The Serpent's Veil

Wisdom, Women, and Wonder

A yellow parrot feather had been left on Khaya's bed when they returned. A summons from the Calipha.

The time had finally come.

Khaya's heart began thudding as Meia swiftly pulled out a luxurious maroon blouse and matching skirt to replace the simple clothes she was wearing. The embroidered fabric was carefully dusted with powdered garnet, gleaming even in the shadows.

A dozen thoughts raced through Khaya's mind as Meia tightened the drawstrings of her blouse, all of them to do with what she was going to do when she entered the Calipha's chambers. Zayan seemed to sense her trepidation.

"The Calipha is kind and soft-spoken, there is no need to be afraid."

His words quelled her worries only slightly. This was not just any woman – she was the most powerful, most respected woman in the kingdom. And Khaya was a mere peasant from an unknown, unmapped village.

The Calipha preferred barefaced simplicity for first meetings, or so Zayan told her, so Khaya departed without adornment; no jewelry or hairpins, no powder or rouge or kohl. Not even a veil.

As they walked through the halls of the harem Khaya drew herself into her thoughts, while Zayan observed her from the corner of his eye. Her skirt moved rhythmically as her hips swayed, trailing across the smooth marble floor. The blouse hugged the soft, feminine curves of her body previously hidden beneath loose qamises and flowing veils. The unfocused, pensive look in her eye was almost alluring, as was the slight downward curve of her lips. Zayan allowed himself a small smile of pride. The Calipha was bound to be impressed by such effortless, natural beauty.

The hallway began to widen as they made their way to the Calipha's chamber. Two towering oak doors stood barred with steel, flanked by two stoic guards. They wore matching deep green turbans and black tunics. Baldrics equipped with well-sharpened knives were strapped to their chests, and sheathed scimitars were strapped at their hips. They glared at Zayan, but made no move to reach for their weapons. A eunuch was not a threat to them. He presented the feather, and the guards made way without even acknowledging Khaya's presence. She kept her eyes forward, fear twisting her stomach into knots as the doors opened.

From now she was on her own.

A maid glanced at the bangle on her wrist and bowed deeply. Khaya removed her sandals before stepping on to the plush blue carpet. It was patterned with swirling designs in white and parrot green, a pleasant contrast to the reddish grey walls. The hall suddenly widened into a grand parlour with a splendid fountain at its centre. Red and orange lanterns fell from the ceiling in bright clusters, setting the room ablaze. A large alcove littered with cushions pressed into the side wall, shielded by strips of red gossamer. Low tables were filled with bowls of uneaten fruits and jugs of untouched drink.

The Calipha must have dismissed her ladies for Khaya's arrival.

The red bangle certainly has its privileges, she thought.

They passed the fountain and went through one of two archways that led to a spiralling staircase. At the top was the Calipha's solar – her private hall, forbidden to all but her family.

There was another guard at the top of the stairs, but it was a woman. Her veil was the same shade of green as the turbans, though her scimitar was slightly smaller. Her keen eyes darted to Khaya as she stepped on to the landing, but once again the red bangle stopped all questions. She stepped aside and the maid led Khaya through.

The solar was filled with light streaming in from a long open balcony on one side and a set of colourful lanterns on the other. A gentle breeze brought up the scent of wildflowers and sent the thin curtains dancing.