Zayen
This time I didn't forget Nawaz.
Ameer, the Wazir, tried to convince us not to see Nawaz, but after everything it was needed. He was asleep—something that is 'normal' after his brain was hijacked.
There are many things that can go wrong because of us leaving Nawaz with the Wazir—but there is already a mile-high pile of things that have gone wrong.
And it is killing me inside, because each wrong step means I am putting Saad and Aya in danger. And each step away from Nawaz, into this new city, feels wrong.
The sun is half way down the horizon, leaving the skies a mess of peaches and pinks.
The roads are busy, each passageway lined with vendors selling fresh falafels and juiced fruits.
The people here are dressed differently—none of them wear any finery. There is no way to tell if they are rich or poor, as they all have decent and clean clothing.
Even though everywhere I look, there are people, none of them are shouting or trying to sell their products by shoving it in peoples faces—which is the only way people sold things in the souks of Qadura.
It's peaceful.
My breath is sucked out of my lungs. "Do you see that?" I ask Alara, but I am walking towards it before I can hear her respond.
A lantern. No, not a lantern. Lanterns use fire. This . . . There's a blue light that seems to continuously shift inside the lantern container.
I reach out to lift it, to see if there is some strange trick, but there is no way to fake something like this. It is another form of light.
"Would you like to trade? It is a specialty, directly from Aleamiq," the man in the stall says. From Aleamiq? The prison?
How does the Hakeem not know about the existence of this? It is probably more priceless than anything he's ever touched, and if he knew it would be all over the palace.
"How much?" I ask.
The man laughs. "How much what? I am asking, what do you have to offer that is equal in value?"
Absolutely nothing. All I have on me are some weapons and the clothes on my back. The Wazir, Ameer, was not happy about it—but I wasn't about to walk out into the unknown without the slightest bit of protection. Especially when I have Alara with me. I haven't forgotten my promise.
I step back, to walk away, but the man makes a sound with his tongue. "How about these earrings, for your wife?" He holds up a pair of pearl earrings that dangle on a small chain.
I nearly choke when he calls Alara my wife. She tucks her hair behind her ears, her cheeks red.
I turn back to the man. "I would, but I have nothing to give you. I can't give my weapons because I need to protect her."
He laughs. "Protect her from what?"
I look around, at the people who walking up and down the wide street lines with stalls. All of them are calm, laughing and present. None of them have weapons, or seem the slightest bit concerned for their safety.
But they are from here. I am not. They are every day people. I was raised and trained to fight.
When I don't respond, he places a cotton shirt down over some of the other trinkets that he has in his stall. It is probably a size or two smaller than me. "I will trade you these earrings and this shirt, and in return you will give me your shirt. It is silk, which is rare."
I look at Alara again. "Do you want them?"
Her expression shifts, as if I asked the most insane question. "You can't just take off—"
That's not a no.
I lift my hand to the back of my neck and slip the soft shirt off, over my head. Alara's gaze lowers to my body, her lips parting, before she quickly looks away.
From the way she is breathing, I know the image of me is still in her head.
I hand the merchant my shift and he gives me the too-small shirt and the earrings. The shirt fits closely, like second skin, squeezing tightly against my biceps.
I flex my arm to test that it won't tear with sudden movement, but the material moulds with my skin and doesn't rip.
"Can you stop?" Alara asks, her gaze on the compact sand that covers the streets here.
"Stop?" I step closer to her, intending to give her the earrings, but she quickly shifts away, her gaze lifting to the people on the street who pass us. A soundless laugh leaves my lips. "Why are you getting shy?"
I step closer again, but this time she doesn't move. My finger tilts her chin up, and her gaze goes from my eyes to my biceps, her lips parting again.
The way she is looking at me right now, like she wants to devour me. It makes me want to pull her so close.
Fighting every urge in my body, I stop myself from touching her further and instead I lift my hand to reveal the earrings to her.
Her fingers lift to my hand, tracing over the earrings. "Beautiful."
"They are yours."
She takes one and clips it onto her ear, followed by the other. They look perfect on her.
She deserves a compliment. "I—"
She wraps her arms around me. The force of her hug is so strong that it would have knocked me over if I wasn't trained to know how to keep my balance.
I hold her close to me, the feeling of her against me is strangely . . . comforting. Comfort is something I have not felt in a very, very long time.
"Thank you," she says against my chest.
It boosts my pride, that I could give her something that she likes. The feeling of deep warmth, like a plate full of samoosas on a cold night, fills my bones and my head.
My eyes are suddenly drawn to a golden dome that peaks out from behind the simple clay houses and bustling stalls that surround us. "What is that?" I ask.
Alara pulls away and follows my gaze. "I don't know." She starts walking towards it, and I stay close beside her, wanting to tug her arm and keep her behind me.
It's a round building, with a wide open arch as a door. People socialise outside and inside, people sit seeming to be reading or praying.
