“A blade forged must be held firm. Lest it turn and draw the blood of she who wields it.” Forgemaster Kerova.

Clouds floated aimlessly across blue sky, casting giant shadows across the desert sands. Yaeno shaded his eyes against the glare as a cloud drifted past, allowing the second sun to shine across the dunes. His light armour chafed at his sides forcing Yaeno to adjust the sword strapped to his side. It was short and slightly curved. The shadows reminded him of tales he had been told in his youth.

Tales of floating island filled to the brim with treasures and horror alike. Tales of men and women ascending its heights in search of glory and gold. Only a rare few would return each broken and mad. The things they spoke of would leave even the most seasoned kolos white with fear. Yet his people would still climb those islands seeking treasures from legend. For you see the last woman to return from those islands, bloodied and maimed had become the empress of sands, the Sultan of sultans, the Selatin.

There were other islands of course. Some tamed and untamed. Though the only tamed ones he knew of belong to the Selatin herself. They were safe havens and held rich oasis’s. Only those she deemed worthy were allowed to bear witness to them and sup from them. It was a great honour for the empress to invite you to her floating islands. An honour only a few families were given right to claim.

The floating abominations had gifted her with a great and terrible power, though she paid a price for it. The sands will never forget the blood it drunk from her broken form as she crawled back to the cities.

The sands will always have their due.

Yaeno thought, drawing a circle in the sands. Majo sat next to him, her reds scale glinting in the sun. As she basked in the second suns heat. Majo had been with him for years. He was Nesha. Borne of the sands he was and forever would be. All Nesha were bonded to a desert drake once the forge deemed them worthy.

Before then he was known as Tento. A slave's name meaning . There was a scar there, smooth and rough around the edges. Yaeno had many scars, though this one stood out the most. A physical reminder of the death of a slave boy. Tento had taken an arrow for a man he would soon come to love.

The Sultan Maveri was good man. Not like those who pretended to be good only to turn when no one was watching. No Sultan Maveri was a good man down to the bone. He had always been good to Tento and the other slaves. Sparing kind words and medicine whenever he could. Going as far as sparing him from beatings from Tento’s previous master. The sultan had treated him as human back then. Even when he shouldn’t.

It’d been a normal day for young Tento. Working under unforgiving sun. Lugging around heavy packages and following his master like loyal hound. He’d been allowed a short reprieve by his master as he haggled with a local wool merchant. Sultan Maveri had seen the boy and taken pity on the young slave. Offering him a drink from his very own wine skin. It was then that Tento saw the archer perched on the roof. Their bow curved as they aimed their arrow. Young Tento moved before he could think. Pushing the Sultan out of the way and taking the arrow himself. The arrow had been poisoned. His body burned as the venom scorched his veins.

If it wasn’t for Sultan whisking him way and taking him to Mogo’s best alchemi. Young Tento would have died. Delirious and half awake, Tento watched as an impossible scene played out before him.

The Sultan a great and powerful man bowed his head to the young slave and thanked him. The words so heartfelt and true. He wasn’t sure if it was due to the sultan’s kind words or the relief that young Tento had lived. Tento cried. The tears hot as they ran down his cheeks. The Sultan had taken him to his palace and promised that the young slave would be taken care of. Smooth silks adorned Tento’s bed, servants washed and fed him as they nursed the young slave back to health.

Once able to stand on his own two feet, the young slave was granted audience with the great Sultan. Tento was guided to a large circular room. Chairs where the sultan would have held councils with people of power now sat empty. The sultan sat on a raised seat. Large windows behind him. The sultan looked upon young Tento, a fatherly smile on his lips. The conversation that would take place would be the end of Tento. For the Sultan offered the young slave a boon.

Thousands of thoughts raced through his mind. Each having only a heartbeat of attention before another took its place. Young Tento could have asked for a hundred different things. For his freedom, for riches, for education, for revenge upon his master. All of these things, the Sultan could give him. For what was a chest full of gold to the Sultans very own life.

Something stirred within the young slave, it was sweeter than any nectar and as intoxicating as the strongest of spice. Filling every facet of his being with its undiluted glory.

A choice, the sultan was giving him a choice. To a sultan, a man of silk and velvet this was a cheap as copper and plentiful as sand. But to a slave born of chains and captivity this was a rare a lush green oasis and as catastrophic as great wyrms. This was the first true choice the young slave given. His first taste of freedom.

