THE QAYSI PALACE
when you shoot
an arrow of truth,
dip its point
in honey
– proverb
STRONG WINDS TEAR AT THE branches of nearby oak trees, uprooting weeds and shrubs in a fit of rage.
Tribesmen usher their horses into the stables whilst the shepherds shelter their livestock. Even the ants disperse in large groups, carrying their prey to the safety of their nests as rain assaults the land. The livid skies roar once more, flooding the ground and drowning the roots of timber and grass.
Aisha's unsteady gaze darts away from the scene—petrified.
Her breaths are ragged and shallow, her heart thudding against time. She is silent, trembling like a leaf as the rich, burnished copper of her skin flushes with anxiety. The veil that rests just below her head exposes stubborn tendrils. Just then, the crash of thunder snakes a sharp shiver down her spine. Aisha remains curled in a fetal position at the far end of the room where she is farthest from the bed and a lone window.
The air seeping in is cold, so crisp it crackles through the sill, the flimsy curtains doing nothing to quell her incessant quivers. Worse, she could hardly avoid the carnage unfolding before her.
"Ya Aisha, the child—"
Aisha startles with a gasp at the sudden voice, her eyes blinking rapidly. She surges upward as if doused with ice water, and a hand comes up to rest at her chest as her head snaps to find a wide-eyed Marwa. Taken aback, the young girl stalls at the mouth of the door where her hands pale under the the iron latch.
For a moment, Marwa gawks at the tears gushing down Aisha's cheeks then spilling over her chin to drench her veil.
Hesitant, she takes a step back.
And another.
With sheepish effort, she pulls her gaze from Aisha's wet cheeks, instantly killing her curiosity. "F-forgive me, I did not mean to wake—"
Aisha's hand darts up to silence her. She was never asleep, but Aisha did not bother correcting her. Had it been any other person, Marwa would have surely been scolded. She did not deserve the wrath of spoiled noblewomen. Marwa was hard of hearing and usually could not discern right from wrong.
Much like now.
The storms merely registered as noise, giving the impression someone was present inside the chamber. Aisha had also left the door ajar, which warranted the abrupt entrance. It was an honest mistake, yet for every wrong deed lie punishment and an ironclad rule within the walls of the Qaysi Palace. Handmaids were not to venture into noble quarters without given consent. Aisha was one of few exceptions being that she was a healer well versed in medicine.
She frantically wipes at the streaks of dried tears inking her face as she rasps, "It is nothing." Plastering on a saccharine smile that doesn't quite reach the swollen flesh of her scarlet eyes, she pivots to face Marwa. "Did you need something?"
"Sheikha Asma and the child have awoken." Her voice is barely a whisper. "You asked that I summon you the moment they stirred," she says, wringing her hands together, hushed in thought.
She was not saying something.
Aisha blanched.
"What's wrong?" Just how did she know something would go awry in her absence? "Marwa?"
She watched as Marwa's gaze lowered as if to apologize for matters out of her control. She should have remained there. She shouldn't have excused herself for slumber that never came. But before Marwa could utter a word, another voice, one all too familiar robs them of speech.
"Nothing is wrong." The ever-stern Baraka stood before them, garbed in a brown khimar that rivaled the shade of her umber irises. A lifelike mare, she was lithe in form and her head nearly grazed the frame of every door. Baraka towered over most women, which unnerved some guests. Still, she was far more bearable than her younger sister. Of that, Aisha was certain.
"Do not fret. Asma and the child are well. She is finally able to nurse, Alhamdulillah. Shams will accompany them for the time being. I, however, have come for a separate matter. "
The mere mention of the brat tempted her to roll her eyes. Even more shocking is that Asma was their second eldest sister. Aisha simply could not fathom how such a guiltless soul had shared a womb with that insolent girl. Nevertheless, her relief sank at the latter.
"Aisha, your aid is needed in the cookery for tonight's repast. Marwa shall ready the dishware and prepare the sufra, but every task must be done with haste. The knights will arrive soon."
Marwa offered a silent nod as Aisha's brows fell in confusion. "Knights?"
"Yes. Is something the matter?"
