The Serpent's Veil

Embers

The morning came, and with it, respite. News came through the night from the far ends of the north and the east. The majority of belligerents had been killed, a few escaped but their numbers were insignificant in comparison to the military gains won by the Reyans. The soldiers were returning in their groups, marginally diminished and weary, but eyes glowing with a victory hard won.

Dawud al-Hak's head, along with a handful of other Umayyads who had died in the fighting, were stuck on pikes to be put on display in a square close to the residence for all members of the western quarter to see. The munadis had been given messages by Sharan to announce to the people, "The Umayyad leader is dead! The rebels run in defeat! Long live al-Mahdi! Long live al-Mansur!"

Abu Musa was still at large, and Sharan figured spreading sketches of him among the masses would help root him out with the citizens' help. Those within the governor's residence did not have time to rest.

Yahya had scarcely left Rehan's side but to provide his input on Sharan's plans as he put them into motion, though even in that he was only half present. Rehan's breathing had remained erratic throughout the night. To Amina's credit she had not slept a wink, checking his pulse periodically and reapplying dressing to his wounds every few hours. Only at first light did she lay on the diwan for a moment's rest. It was a while after the dawn prayer that Rehan began to stir. He groaned, shifting over the bloodied sheets in discomfort, and his eyelids twitched against the morning light.

"Rehan," said Yahya, moving to this side. He gently touched his forearm to ease some of the pain, and it sent a shock through his body. He could feel every flaming nerve, the sensation of burned flesh as it shot up through his own arm. He swallowed the brief pain, and searched Rehan's half-lidded eyes. "You are safe."

"The boy?" he croaked.

"He is fine, the physician fixed him up. We sent him back to his family this morning with a soldier who was in your contingent."

Rehan closed his eyes. "We killed Dawud. I ordered the men to bring his head back."

"I know, Sharan is handling it. We've called for Tahir as well."

There was a singular knock on the door, and Yahya went to open it. He pulled it back a crack to see a tall, black-skinned stranger staring down at him.

"I must speak to the Prince at once."

Yahya's fingers were flexed to act. "And who are you?"

Rehan's hoarse voice sounded from behind. "He's trusted, let him in."

The man's expression didn't change as Yahya opened the door reluctantly. He glided across the room and bent down to Rehan's ear to whisper his message. "Your orders?"

Rehan was silent for a time, and for a moment Yahya doubted he had heard the man at all. "Wait outside," he finally said.

"What happened?" asked Yahya once the man had left the room.

Rehan's eyes prickled in discomfort. The pain was blinding even with Yahya's siphoning. He could hardly move. "I'm sorry, Yahya," he managed to say. "I should have let you both explain."

Yahya's eyes widened. "Is this about Khayzuran? Where is she?"

"She's fine, she's here. I kept her here to interrogate her and corroborate your story."

Yahya could not speak, he had no words to say.

"She will never forgive me," Rehan whispered suddenly. "I've hurt her irrevocably."

"She will," he said. Somehow he knew she was listening to every word Rehan said. It was a certainty he had no doubt of. "She would forgive you anything, I know it."