The young slave drunk on the taste of freedom still fresh on his tongue. Asked for one thing, a single boon that would free him from his life of slavery. The one thing that would make him more than he ever was. The one thing that would ensure that he would never be chained once more. The young slave spoke, his words grand and audacious as he asked to be made Nesha of the Sultans house.

The joy upon the jolly man’s face was scorched clean off. As though it had never there in the first place. The atmosphere in room plummeted as the Sultan looked upon him. His eyes sharp and burning. Fear shot through the young slave, its icy grip clutching his heart. The slave shook as the Sultan looked down upon.

Young Tento felt cornered, a desert mouse at the mercy of a great falcon. The falcons talons wet with the blood of anyone who crossed him. Gone was the jolly old man who had healed him. In his place was a Sultan. The one man who made his way to the top, leaving in his wake broken houses and bloodied foes. The man who ruled cities and controlled trade.

The young slave shook the words that had tasted so sweet on his lips gone. Leaving behind a bitter ash. The young slave felt like a fool. What madness had overcome him to make him believe he had any right to ask for such a thing. The Nesha were esteemed warriors with the full might and authority of a house behind them. What madness had overwhelmed young Tento to believe he had right to such a boon. The young slave prayed to the sands. Hopping that whatever death awaited him may it at least be quick. They sat in silence for what felt like an eternity. The young slave terrified and the Sultan quiet watching.

It was broken by a quiet sigh from the sultans’ lips. The Sultan looked to him, and the young slave’s heart was caught in his throat. The man looked tired, his eyes carried with them a deep sadness. One that would have brought tears to the slaves’ eyes had he not looked away. The raw emotion there was deep. A scar upon the Sultans heart so profound that it could not be healed. In a bone-tired voice, the old man spoke.

“You saved my life only to throw yours away so easily”.

The young slave hadn’t understood what the man meant by that. The Nesha were honoured among the sand folk as warriors of great renown. The first Bastion against enormous Desert Wyrms and slayers of djinns. Death was intimate to them. Any house with at least ten Nesha was promised a seat at the Selatin’s court. Almost nothing was denied to a sand rider.

How wrong that young slave had been. What Tento had believed to be an honour was truly not. The Nesha were not warriors no, they were blades. And to forge a blade you must first purge its impurities. With a sad nod Sultan Maveri granted the young slave his curse boon.

The very next day Tento was sent off to the oasis of learning. Oh how he suffered. The oasis was large, bigger than the city of Mogo. Great sapphire pools reflected the second sands light early. Trees so large the seemed to reach for the heavens towered over him. The cool air soothed his sun burnt skin. They called it the forge. There were thousands of people within the forge. There were forge masters and blades, there were servants and hearthstrokers. A city built with a single purpose. To forge a blade and keep the secrets of the endless sands.

He had journeyed with two hundred others his age. Some were highborn of renowned houses while others were either slaves like him, there was even a sandless. How such was brought to the forge was a tale upon itself. Only twenty of his group had left the forge afterwards. To survive the trial of forge and flame was both boon and a curse. Tento the slave boy had learned that with power came price and the sands always get their due.

The golden sands Tento hoped to be his home were instead his prison. The crystal-clear ponds that were meant to quench his thirst had instead been used to drown him. The trees meant shade and cool his skin only hid his pains from the light of the second sun.

For five years they went a about forging a blade. For five years they tempered it in the heat of the second sun. For five years they quenched it in the frigid winds of the desert’s night. For five years they beat and shaped that blade with hammer and word of the sands. For five years they sharpened that blade till his edges were sharp. For five years a blade was forged for the sands.

The sands had claimed its due and the forge grew dark for its work was finished. Once ready the blade left the forge. Though the forge had taken from the blade it had also gifted it.

When it had arrived at the forge, the blade was alone save for one. Now though the blade left with twenty siblings each willing to shatter and break for it. Though it would take a lot to break a blade forged in the sands. The blade would return that loyalty thousandfold. Each blade had been marked. Four crescents forming a star.

After surviving their training, the blades were allowed to choose the position of the marking they would receive. The only freedom of choice they had ever been offered in those five years of forging. It was meant to be a reward for surviving the forge. A gift of the sands.

Some blades chose to hide their marks, while other wore it proudly on exposed parts of their bodies. This blade had been one of the latter having the mark tattooed under its left eye.

