“When you came to my door, I thought you were aware of my connection to my father,” Aisha broke the awkward silence, taking a moment to meet his gaze before she stood, walking the length of her study. “I thought of you as someone seeking compensation, or perhaps to slander the al-Hakim name.”

Liam sat on a silk cushion as he watched her meander.

Despite being dressed like an Arabian princess and within her own home, she appeared lost. Her silk verdant thobe flowed with her every step, the ochre hijab loose and functioning more like a cowl that hid her face whenever her gaze was not directly upon Liam. Tiny gold chains adorned the edges of her clothes, tinkling with every step. Dark fingers caressed the wood of the personal library she’d surrounded herself with, a pond of parchment, books bound in wood or leather. Liam suspected that every item in this room was there exclusively for the purpose of her work as an Amil, book-keeping, records, numbers.

It painted a very different picture from the woman who’d whimsically toyed with magic. This was the study of the woman who’d spent years managing the funds of an entire city. It was the kind of place that made her appear as a woman carrying far more authority and wisdom than her thirty-odd years of age might have otherwise provided.

“I now know you are not that kind of man, and I apologize.” She pulled out a bundle of paper, actual paper. Though even from where he sat, he could see the slight irregularities and fibers, betraying the roughness of its craftsmanship. The woman gazed at it before putting it back.

“Do you… does it bother you?” He couldn’t help but ask.

The question was crass, bold, and entirely out of place.

Yet Aisha did not reproach him, her eyes trailing up the shelves. “My father never had eyes for anything other than his collection. When I was born, he saw me only as a means to expand it. He’d sought to wed me to the son of a merchant that peddled oddities from abroad,” she idly commented. “When I became a scribe, I cut ties with him as best I could, not enough to give up the family name, but I’d been close.”

For a moment, he caught her green eyes as she lingered on the pages of the coverless book. Rows upon rows of numbers, ones that disappeared with a snap as she returned it to the shelf. Aisha’s gaze flickered at him, a sideways peek before she returned to her books, gold tinkling in her wake.

“We only reconnected shortly after my mother’s death. Without her, my father’s mental state had taken a turn for the worse,” she sighed. “I know not whether she’d been a stabilizing force in his life, or whether her untimely illness had pushed him deeper into superstition and obsession. Whatever the case, the al-Hakim household teetered at the edge of ruin.”

As her steps reached the end of the study, she stopped, facing away from him. Aisha pretended to read a small piece of parchment before she slowly turned to walk back. The angle made it hard for her to conceal her expression; it was not solemn nor sad, yet it held a complicated edge to it.

“I took the mantle; father fought against the notion, but as an Amil, it proved surprisingly simple. He pretended to abdicate for the sake of saving face, and as the family matriarch, I left my father to his own devices. I saw to it that he remained well-kept within one of our older homes, but otherwise out of my hair.”

Liam knew this part, the collector had stumbled onto the red-glow, and began having bouts of madness where he lost all ability to reason and would kill anyone he perceived as a threat. It started with servants who got too close to his “personal museum,” but eventually began extending to anyone at all that came into his house.

“I didn’t hear much from him, until he killed a guest, that is,” Aisha’s features twisted into anger, flickering back to carefully hidden neutrality. “The letters I received from him were deranged, often cryptic and paranoid. So during my visit to the Vizier, I gave my father enough gold to see him gone and told him in no uncertain terms to never return.”

Their gazes met, Aisha carefully trying to read him as much as he was trying to read her.

“Except he came back,” he broke the stalemate.

She nodded, stepping past him and towards the window that loomed behind her desk. “He’d hired help to take as much of his collection as he could, and I thought him dead. That is, until I received a message from him,” Aisha scrutinized the tiny garden. “He swore he was doing well, that his mental state had improved, but he needed money.” She took a heavy breath. “I deluded myself and believed he was telling the truth.”

Liam sat there, quietly looking at her, wondering for how long she’d been keeping this bottled in. Her dark features had become impassive, hiding away her emotions as she approached the desk, carefully and gracefully sitting on the legless chair opposite to him.

“You must find my behaviour reproachful,” she’d steeled her voice, finally fully meeting his gaze. “My inaction put the lives of innocents at risk, yours included.”

“No, I understand where you’re coming from,” he quickly countered. “Regardless of what he’d done, he was still your father, and that kind of relationship is not easy.”

Especially not when the Caliphate’s culture often emphasized fratricide as worse than everyday murder. Aisha had been trapped between a rock and a hard place, even if her father had chosen to directly attack her, the situation would’ve been seen as complicated at best.

Aisha scrutinized him for another moment, nodding and closing her eyes. “It is as you say,” she conceded with a heavy breath, folding her hands on the table as she focused on the many rings upon her hands as she folded them atop the low table. “In the end… did he suffer?”

It was odd to see her being this small.

