Lions and Lambs

Azli

Azli

They took his lion before even saying hello. The Onkalov grabbed it in his scarred hands, took one look at the bedraggled thing, and tossed it into the chest of his guard who tucked it into his belt to burn later. Azli pressed his nails into his palms and forced himself to keep quiet; its name was Arel Lavi, and no one had even bothered to ask. Only one other sibling was here; his younger half-brother, and he stared at the Onkalov with wide eyes as if looking at a god. Azli might have too, but he knew that gods did not bleed, and his father's blood was the color of any other man.

The Onkalov nodded at the nurse hovering behind the two boys, and she dropped their small bags and disappeared back down the hall. Their father studied them with unreadable brown eyes, and Azli managed to hold his gaze for all of ten seconds before his own dark gaze dropped.

"Which one are you?" Onkalov Teznun asked, jutting his sharp chin towards Azli's presumably younger sibling. He'd only formed a relationship with two of them; his older brother Eshmun and younger sister Nisma. The rest kept to themselves and were only acknowledged once a month at the most.

"Atal, Onkalov," the little boy whispered, his voice barely above a squeak. He'd inherited his mother's short stature, whomever she might be; Azli stopped keeping track a while ago.

Teznun arched a thick eyebrow. "Speak up boy," he said in a cold voice. A blush colored Atal's cheeks, and he repeated his name louder.

Their father's eyes skimmed over them then turned back to his guard as if seeing nothing of any interest. "Bring the women here to say their goodbyes." The Siord nodded tightly and turned on his heel, the lion bobbing away with him. Azli ached to reach out and grab it, but he knew better than to risk his father's wrath.

The group of three waited in tense silence until the sound of whimpers and shoes against polished marble clicked towards them and a small group of children and nurses bustled down, brushing past potted plants and sweet smelling lattices of exotic flowers that the Onklor had requested. Azli's eyes first caught Nisma's wide blue ones then Eshmun's whose face was drawn tight with something he couldn't identify. Eshmun was thirteen and one of the only children to realize that their palace was no home, but a prison with gilded bars.

Onkalov Teznun gave the children and their nurses a smile filled with charm that had won him an empire and opened his arms as if wanting to give each and every one of them a hug. The nurses would go home that night and tell their families about what a warm and loving man Teznun was, how he kissed each of his beloved children on the forehead and sent them off to the south with tears in his eyes.

"Say goodbye to your nurses children, you will not be seeing them for a long while. When you return, they shall hardly recognize your grown faces." They did as was asked, each clutching the only woman who had ever shown them affection, half with tears staining their faces and the other half with lips pressed tight as they bid their farewells. Zar cried the hardest as she was only four and had never left even the East Wing of the palace.

When seven women rounded the corner, the children looked on with blank eyes at those who had given birth to them. The moment was awkward as the females debated whether they should move towards them, finally deciding in the end that it would be better for everyone if they stayed put. Azli did not know who belonged to who, but it was clear that the fair haired and light eyed woman in the middle was Nisma's mother, a woman she probably did not remember.

The Onkalov ended the silence with a loud clap of his hands and he motioned for a group of guards to grab the small bags piled against the wall.