The blade returned to the city that had forgotten it. It was not alone. Straight it went to the Sultan who it had saved. Those that it passed on the street gave it a wide berth. For the blade was still hot from the forges and its fires would burn any that came near. Whispers followed as the blades surge forth. Its companion blade laughed, voice clear and throaty.

When it walked through the halls of the sultan’s palace. Servants parted their voices low. Noticing the mark on its cheek their tones took one of awe. The blade paid them no heed.

Its fellow blade walked with the strut of a person with the palace. Their feet carrying it as it remembered these halls. Of course, the other blade would know these halls. It had been raised here. The sultan’s daughter had survived the forge. As well as becoming a blade of unparallel sharpness. During the forging a bond had formed between the two blades. One not even the sands could touch. For bonds are sacred to the sands. For what can drive a woman into the cruel, unforgiving desert if not for the bonds one heard. The though the sands demand much, there are something even it cannot take.

The other blade held its head high, proudly displaying the same symbol mirroring this blades very own. Four crescents forming a star were marked below the sister blades right eye. Together the siblings flung the door of the sultan’s court open. The same room the slave Tento had asked for his boon. It was full today, with merchant and lands owner. With the sultans very own governor from his city. The sultan turned to them words dying on his lips as the sultans’ eyes fell upon his daughter. The man abandoned his station burst into tears rushing to daughter’s side. Forgetting all that was around him.

He openly wept as he thanked the second sun for returning his daughter to him. The man was so overcome with joy that he had not noticed the former slave boy was beside him. It was only when Ramali gestured to the blade that the man see it. His grey eyes widened with recognition. Maveri welcomed the blade like a prodigal son returned from a long journey.

Sultan Maveri proclaimed to the court and world. That they would have a feast tonight. Sending out servant he bid them to welcome all to his courtyard. Everyone from every walk of life was welcome. from servant to prince, from slave to sandless all would feast tonight.

As the day went on and evening drew near. The palace was alive with movement. Servants rushed up and down the halls preparing for the feast. The walls were decorated, the tables set. Food and drink were freely given. A river of people walked through Maveri’s gates. All wearing their best and with open smiles. For the people loved their Sultan, he was just and kind. Song and dance filled the night as the feast went on. Both common folk and lords shared drink under the same sky.

That very night under the light of the moon the third sibling. The blade was given a true name. Yaeno meaning “returner of hope”. For the first time in five years, the blade didn’t feel like a blade. For the first time Yaeno felt like a person. Turning to his sister, Ramali raised a glass in Yaeno honour pride evident in her eyes.

“Yaeno!”

“Huh” he murmured.

Shaking himself from his recollections.

“Oh Eno, has the heat from the second sibling finally cooked what little brains you had?” Ramali taunted. “Really, I’m surprised they lasted this long.”

Yaeno smiled turning to his sister and scoffed. Fake offence painted across his face, he clutched at his chest.

“You wound me. Alas Rami even if the second cooked half my brain. I would still have twice as much as you”

Ramali laughed her beautiful laugh. Kicking sand at Yaeno.

Yaeno looked to his sister, she had grown in the years he had come to know her. She had received a new scar two years ago. It was only a few centimetres long. The scar pulled at her lip giving her a permanent smirk. Though that didn’t change much for she always smiled. Ramali had always been an outgoing person. One to always smile and crack jokes. Even the forge couldn’t take that from Ramali. To be honest Yaeno doubted anything could.

Her brown eyes turned to look to him the mischievous light obvious in them. Like many of the women of Mogo she painted her lips black as well using black eyeliner. She was beautiful, with her full lips and sharp cheek bones. Even the scar did nothing to change that only adding to her roughish charms. Though all Yaeno saw was his stubborn sibling who’d often got them in trouble the past few years. Ramali’s stubborn attitude both endearing and irritating.

“Well, we can save what little brains we both have by leaving. We have what we came for.” Ramali said gesturing to the dead lizard impaled in the sands.

Yaeno’s stomach growled at the idea of such a feast. Ramali’s javelin had taken it in the chest. Killing it nigh instantly. It was an actza lizard. The lizard was as big as Majo. Who was bigger than a camel though not as tall. The actza’s body was yellow like the sands, its stomach a lighter shade. Its hide was rough and scaley with stripes of a dark yellow adorning it.

If you encounter this tale on Amazon, note that it's taken without the author's consent. Report it.

The Actza had a colourful frill surrounding it head. Hues of red, yellow and orange made a hypnotic pattern when fully opened. It used this for attacking prey and confusing foe. Though most of the frill’s colour was fading as its spirit returned to the sands.