A query burned on the tip of her tongue, but she withheld. Should she dare to ask? Her thoughts drifted back to Asma, the sister who recently gave birth. She had mentioned to Aisha that her spouse was a knight. His absence made all the sense to Aisha seeing as the men departed for war. Now, however, she was not certain, and her heart ached for the woman. The young mother endured a difficult labor and was now recovering. Her spouse was likely present, and no one thought to inform him of his wife's wellbeing?
Aisha frowned.
What kind of man put his duty before family? Even absent, a letter should have reached him regarding her condition, surely. Aisha did not want to pass judgment, however, a man is but his word. It was a lesson her father always instilled.
"How long has it been since their arrival?" She tentatively questioned.
Baraka's disdain is evident as if irked to discuss matters concerning the men. "Quite some time, I imagine, considering the storms." Her eyes narrowed. "Why do you ask?"
"No reason," she responded quickly before clearing her throat. "Pardon me, I am merely babbling. "
"That, you are." Baraka looked between the girls and gestured to the door pointedly. "Off you both go."
The succulent aroma of saffron rice, tomato chutney, seared lamb and spices infuses the air with a festive spirit—the taste almost tangible. An array of hand-cut berries, melons, and ripened fruits lie in a silver platter that Marwa carries out of the cookery alongside a tray of dates. Baraka returns for the rice then leaves.
The chatter of women overshadows the sounds of the noisy oil as Aisha tumbles dough into a hot pan. Her hands are covered in powder as they fade and reappear in the moist flour. The sleeves of her abaya are rolled to her elbows as she kneads then flattens the dough into rounded shapes. Swiveling toward the fire, she removes the cooked dough from the pan and places it in a basin.
Setting aside the basin, Aisha seeks out Nora who is still playing in the corner. Shams is standing to her left where she is chatting up the female guests. If she were to guess, Shams was showing the guests around. Many had come bearing gifts and offered their blessings to the new mother. Looking away, Aisha ignored their futile gossip, until Sham's lips utter nonsense.
"Men and their ambitions. Y'aعni they should learn to enjoy the finer things in life," Shams giggles.
"And what might that be?" Aisha studies the pretentious young woman in her periphery. Her maroon gown caresses the ground with the slightest motion. Pure gold encases her wrists and sparkling emerald dangles from her ears. The pout of her lips is a scarlet hue that bore a stark contrast to the fairest skin Aisha had ever seen; the kohl lining her eyes accentuating her deep, umber pools.
She was beautiful indeed, but even the finest flower grew from dirt.
"Is it the Jewels? Attires? Gossip, perhaps?" Aisha insists.
"Do you find fault with what I have uttered? It is the truth."
"It is a mockery."
"So you say. You are averse simply because you cannot afford to indulge in finery. "
The truth in her words stung but Aisha could not find it in herself to entertain insults, much less for a woman who had a flair for dramatics. Her voice is firm when she says, "Material joys are for children, and quite frankly, pleasures sought by the simpleminded. Surely a woman of your ilk would understand."
"You think me simpleminded?" Shams scoffs, steam coming out of her ears.
Aisha ignored her. "Do not delude innocent ears with foolish chatter."
She did not need to remind them that they had company. The young girls sitting in the corner who although occupied with their wooden dolls, absorbed their words intently. Her sister, Nora, was among them, which caused Aisha to be moodier than usual.
Shams recoiled.
Aisha could discern that it was not the insult that stung her, rather whom it came from.
"Who are you to speak to me that way! You merely work here. You are a servant; a slave if ever there was a rightful title!"
Aisha's judgment clouded.
Her eyes morphed into smoldering fragments of ember that sparked with rage and refused to shut. Heat surged through her veins and burned something fierce as her jaw clenched. She could not hold her tongue. All trace of the honey it had once dripped with disappeared, and in its place shoots a vicious poison—Its pitiful target well-intended and entirely unprepared.
"You are not any special either. A haughty brat who wields the royal name to throw her weight around where it is unneeded. Might as well be a stray dog off the market."
She had not meant for her words to cut so deep, but it was too late. She had opened an old wound and rubbed salt all over it. Aisha was aware she possessed a loose tongue, only now, she was not so sure it would save her.
A/N: Translations. I will be sure to do these for each chapter if necessary!