“It was quick, and…” Liam’s lips tightened as he reached across to her, grasping her hands. Their gazes met. “The cause for his madness was a cursed item. It had been slowly consuming him for at least two years by the time I met him,” she squeezed, eyes widening at the revelation. “It was too late to save him, he was too far gone. But I made sure the cursed item was destroyed.”

“I…” She pulled away, swiping a finger under her eye, erasing a tear before it even left a trace. “I see, thank you. How much-”

Hastily shaking his head, he raised both hands in a placating gesture. “I didn’t want a reward then, and I’d rather not get one now. Being your guest has been more than generous enough already,” as soon as he said this, he grimaced in realization. “And… I guess his belongings would be yours, since-”

“I paid you for their retrieval,” Aisha spoke abruptly, taking her turn to cut him off. The fierceness returned as she looked at him sternly. “That was the nature of our transaction, and I will not have you reneging on it.” After a second, she cracked a smile, relaxing into her seat. “Besides, the paperwork would be a nightmare.”

They shared a brief laugh, the tension in the air evaporating as her eyes trailed down to the silver ring on his hand before shifting upwards to stare at him intently. There was a careful look in her eyes, a contagious hesitation that left Liam slightly bashful without apparent reason.

“So…”

“I would’ve invited you to dinner, but I’ve been told you already ate,” she said, folding her hands one atop the other.

“Yeah, I shared a meal with Grauch, talked a little.” Scratching the back of his head, he grimaced. “It’s sort of how I figured out… well.”

“You shared a meal with him?” There was genuine surprise in her question, not with disdain, as she followed it with a light smile, not waiting for an answer. “I see. You are not what I’d expected, Liam.”

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“I’ll take that as a compliment.”

“It was, much to my embarrassment.” She was not embarrassed; the words came out smoothly, the smile growing in amusement. “I pride myself on my ability to recognize someone’s character, and I freely admit my mistake in this instance.”

“Contrary to when you charge for the admission?” He countered.

Aisha laughed, covering her mouth and quickly looking away. “As an Amil, to be wrong is a costly thing, and I’d much rather leave others to foot the bill.” As the silence returned, her eyes regarded him carefully. “As much as I am loath to say it, I believe I’ve kept you for long enough.”

“Yeah, I definitely need to wash up.”

It was odd, seeing as she perked up abruptly, as if struck by an idea. “You have not yet used the hammam, have you?” Even as she asked the question, there was that calculating look in her eyes as she leaned forward.

“The hot bath? Not really, I’ve never used one either.” He hummed. “I guess I could give it a shot if you’d allow it?” Standing up, he gave her a friendly smile. “I’m not entirely sure how protocol works here.”

“You’d be right to ask for permission when using someone’s private hammam. Preparing it is labor-intensive, and not many would appreciate having its use be a spur-of-the-moment decision.” She slowly rose to her feet. “Having said that, I did order it to be heated up a while ago, as I’d thought to use it myself today. The day has been rather extenuating.”

“Amen to that.” He nodded. “So how would this work out? Do I wait, or…?”

There was a twinkle in her eye. “You may use it right away.” She smiled as she took to the door, leading him out of her study. “I have found this conversation to have been a pleasant one.”

“The feeling’s mutual,” he replied, hesitating for a moment. “If it’s not too much to ask, could we chat some more? Later, I mean.”

Aisha’s lips stiffened for a fraction of a second before they became an amused smile, one she quickly covered behind her hand. “I find that an amenable proposal.” She made a gesture for him to leave. “We can discuss the pros and cons later.”

Nodding at that, he marched off as Aisha carefully watched him go.

The corridors of the estate were ones with tall columns and open spaces. The illumination relied mostly on light that came from the rust-moss hanging upon the inside of the massive beak, and the sense of privacy did not come from tall walls but from small gardens and fountains that decorated every free space within the building. In a sense, it was like walking through a greenhouse, and though there were certainly more bugs than Liam was comfortable with, they appeared to know to stick to the areas with foliage.

Liam could’ve called for Grauch and asked him where the fancy hot-bath was, but he’d need to drop some things and pick up others beforehand (like a clean change of clothes), so off he went towards the guest quarters.

He found Imani there, the leonid had set up shop at the very entrance of his room, sharpening her scimitars with dark whetstones. There was a fierceness to her features that betrayed a sour mood, one that also appeared tired and worn out.

“Things didn’t go well?”

“The earth growled; it is an ill omen,” she answered brusquely. “Be wary.”

“I… yeah.” He restrained the urge to point out that it would’ve been more apt to claim the monster had growled, but that too would’ve been wrong since the tremor had been from the monster moving. So, he just tucked that idea away. “Have you had any luck in the recruitment thing?”

“I found a few interested people, people with connections. But nothing concrete.”

“Good… good.” Picking up the more comfortable and slightly fancier change of clothes. “I am… going to take a bath.”

Imani gave him a curt nod. “Be wary of predators.”