They both hated the meat when they first tasted it. Earning scorn from the hearthmaster. Its flesh was bitter and tough to chew on. But it was the only source of meat they had been provided during the forging. They soon found that in the forge it was a rare treat. They soon developed a taste for it, coming to enjoy it once served over burning fires. Already the idea of the actza’s meat spiced and charcoal grilled had him drooling.

Yaeno shook himself free from his thoughts. Worry tainting them. For the past week, Yaeno had been reminiscing, often struck with bouts of melancholy. It spoke of a bad omen. But there was nothing he could about it. Only time would reveal what the sands had instore for them.

Grabbing a fistful of sand, Yaeno enjoyed the warm that filled his palms. There were days where the sand would become as hot as a furnace. Opening his fist Yaeno let the sands escape from his fingers. Watching as the winds carried them away. Dusting his hands he stood, walking to Majo.

Ramali had dragged the actaza away, binding it in a tarp. Which she was currently trying to harness to her drake. She had wrapped it well. Yekr was a stark contrast to Majo. Where Majo was sleek and slender with small red scales adorning her ebon hide. Majo was built for speed. Yekr on the other hands was large and muscular with thick, brown scales covering his lighter brown body. He had large claws that retracted into his paws. Rows of sharp teeth filled his jaw. Yaeno had seen those teeth easily rend flesh and break bone. Yekr’s head was large and flat.

Climbing onto Majo’s back, the hairs on Yaeno’s arms stood on their ends as a cool breeze touched his skin. Yaeno scanned the horizons looking, his eyes taking in each shift of the sands and dunes. Though there was nothing but sands in the area. The air smelt of smoke and dying palm trees. Majo pawed as the ground. Yekr grew taunt taking a fighting stance.

Ramali had stopped what she was doing though she did not get up. Instead, while crouched she’d unsheathed one of her twin blades. Our father had gifted her with them a few weeks after her return.

“A djinn?” She whispered.

“It can’t be. Not this close to the city”

“Then what is it?”

“Let’s not stay long enough to find out, Rami” Yaeno said taking Majo’s reins.

Ramali stood returning her blade to its sheathe. Though she unsheathed her dagger in turn. She climbed onto Yekr’s back, using the back of her dagger to scratch behind his ears. Usually, the gesture would be comforting but Yekr was too alert to enjoy it. The smell soon faded as soon as it appeared.

Nudging Majo eastwards they rode, constantly scanning the horizon for hidden dangers. They were tense as they rode. Ramali raised her scarf up to her nose keeping the sand from entering her mouth.

Only when they reached the city’s outskirts did they relaxed. The city was walled, protecting its inhabitants from the desert sands cruelty. As they neared the gates, Yaeno slowed down to speak to the guards. They wore red scarfs around their heads that only showed their eyes. Complimenting their red hoods were beige and loose-fitting clothes that were tight around their arms and ankles. They each carried a spear, dagger and shield. They bowed their heads in respect. Yaeno had come to give them warning. The city guards were more alert once he was finished speaking with them.

The sun had set minutes ago, the city was alive with torch light. The roads were packed dirt with round stones as footpaths. The homes were rectangular and made with wood. Each home was large reaching up to three stories high. Some houses used wood to build them that was pale, and sun bleached. Others were cut limestone and baked brick. The houses were beautiful with large rectangular windows. The shutters had flowing patterns curved into them. Some house had a projecting room that was set outwards on jetting’s. Under such were small gardens.

Majo was restless she would swing her tail from side to side. Before stopping for a few minutes then doing it again. He chalked it up to her being impatient to get to the stables. It was then in the warm lantern light did Yaeno noticed the footprints. They were odd but Yaeno wrote them off to being from an injured hound.

The streets were still packed with people. Some with camel and cart, others with goat. The people of mogo wore long flowing robes, tied with leather at the waist and dark brown sandals. Some smiled as the two Nesha passed. Yaeno replied with a nod each time.

They guided their drakes back to the palace. Which was quite hard to miss, a huge wall surrounded the square building. Pillars held up walls decorated with flowing patterns. Centuries of the house Maveri patrolled the said walls. Sultan Maveri had made a fortune in trading wool and silks.

Their first stop was the stables. Yaeno jumped of Majo’s back. Grabbing Majo’s jaws, Yaeno placed his forehead against Majo’s. They stayed like that, feeling each other’s warmth. After a moment Majo let out and impatient huff, which caused Yaeno to chuckle. She must be getting hungry.

