Shadows coated him, a small comfort against his dour mood. He fiddled with his ironvine ring. The room stank of healing poultices and unused silk bandages, but his nose was still haunted by blood, pus and corruption, which had long since been scrubbed away. Farah’s breathing was haggard the entire day he spent watching over her.
Mazin lingered in a dark corner, watching her sleep, wrapped in eggshell white cloth upon the softest mattress he found. She shifted sometimes, but that was it. The setting sun called him away. Her arm was made healthy, the oozing corruption stopped, and blood flowed as it should. There was hardly a spot on the bandages around her stump.
His ring didn’t calm him. Farah shifted and wheezed again, then stilled. Mazin emerged from the shadows and stood over her. She was pale, a fever ravaged her and drained her to the bone. He always thought her lean, now she looked delicate.
Mazin couldn’t move. The longer he watched her, the louder her drunken anger danced in his head. Her wail when she fell all those years ago, the gentle crack in her bone when she tried to brace her fall. His ironvine ring failed to soften all of those memories. It took the approach of heavy boots to end his self-inflicted torture.
“Prince Mazin,” the words came after a knock. “The sun sets.”
He lingered over her, but she remained unmoving. Mazin begged her to wake, but soon gave up. The physicians promised the fever would pass and she would wake, but he couldn’t stay. The least he could do was give her justice.
Mazin stood before his mirror, still in sombre mood, adjusting the black silk vest with the first darkness of night entering his room. The onyx gems glittered with the aid of candlelight. It was brisk for once, persuading him to add more layers to his sleeveless vest. Though he didn’t bother changing the black skirt around his thighs.
A shapeless black blob stared back at him from his mirror. With a sparkle of redness from his left eye. Farah remained in his mind while he fiddled with his ironvine ring. He glanced at his khopesh resting on the stand nearby and flexed his shoulders. The ruby pommel glowed and called to him. It chilled his fingers, succeeding in the place of the ironvine ring to calm his anxiety.
His room fell quiet, Bil’Faridh as well beyond his open shutters. Far too quiet. Something tugged at him from behind, and the candles dimmed all around. It strengthened to a constant pull and his fine hairs stood upright. Mazin spun around with his khopesh drawn, pointed at the figure emerging from a cloud of darkness beside his bed. There was no panic in him, which surprised him. The figure emerged with a black and gold cape billowing behind ornate lamellar armour.
“Who are you?”
“Your servant, prince,” the palace guard was a Tiger, he whipped off his snarling demonic mask before bowing. Mazin’s eyes narrowed on the top of the man’s pointed helm. The cloudy blackness behind him rippled. It was welcoming, almost familiar.
“Well?”
“Forgive me, have you forgotten my message?”
“Message?” Mazin lowered his blade and pinched the bridge of his nose when it struck him. “You couldn’t have come at a worse time.”
“This is the best moment, if you don’t mind me saying, prince.”
A grizzled Tiger, with a salty beard. His sun kissed olive skin was taut and chiselled.
“How did you do that?” Mazin asked, nodding towards the blackness. It still tugged at him.
“Shadow jumping, useful for quick journeys, easier at night.”
“Has my training started already?”
“Unfortunately, not, we have little time, I merely wished to acquaint myself to you, beyond void dreams.”
The best moment, apparently.
“What is this really, Tiger? Why the secrecy?”
“You are being mistreated prince, perhaps it is difficult to for you to see, for you don’t know better. Your training should be on the same level as Prince Zaki’s.”
“It is. I train when he does.”
“Lessons, I should have said lessons. The prince trains with Heka, and word has reached me that another seeks him for more.”
“Who are you?” Mazin’s grip tightened on the his khopesh.
“Eiji, prince.”
There was no deceit on the palace guard’s scent, there was no scent at all.
“Why does a palace guard care for my education? From where I stand, this strikes me as an attempt to cause a rift between me and Zaki.”
“I meant no offence.”
“Tell me what you mean!”
“Knowledge is dangerous, prince, especially when it is ill timed. The palace guards are more than what our order suggests. We serve,” Eiji gasped, then shuddered. The black cloud behind fizzled and faded. Eiji’s balance wavered and he took a step to recover.
“It drains you to keep it open, doesn’t it?”
“Yes, but the brief privacy is necessary. I cannot tarry.”
“Secrecy and shrouded intent sour me. Leave, I will hear no more.”
Eiji’s face contorted, whether by pain, fear or disappointment, he couldn’t tell. Regret filled him anyway.
“For now,” Mazin added.
Eiji nodded and dragged himself back through the black cloud. The darkness receded, allowing his candles to burn at their usual strength. Mazin rubbed his chest with wistful fingers.
He sheathed his blade in a hurry when a new scent struck him. He tightened the strap to his back just as the stranger arrived at his door, smelling like roses.
“Enter,” Mazin said before the knock came, and his double doors parted to allow an unfamiliar face in. “Who are you?”
The man’s eyes widened, Mazin sighed apologetically. He rushed to soften his expression, forcing a weak smile.
“I am sorry, It’s been quite a day.”
“There is nothing to apologise for, prince,” The man dropped to his knee. When he rose Mazin eyed the emerald decorated crook and flail amulet around his neck.