“It’s a private bath,” he replied while picking up everything he needed.

Her brows furrowed. “Not that kind of predator.”

“Have you and Wolf… no, I think I’d rather not know.”

With a curt nod, he turned right around and headed out, leaving her to her battle preparations. No sooner had he stepped out of the guest quarters than Grauch seemed to materialize out of thin air, the draxani quietly led the way.

“Has the sir ever used a hammam?” The question was offered as they moved not through open spaces but the corridors of the main house.

“I know a little about them, so might as well claim I know nothing at all.”

The Caliphate saw importance in water and cleanliness, the problem was that there were a dozen different ways this manifested depending on the era, as well as the area. Liam was mostly certain that the “hot-bath” was akin to a Turkish bath, but even that had variants. Variations that grew in number when it was privately owned since what constituted a “proper hot-bath” could get wildly different interpretations.

“There are three rooms: the cold, warm, and hot. The-” He froze mid-word, eyes widening. “Ah, it seems I am unfortunately needed elsewhere. The hammam is further down the corridor to the left, I am certain you can handle it on your own, sir.” Despite the apparent surprise, he spoke the words with a smooth tone, turning around and walking quickly.

Liam looked on curiously, but continued forward, noticing how several other servants were also following the direction Grauch had taken. “Maybe some important guest showed up?” Not exactly impossible while the city was mired both by festivities and a low-key public panic. He just kept walking in his slippers until he found a set of stairs leading downwards. A familiar female elf servant bowed and signaled for him to take the way down before hurrying off with a quick apology.

The hammam was underground, barely a dozen steps down. A wooden door greeted him, with pale green light pouring from underneath. On the other side, he found a small room that had shelves on either side filled with small weave baskets. Above him, there was a small hole from which the green light poured in, its glow constant enough to betray it came from either an enchanted light or from rust-moss behind stained glass.

Picking one at random revealed a towel, sandals, and something that was a mix between a robe and a toga, made entirely out of cotton.

“Guess this is the customary gear,” he commented, looking around before undressing and leaving his things in the basket. Liam hesitated when it came to the knife, very nearly willingly going into the hammam with the divine tool.

After a second of doubt, he hid it in the uppermost basket, underneath the set of sandals.

The next room was bathed in a dim blue light that turned on when he’d opened the door.

This one felt oddly not bath-related. Marble floors and two benches carved into opposite walls, with a small fountain in the middle. Cool water ran softly into hidden drains, shimmering under the artificial light overhead and casting the ceiling into an ever-shifting dance of reflections. At a glance, it looked like a private room to just sit down and talk, or maybe lay down on the cushions and rest. There were no showers here, and the water was cool, carrying a very subtle herbal scent to it.

Upon closer inspection, the dim blue light and running water hid some objects within the fountain that had been left half-submerged. The first was a large metal teapot next to a few metal cups, and a shallow metal box that he opened to reveal grapes and berries. It further reinforced the notion that this was a place to just lounge about and snack rather than to clean.

Which was confusing since a snack was the last thing on his mind right now.

“I can’t be supposed to eat this now… right?” Liam mumbled, scratching his head and glancing at the door leading further in. Grauch had mentioned three rooms, so maybe the others were the ones meant for cleaning.

The soft click of metal drew his attention to the door he’d entered through as it slowly opened.

And in stepped Aisha al-Hakim, the dim blue light made her dark skin look as if made of shadow, doubly so when her white robe almost glowed even under the dim lights. Her dark hair flowed freely behind her as she stepped through, the shape of her legs peeking through the gaps as she approached.

“Aisha?” He had tried to ask the question with surprise, but it came out like a croak.

She stood stoically opposite him to the fountain, fingers caressing the water. “The cold room is a place to relax and clear one’s thoughts.” She did not bother to address the startled nature of his question as she took to the bench opposite him, eyes twinkling slightly. “It also has refreshments, as you’ve seen. They are to provide hydration and cooling, as well as a chance to prepare, or recover from, the hot-room.”

“Thanks for the explanation? Why-”

“You’re welcome, Liam.” She nodded once, closing her eyes and leaning slightly back to breathe in, the curve of her figure hinted under the shift in the robe. “I recommend taking a moment to relax before moving to the warm room.”

“Is this… ok?” At this point, he wasn’t even sure whether it might be a better option to run or freeze.

“Would you rather I leave?”

Her tone was as if this was the most normal thing in the world, it was almost innocent in the momentary hesitation, yet at the same time, her voice held a promise to it. And Liam wasn’t sure what it was, even as she looked at him intently.

It wasn’t that he was dense, his overactive imagination could happily supply him with any number of possibilities. The problem was that he was sure there had to be some loss in cultural translation going on. It couldn’t be her goal, this wasn’t that kind of world, that kind of culture, nor could he imagine ever being the target of such goals.

Yet at the same time, he felt like he understood Imani’s warning.