“Okay, okay I’ve kept you long enough.”

He handed the reins to the stable hand, who took them with a bow and guided Majo to the stables. Ramali asked him to go ahead without them. She wanted to stay with Yekr a moment longer. She always did this whenever she was on edge. He couldn’t blame her. He too would have stayed but someone had to report to the sultan.

“Ask one of the servants to take the meat inside”.

The halls had changed in the years since Sultan Maveri had gained voice in the court of the Selatin. It had become grander, and with his connection in the Selatins court. Maveri gained a monopoly in both the sail of silk and raw wool. Which he already was a growing influence. The sultan wasn’t perfect and though of his much of his profits went to bettering the life of his people. A large sum had also gone to his personal holdings. Which he used to live a lavish lifestyle. This did not make Maveri a bad man for everyone has their own vices.

Turning to a nearby servant, Yaeno requested him to go collect his dinner from the stables. The servant looked at him confused but with a glare Yaeno sent him running.

Searching didn’t take much time. Yaeno already knew where his father was. The smell of Aloe vera and agave filled his nose as he strode through the garden. Large rectangular ponds filled the garden. Each chock full of pink floating lilies. Large date trees surrounded the garden, sentries against the desert’s harsh winds. Between each tree was aloe vera plants. In the centre of each pond was an agave tree. Flowers in clay pots sat at equal points around the garden. Maveri sat by the fountain his finger within its cool waters. His father’s garden was beautiful. Palms trees and tilled ponds full water lilies filled the garden.

Maveri was a large man, having grown rounder through the years. His dark beard now peppered with iron. Long greys streaks of hair ran along his temples. His skin was mahogany peppered with beauty spots and wrinkles. Maveri had a double chin hidden behind his collar. When Tento had met him, Maveri had been a fit handsome man. The years had taken that from him.

Maveri smiled at him, his pearly white teeth hidden behind his beard.

“My son, bless the second sibling that you have returned” he said reaching up to embrace him.

Yaeno returned the embrace though he was awkward with it. The older man had reached up, grabbing Yaeno by the back of his head and pressing their foreheads together. The gesture was an intimate gesture done between only those you trust with your life. It was a way of connecting spirits. They stood together in silence. For all intents and purposes was his son. Breaking the embrace Yaeno sat next to the older man.

“So, son what troubles you? I would have thought returning with an Actaza lizard would have lifted your spirits. Honestly, I do not understand how you and Ramali can stomach those vile things”.

Yaeno had not seen a servant anywhere near his father when he had come to the garden. Yet he already knew. Long ago it would have unnerved him how much the sultan saw without necessarily seeing. It was easy to forget that the jolly old man before him was one of the most powerful men in the desert.

“Father…We sensed a djinn, only an hour away from the town”.

The smile was gone. He sat straighter and his eyes focused on Yaeno’s.

“Where?”

“Twenty kilometres eastwards.”

“How many?”

“We do not know, we only sensed them. Maybe five but we saw none. Father, I’m not entirely convinced they were djinn.”

“What else could it be. A wyrm?”

“Sands, I hope not father we should still have a few more years before the next one.”

“Speak with the guards”

“Already have, their shifts have doubled.”.

“Have scout party and some of the guards with them search the areas around the city tomorrow”.

“Yes father”

The soft expression returned, wordlessly he reached out and ruffled Yaeno’s hair. The old mans eyes shifted to his right. Turning Yaeno founded a servant waiting for them.

“Food must be ready I will let you go. You must be looking forward to your meal. I will stay a while longer I must think on what you have told me. Have them bring my meal to the garden”.

The last part was spoken to the servant. The old man smiled at Yaeno once more before turning back to his fountain, his brow furrowed in thought as he processed what Yaeno had told him. Yaeno leaving his father to his thoughts and garden.

Yaeno followed the painted tiles. Admiring the hallways vibrant carpets and artworks. It was in those hallways, when Yaeno ran into a young man. His hair was long and glossy, his skin a light tan. His fingers ink stained and the glasses he wore glinted in the lantern light. Hiding eyes Yaeno knew to be like his fathers.

The young man stood off to the side looking at a painting of something called ‘grass’. It resembled the desert but this time the sand was long and green. There were trees that did not even resemble date trees. They had thick brown trunks and multiple branches growing in different directions, the branches had small leaves attached to them.

