The Serpent's Veil

Blood Promise

"Emir Firaz sent you? Alright, let me get my things."

Yahya's mouth opened, but the door had already closed again. A few minutes later, and the woman emerged with a satchel, her veil securely pinned. "I'm afraid I do not have a horse, sahib," she said, even as his perplexed expression did not change. "Oh, forgive me, my name is Amina."

Still, he appeared confused. "The physician—"

"Yes, that is me. I have no husband any more, he died."

"...I see," Yahya said, finally understanding, "No matter, you can ride with me if you have no objection."

She didn't.

X

Khayzuran had spent the entire day pacing. Because she had removed one sapphire, she could easily find Yahya and Sharan's voices. And Rehan's. She almost felt afraid of trying to listen to him, frightened of seeing those eyes again. Like he would know if she had any awareness of him at all. He seemed calm, heartbeat steady as he directed men, passed around armor, and wore his own. Time passed, and all Khaya could hear was the gears of the war machine turning. Bowstrings snapping, arrows clattering against each other in quivers, swords, so many swords slicing against their scabbards as they were sheathed and unsheathed. After a while, she closed herself off to the sounds. She tried the door again, but it was firmly shut. Though she did not know what she would have done had it been open. Would she have gone down there and tried to speak to him? Not among all those men, no.

It was maddening to be locked in this room with nowhere to go. She sat on the bed, went to the wash basin, the balcony, the bed again. The door opened suddenly, and she jumped from where she sat. It was only a maid with a tray of food, and she left so quickly Khaya did not even have the chance to try and escape. She whittled away the hours drowning in her thoughts, wondering what she would say when she came face to face with Rehan again. Her first instinct was to grovel, the words I'm sorry being the only valid utterance. What else was there? She thought she was strong, she thought she was capable so she put herself in this position against Yahya's orders?

Her eyes began to sting when she recalled his words.

You are a slave.

You came into my bed as their spy.

You do not know what that word means.

Tears mottled her vision as she sat on the floor and ate from her plate of lavish food. She could hardly swallow.

Could she love someone who looked at her this way? Like she was nothing but a monster, an enemy.

Could he love someone who did what she had done? Lie and deceive and lie and deceive. And worse, what if he did not return? Did not even give her the chanced to prove her love.

When the sun finally set, and the soldiers fanned out into the city of Rey, Khaya let herself listen to their booming footfalls, the horses' strong hoofbeats, the clang of steel and wood. Soon they were far enough away that not even her new level of power was sufficient to surveil them. The deep orange sky soon turned violet with stars, and she settled herself into bed. It was the first time in a long time she was well and truly alone, and it was the first time in a long time she wondered, why am I here?

Why had that snake bitten her? Why did the Bedouin have to see her without her veil and think it was his right to take her? Why did Yahya of all people have to be the one to choose her? Why had the Prince been someone worth protecting? She touched the scar on her shoulder, hugging her own chest.

Suddenly she wished she was back home, not Baghdad, but Jorash. That long forgotten place where she never had to care hard enough about anything except the next day's meals and the current day's ink. She missed her mother, whose patience and resilience she mistook for unassertive indifference. Her sister, whose carelessness was truly innocence, her brother whose foolishness was truly dissatisfaction with their mediocre life.