Alara
Akilah looks around the room, her eyes reflecting the fires that light the room. The lines between her eyebrows are creased with concern.
"Oh, how rich of you to call anyone else a liar."
Zayen can be scary when he is angry. I haven't seen him like this since the Hakeem—his father—threatened to harm those kids. "You're a traitor. You swore an oath."
The anger in his eyes match the ferocity of Akilah's. His hands ball into fists at his sides. I wonder what he would be doing to her, if there weren't other people around.
My fingers squeeze together, my body fighting the urge to run. I'm so tired of conflict. I have grown up on the run. That's what I have always done, in order avoid conflict and never be caught. This—all of the emotions and fighting—it is abnormal.
I don't know what to do with it. I don't know how to escape it.
It's a strange feeling, to miss the life I tried to get escape from.
Every day I fought for more. I stole for more. I took care of my mother, so we could have more.
Now I am here. My mother, technically, is living in a palace. I have food on my plate. I have a bed to sleep in. I have adventure and challenge, something different.
And yet every part of me wants to run.
A large hand slides over my own. Their skin is warm. I immediately pull my hand away, feeling disoriented. The world comes back into focus and I look at the hand that is now on my lap, my heart racing.
Zayen.
My breath hitches, going half way up my throat and then stopping completely.
He shares a small smile with me, curving up the corners of his lips. My eyes remain on that curve for a moment. "You okay?"
I nod quickly. "Yeah, sorry." My gaze goes to Akilah and Ameer. They're both watching us.
Zayen slides his hand away. His knee stays pressed against mine as we sit. My heart jumps inside my chest like a kid that ate too much candy. I nearly reach out to hold it again. His touch is comforting. I want it back.
"Back to my question. A good person. What does that look like to you?"
"Someone with values. Generosity. Caring for others. What Akilah said, honesty." She meets my gaze and lifts an eyebrow. The look makes me feel like she is accusing me of something.
I raise my eyebrow back at her. What?
"Do you see what those values have in common?" he asks me.
That they're good? I shrug. I don't want to say something stupid. I've never been asked these kinds of questions.
At school, we were taught to read and speak. After that, they leave us to homeschool to make space for incoming students. But my mom was always too sad, too holed up in her own mind, to home-school me.
But I turned out fine, I guess.
The old man, Ameer, then looks at Zayen. "Tell me what you think."
Zayen tilts his head. "That they're all benefitting other people instead of ourselves." How could I not have realised such an obvious thing?
I wonder if he was trained and tutored with Nawaz. Or if they had lessons for the guards in the palace. Or maybe he learnt in secret, taking books from that gigantic library with the three doors, when nobody was looking.
I wonder if he can teach me more about the world. I wonder if those lips could teach me what it feels like to kiss.
I turn to look at him again, at his side profile. The curve of his cheekbones. The arch of his eyebrows. His tanned skin. The beard that lines his jaw neatly—he must have shaven when he showered.
There are two beauty spots on the back, left side of his neck that I'd never noticed before. I wonder if he would shiver if I traced my fingers between them, like I'm connecting a constellation. I wonder if he has any more.
The feeling of his leg against mine suddenly makes me nervous. Is it something he notices, that we are touching? Is he sitting closer to me on purpose?
"Exactly. Isn't that our purpose of being here? We get the most, feel the happiest, when we're creating bonds and giving to others."
I quickly look away before anyone can catch me staring. I should be focusing on getting information. Or at least focusing on the discussion.
I shift forward so his leg is no longer touching mine. "Isn't there more to our purpose? You know, because what about people who have nothing to give?"
I've always felt like people would laugh at me. In school, I was always afraid of that. But I think silence would be worse.
I don't know what kind of answer I'll get, but the best way to learn is to ask.
He smiles at that question. "I want you to leave my home tonight."
That makes my heart jump like a firework, for a completely different reason than Zayen's touch. Did I ask the wrong question? Did I offend him? Where are we going to stay?
"Go out. See for yourself. Find your answers and come back to tell me what you learn."
"Go out?" I parrot.
I don't know what's waiting out there for us. I've never heard much about Diyar.
Ardifa is the 'haunted' forests where all the stories are created. The stories of monsters and darkness. The stories that are made to tell around fires or to tell kids at bedtime. But Diyar . . . Nothing. Nobody ever speaks about Diyar.
That scares me much more.
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Design and development is so interesting. Imagine if we hadn't created beds or shoes or cameras.
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