Maveri had told him that they would sometimes grow fruits that resembled coconuts though these were smaller, sweeter and they had no strong outer skin. Yaeno had laughed at this saying how could such ‘trees’ survive in the deserts.

The boy was quietly muttering to himself. Maveri’s youngest son. He resembled, Ramali in many ways though he was both younger and fairer than her. Eta spent most of his days indoor studying to become the next Sultan. He was Maveri’s only heir, Ramali had given up the position mostly so she could spend her life as a rider, she preferred the freedom. The young man turned to him, his expression brightening as he did.

“Yaeno!, please tell me you found something interesting in the desert” Eta asked eagerly.

Yaeno did not answer, instead he ruffled the younger boy’s hair. Eta was only fifteen years old, six years younger than Ramali and himself. Though he looked even younger, his dark brown eyes staring up at Yaeno with admiration. Eta smiled gently removing Yaeno’s hand from his hair.

“You always treat me like a child.”.

“How can I not? When I have such a wonderful younger sibling” Yaeno laughed.

“How was the desert. Were there djinn did you fight them?” He looked at him excitement in his eyes.

Like most who barely ventured out of the desert Eta romanticised it. He didn’t realise that the desert though beautiful was a cruel mistress if one did not tread lightly.

“Later, first I need to prepare the Actaza. You know how Ramali hates doing that”.

“That’s okay, I’ve already ordered the servants to begin preparing it”.

Yaeno clicked his tongue, irritation coiling within him. How many times must he tell them that he preferred to do it himself. Yaeno’s mouth opened ready to lecture Eta. When the boy cut him off.

“I’m sorry. I know you prefer skinning it yourself, but I’ve been bored all day with tutors and papa’s court services. Please I just wanted time to spend time with you.”

Yaeno was quiet for a spell, before he reached out ruffling the younger boy’s hair again. The irritation dying as quickly as it came. Eta let out a squeak of protest, but Yaeno was already walking away.

“Fine. But first I will bathe we can talk at supper.”

Yaeno disappeared behind a corner, before he could hear the boys reply. He could be irritated that he would not be able to clean his kill today, but he could not fault the boy for being so eager to spend time with his siblings.

There were more paintings in these halls though these were more than just decorative. These held family histories as well as portraits. Hundreds of eyes seemed to watch him as he strolled through.

He stopped at one painting that was grander than the rest. It took up a whole wall from top to bottom. Its edges had been decorated with knotted leaves that held the aroma of dates cooking in the warm sands. Candles were lit in front of the painting.

The picture was of a woman. She looked like Ramali though her features were more mature. She was slender and wore mascara like Ramali, though she had one dark line drawn from her bottom lip to her chin. Her skin was a deep brown shade and she had as single mole on her cheek. Her eyebrows were thin, and they had an arch to them.

Yaeno had heard about Mistress Emekah from Eta and Ramali she had been a wonderful and fierce woman. He had met her only once the night before he had left for the trials. Emekah had cooked him a meal and threatened him with blade at the same time. Claiming that if he returned and her daughter didn’t not even the sultans protection would keep her from him. Yaeno liked to think that even without the threat, he would have looked out for Ramali. Emeka had died sometime during their training though they had not known of it till after the celebrations.

Ramali had been devastated though she had bounced back after they had started their roles as Nesha. Holding out his first two fingers, Yaeno kissed them before touching the edge of the painting.

Yaeno’s room was only a few hallways down. His room wasn’t as grand as the others. Though with time Yaeno had made it one of the most comfortable rooms in the palace. On the walls hung tapestries he’d made himself. Ramali had laughed at him when he had begun learning to knit. Saying ‘I’m sure you can defeat a sand wyrm by knitting it a beautiful sweater’. She’d soon stopped when he’d made a beautiful tapestry showing a ‘desert sunset’. She still had it adorning her room.

A short table had been placed in the middle of the room, surrounded by pillows and cushions. He would sometime have Kafi with Ramali and Eta hear as they discussed various unimportant topics. Though he manly used the area for knitting and relaxing. His bed was large enough for two people and had colourful cover over it. There was a lone window is shutters closed.

Lamps, tapestries, and weapons adorned his walls giving the room and rich atmosphere. He liked to keep his room neat and organised, and he never allowed any servants inside preferring to clean it himself.

