes pinned on the royal consort. Shahryar, having felt that his brother was unable to identify this unknown man, walked towards Shahrazad and wrapped an arm around his waist, firmly pressing on his polished side. "This is my husband, Shahrazad. He is the foster son of Bagaos."