The golden dome is bright, seeming to be lit even without the sun around. To the left side is a tall minaret that points up into the sky.
My hand falls on Alara's lower back, guiding her towards the minaret steps. "Where are we going?" she asks, her eyes on the people we pass.
"Up." The best way to asses a city or area, is from above it. Instead of wondering the streets, we get the entire map of every street as far as our eyes can see.
At the top, the view is like a reflection of the stars. Buildings and lights flicker and blink. Something I never in my life thought I'd see—light, without fire.
But how?
Alara sits, her legs dangling off the side of the wall. I sit beside her, close enough that our shoulders touch.
The air here feels different, fresher. Behind the dome, on the edge of the city, is the ocean which drifts off into a shadow of darkness.
"Is it hard?" Alara asks, seeming to speak more to the night sky than to me.
I hide my smile. "That depends on what you're talking about."
"Losing a parent. My dad left, and I don't know if he is dead. But it makes it easier knowing there's a chance he could be alive." She looks over at me.
"I never knew my mom. I have the faintest memory of her face, mostly based on paintings I've seen of her, but she died when I was five." I can still see her face in that painting I found in one of the hidden rooms of the palace. It was dusty and scratched. Her face looked sad in the painting. She was holding both Nawaz and I. "It is hard to not know her, but it is harder to know my father. I don't know why he doesn't claim me as his own."
"Would you want to be the Hakeem?" she asks.
The only reason I would want it, is to know that Nawaz wouldn't be in control. He would most likely spend his days wasting money, and his nights with wasted women. He wouldn't be a good ruler, and the people of this land deserve a good ruler.
I just don't know if that would be me.
"If you could be royalty, would you want to be?" I ask, avoiding her question.
"Probably," she says. "I wouldn't have to worry about getting food. I would get to help my mother, to make her smile for once. Maybe I could buy her a beautiful dress." She sighs, her eyes becoming glossy. I wonder what she is imagining.
"That sounds nice."
She nods. "Dreams always do."
I shift closer to her, wanting to comfort her. For some reason, the idea of not kissing her makes my heart ache. I reach my fingers up and tuck her curls behind her ear.
My teeth graze against my bottom lip. She looks down at my lips and then back into my eyes. She looks so beautiful, the lights reflecting in her eyes.
Maybe it's the beauty of the moment, or maybe it's her.
My thumb brushes against her cheek. Her skin is soft. She leans into the touch, her eyes falling closed. I want to kiss her so badly.
My fingers slide down, slipping behind her neck. It couldn't be that bad, to kiss her. I tuck her face closer. Her eyes fly open.
Ah man. I'm only lying to myself. It would be bad. It would change everything. I move back. "I'm sorry." I turn away to look at the skyline. I wish I didn't think so much about consequences. "I don't want you."
But I know that if it was any other woman, I would still want there to be a closeness between us, solely because of the amount of time we are spending together.
It's not her. It's just the situation.
"I know," she says softly.
My head snaps to hers. Her fingers nervously fiddle with her clothes. That wasn't the response I was expecting. I thought she'd be hurt or angry or offended.
She meets my gaze and smiles a small smile. It barely lifts the corners of her mouth.
"You know?"
She shrugs. "You're royalty and a trained guard. I saw the way women here look at you, without even knowing your position. If they knew you were a part of the royal guard, they'd be all over you." That's most likely true. "And I'm . . ." Sadness fills her eyes. It makes it painful to not reach out and comfort her.
"You're what?"
She looks up at me with a 'duh' expression. "You've caught me stealing. You've caught me lying. You've seen my home. I'm nothing, Zayen. I shouldn't even be here."
My face flushes with anger. "You're not nothing."
The pendant earrings I bought her gleam in the soft light. They're beautiful. I hope she never takes them off. I hope she looks at them in the mirror, or traces her fingers against them, and thinks of me.
She says nothing, only nodding, but I can see she doesn't believe me. I don't like this feeling; to know that I value her as a companion and yet she thinks she's worthless.
"Don't say you shouldn't be here. Allahu a'alam." الله أعلم. It means to have faith. Faith that she is being lead on the correct path and she's exactly where she should be.
I won't kiss her, but maybe I could . . . I reach out and slide my hand over hers. Her chest jumps as she sucks in a breath, her eyes going to our hands.
I slip my fingers between hers and gently squeeze her hand.
She frowns, pulling her hand away. She says nothing, her head turning away. Why did she—? My voice comes out deeper and rougher than normal when I say, "Don't move away."
"You can't do this when you don't want me. It'll hurt us both. Please, don't touch me."
That's a fair request.
I hate it.
"Do you . . . Do you want me?" I want her to want me.
She stares down at her hands, and then up at me. Say yes. Her lips part, conflicted on the answer. "We should go."
She rises to her feet. But I saw it in her eyes. In the way that she studied my expression longer than she needed to. The answer.
She wants me.
~~*~~
Ramadan Mubarak ✨💫
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