Walking into the bathroom it was much simpler though he kept a few succulents in there. There was a large bath and basin next to it. He let the basin fill with warm water. He scrubbed himself clean as he waited for it to fill. Grabbing a basket full of water and dumping it over his head. Yaeno climbed into the bath. Yaeno made sure to comb all the sand from long dark curls before entering.

He soaked in the water for a few minutes before the cool night air filtered through his room. Driving a shiver from him. Splashing some water onto his face Yaeno stepped out. He took time to dry his hair, looking into the mirror he took note of his features. Yaeno had a strong square chin with stubble growing along his jaw and upper lip. He preferred keeping it this way. His nose was small and slightly turned to the side. He’d broken it before his training. His eyes were a pale green and his eyebrows were light and curved.

He features put him more on the intimidating side than handsome. The fact he mostly frowned helped strengthen that image. It wasn’t that Yaeno was an angry man, it was just how his face was.

In the dim light Yaeno could the scars along his muscular body almost shine. Some were caused by enemies, others by djinn even two were caused by partners. Trophies from bouts of bedplay he thought fondly of. Yet none were caused by a wyrm usually those only left you dead or missing limbs. A thin puckered scar sat on one of his shoulders. A reminder to the day his life had changed. Walking back to his room towel in hand Yaeno chose to wear loose flowing clothes that were grey in colour.

He looked around his room once more before heading out to the dining area. A servant stood outside his door. Yaeno nodded allowing her to lead him to where his siblings were.

Pushing aside a curtain. Yaeno found the two in a large rectangular open room. Another short table and cushions surrounding it. However, this one was larger than his own, meant to house multitude of guests. There were many such tables adorning this room. With a myriad of cushions, a soft burgundy colour.

Ramali sat reclining on one of said cushions a bowl of dates in her lap half empty. Eta sat straighter his posture regal. The tutors had trained him in this, it was meant to bring on an air of authority and confidence. Eta had done it so much so that it had become second nature to him. It was in rare moments like this when Yaeno saw the future Sultan and not the young man he was.

Then Eta turned to Yaeno and his expression changed from one of quiet reflection to one of childlike excitement. A lopsided grin played on his lips.

“Took you long enough” Ramali said “I understand as a man you must take care of your “urges’ but please save it for after dinner”.

Yaeno did not humour her. In one fluid movement, he plucked one of the heftier cushion and threw it at her. Ramali let out a quiet squeak as the cushion hit her. Almost dropping her dates in the process. She would have thrown it back. Had the sound sizzling food not caught her attention.

The smell of spiced meat wafted through as three servants carried in steaming plates of food. The food and drink were placed in the middle. Two of the servants left leaving one to attend to them. There were hot naans sitting in a basket, steaming bowls of crisp biriani rice, hot spicy goat stew and a sizzling skillet covered in meat onions and roasted peppers.

“Where is papa?” Eta asked.

“In the garden, he’ll be eating there”

“No surprise there. Baba loves the garden” Ramali said.

Instead of reaching for food, Ramali took the pitcher holding an iced Aragh. A distilled grape drink, it was her favourite. The drink was sweet but burned something fierce as it went down. Of course, Ramali claimed to like it due to it ‘Deep aromatic flavour and smooth texture’. Which was absolute Kesha. She poured out the drink into three glasses, watering down Eta’s before handing them out.

‘Don’t tell Baba” She winked at Eta

Their glasses let out a clink as they knocked them together. Downing the drink in one go, its coolness burning a flaming path down to his stomach. Yaeno let out a shiver enjoying the warmth that filled his belly. Eta coughed his cheeks turning rosy, he wasn’t used to the burn yet. Ramali on the other hand was pouring another round for the two of them. Eta reached for a different pitcher this one holding cool coconut water.

Yaeno grabbed a naan from the basket, ripping it in half as steam bellowed out. Dipping it into the skillet with Actaza he took a generous serving. The meat was tender and juicy the roasted peppers and onions adding a wonderful crunch to it. The sweetness of the vegetable was balanced by the actaza bitter meat.

Yaeno ravenously tore into the food, Ramali following suite. Though ate a little bit of everything unlike Yaeno who focused on the naan and actaza. Stopping only to pour herself another drink. At one point she hands her hands so full that Yaeno had to top up her glass for her.

Eta was the opposite of the siblings. He ate slowly his movements measured savouring each bite. After wiping his mouth with a nearby napkin, he turned to Yaeno a sparkle in his eyes.

“So what did you see?”

“Nothing we saw nothing”.

----------------------------------------