The Serpent's Veil

Empty Gardens

"Leave me," she said, waving him off.

She paced the room for a while, sat down, stood again.

After a short while Meia returned with a heavy platter of spiced lamb, roasted sweet potato, and an ample serving of baklava. She set the food down on the table and left Khaya alone to eat. The meal was a delight, and pulled Khaya away from her worries for a few long moments. The baklava was a treat she had not tried before; sweet and sticky and crunchy and full of warmth.

She leaned back in her chair, sated, and the worry began to creep up again. There were still fifteen gardens left. It would be manageable in the three days remaining, but if the flowers were still not found by then...

Khaya let out a deep sigh and moved to the cupboards to change for bed, though she didn't think sleep would come to her tonight.

A sharp knocking at the door startled her just as she pulled on her chemise. She crossed her arms over her chest and dashed across the room to the safety of the bed sheets.

"Yes?" she called once she was buried in the silks.

"Khazyuran sahiba," Zayan's high voice rang through the door, "forgive me for the disturbance, but the Prince has called for you."

Khaya's heartbeat rang in her ears.

At this hour?!

"Okay, come in and help me get dressed."

She clutched the sheets against her chest and watched Zayan glide into the room. "I'm afraid we must hurry, sahiba, he insisted it is urgent."

Khaya nodded and reluctantly peeled the sheets off her body while Zayan went straight to the cupboards. He pulled out a qamis set with a matching veil and draped them over the screen across the room.

Thoughts whirred through Khaya's head as she dressed herself in the deep blue garments. The qamis had balloon sleeves made of a delicate translucent silk, all but exposing her arms. The veil was of the same fabric, dotted with a shimmering silver motif. It made her hair look like the night sky covered in twinkling stars.

Within moments of pinning her veil in place Zayan ushered her out the door where another attendant was waiting – presumably the messenger who had delivered the summons.

As the men led Khaya through the halls to where the Prince beckoned, a silent pair of pale eyes watched from afar, then disappeared into white smoke.

X

An attendant refilled the Prince's goblet for the fourth time.

"Their names are so difficult to pronounce," he said to Yahya, who had just come away from a group of courtiers.

"On that we can agree."

The Byzantine emissary and his retinue stood opposite the pair, deep in discussion with the Caliph via a translator. The reception hall that greeted them was filled to the brim with Emirs and lesser lords aiming to bag favour with the foreign dignitaries and of course, the Caliph himself. Their wives and daughters were in attendance as well, their kohl-lined eyes darting from one eligible bachelor to the next.

There was treasure here for everyone looking for it...

Except for Rehan al-Mahdi, it seemed.

He took a sip of wine, letting it swish around his mouth to savour the sharp, bitter taste, as he eyed the Byzantines. Their faces were pasty, cheeks smeared scarlet from the wine, and they held themselves tall. Their swords were long and straight and polished to perfection, but there was little creativity in the design.