The Serpent's Veil

The Tithes of Rey

Well before dawn, as the city of Rey dreamed of fires long since put out, the governor's mansion was alive with frenzied activity. Dozens of servants filed in and out of the compound carrying sacks of jewels to be loaded into the large wagons lined up outside for the procession. Others carried weapons and shields for the Prince's guard, others led horses from the stables to tack them with bejewelled bridles and the finest leather saddles.

At the centre of it all was Firaz himself, beaming with confidence in every movement as he directed the complex dance of servants, soldiers, and lords, all silhouetted against the marble halls by the flickering firelight torches. His royal purple robes shimmered as he glided between the pillars from one group to the next, finally stopping in front of a demure, solitary maid. She carried a jewel encrusted box, but this was not a part of the alms to be given to the people of Rey.

Firaz flicked open the latch and lifted the lid just enough to peek inside, then closed it swiftly and nodded.

"Take it to him at once."

The girl bowed and skittered away from the main courtyard where people milled, led only by moonlight filtering through the honeycomb panels and open archways as she made her way up towards the palatial chambers. As she ascended the spiral stairwell, the mosaic patterns on the walls grew visible under faint torchlight trickling down from above.

The landing was empty, the door firmly shut. She carefully lifted the latch and pushed it open, head swivelling to find the recipient of the trove she carried. She stepped through another door, and there he was.

He stood bathed in dawnlight, facing the open archway with his chin tilted up to the sky. She had never seen the Prince before, but she knew this was him, tall and bare chested, an ornate sword strapped to his hip, and a necklace of glittering diamonds adorning his neck. The silver armour strapped to his forearms and shoulders gleamed almost pure white.

He slid his eyes to her, and suddenly she could breathe again.

"Sayyidi," she murmured, bowing deeply and raising the box to him.

He took it and opened it to reveal its contents, and a pensive look stiffened his features. He spun the open box back towards the girl, and tilted his chin down.

"Would you?"

The girl was perplexed and unsure, her movements shaky as her fingers grasped the crown on its velvet cushion. It was fashioned as a pair of silver wings on a band emblazoned with jewels.

Slowly, she lifted the crown to the Prince's bowed head, and it shimmered faintly as the earliest rays of sunlight mingled with the stars still dotting the dawn sky.

When he stood, it was as if a great, dark phoenix had risen from its ashes, the silver threads woven into his black cape like veins of slowly reforming wings.

"Lead the way," he said.

They descended into the clamour, and as he stepped into the firelight, all movement ceased. Firaz turned to him, and the old man's chest swelled with pride and emotion and a breath held for too long. The sleeves of his robes grazed the ground as he kneeled before his future king.

"Long live the Caliph."

And all of them, as if seized by some phantom hand, fell to their knees before him.

Rehan smiled softly, and put a hand on his shoulder. "God willing, Firaz." He turned to survey his people, even the girl who had presented him his crown had her head pressed into the floor. The fires seemed to flicker in response to the power he radiated.