“I come on behalf of my mother, Lady Nabila. I am Akeem, las born of Osiris.”
His eyes hovered on the ruby pommel peaking of his right shoulder. There was a swiftness about him. Handsome, like his mother, youthful and black-haired. Short black coils glittering with emerald dust. That was where his shared appearance with his mother ended.
“Is she ready for me?”
“Actually, she hopes to change plans and bring the dinner here.”
“Of course, allow me to notify the ghosts.”
“No need, my mother has already arranged it.”
Mazin’s shoulders sagged when Akeem Osiris was halfway down the passage from his room. He glanced at his weapon stand, but kept the khopesh strapped to his back.
Nabila arrived before Mazin finished a second cup of wine. The grey ghosts came first, setting the table with a feast fit for many more than the pair of them. Honey glazed roasted pig, spiced mutton swimming in reddish brown gravy, accompanied with carrots and cauliflower. Fresh loaves and a basket of raisin bread bun steamed beside crystal decanters of wine and jugs of golden beer.
Lady Osiris streamed in like a wave of emeralds and onyx; her silks billowed behind her as she strode towards him. Green coloured her brow, matching the paint around her eyes. She wore a great green block of an emerald over her cleavage. Nabila curtsied after the doors closed, but Mazin’s smile brought her into his embrace. Blackberries and fresh ash drowned his nose, a comforting scent she knew he enjoyed.
“I assumed this was a trap,” she chuckled with her warm, husky voice. She stepped away and straightened her flowing silks. Mazin gazed into her eyes, fighting back Zaki’s mockery. “That mind of yours is racing, isn’t it?”
“You know me too well, for this was a trap.”
Her laughter was polite. She took the chair he dragged out for her. Nabila thanked him for the wine and sat down across from him. He felt her eyes study him, her scent masked by her perfume as usual, which made his task difficult.
“Something wrong?”
“I must ask, admittedly the rumours have whittled me down, you’re not seducing me, are you?”
“That obvious?” Mazin asked.
“Prince,”
“A poor joke. Please, this isn’t formal and we are alone.”
Nabila’s eyes wandered around his room, squinting at the darkest corners. She had never been here before, and perhaps the light was dim for her Unblessed eyes.
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“Have the whispers worsened to beat you down into asking that?” Mazin asked.
“I have lived in the palace for many years. The chatter has never ceased to bother me. What about your brother, will he give you another earful?”
“He will roar, I will suffer it as I always do.”
Nabila smiled at him.
“Please don’t wait for me, enjoy.”
Mazin started with the mutton and a loaf of bread, while his mind worked for an opportunity to shift towards the answers he sought. His tongue tingled as the meat melted on his tongue.
“Akeem said he is your youngest,” Mazin restarted.
“Three years your senior,” she sucked her teeth at him and he almost choked. “His sisters are not much older. I was desperate for a son.”
“All are Tamers?”
“Akeem’s the dark Tamer,” Mazin’s head rose, so did one of his eyebrows.
“That explains your knowledge on the matter.”
“You are welcome, prince.”
“I’ve never seen him before.”
“He’s been patrolling the lands surrounding Sinh’Chattaan. The capital doesn’t agree with him, I’m sure you understand.”
“All too well.”
“He returns tomorrow evening for the Gaur Province.”
“You shouldn’t have agreed to this, I’m shortening your time with him.”
“Who am I to deny a prince?”
“You know me better than that.”
He caught a whiff of her scent through her perfume for the first time. Sweet joy amongst berry and ash.
“You’re so much like him.”
“I suspected as much.”
Mazin abandoned his half-eaten plate, Nabila filled a goblet with beer. A chilling breeze whistled into his room, billowing the waning candlelight.
“I heard you and your brother have become investigators.”
“Ah, you have beaten me to it. I hoped to press you on… if you might know anything.”
Nabila avoided his gaze, and the question eluded him. Mazin allowed the silence to fester, filling his mouth with more food, bumping his khopesh leaning against his chair with his thigh.
“Sinh’Chattaan’s restoration is not far in the future. Why trouble yourselves with the capital when your departure is soon?”
“I don’t worry about the capital, but the people within it.”
“Spoken like a pharaoh.”
“Is this more serious than it seems?”
“Bil’Faridh has always been beyond the grasp of all clan monarchs. Advisors and nobles sit on the seven thrones. Anyone not in the know of the machinations of the capital is already years behind.”
“I feel a coming threat.”
“A warning,” Nabila corrected.
“Other than Lord Isis, you are the only one I could turn to.”
Nabila twitched. Still scentless, but her face betrayed her.
“Lord Isis has children,” she stopped herself. Nabila nodded and smirked down at her food. “I was your task.”
“I wonder why anyone bothers with secrecy in this palace,” Mazin laughed.
“I was married to his cousin, Bassam, the bastard. How my girls didn’t inherit his… I’ll always be grateful to the Great Beast for it.”
He craved more than that, but appreciated such a private admission. She pushed away her plate and leant back, swirling a glass of wine.
“Did you know the woman?”
“No,” Mazin replied, his instincts cautioned him against saying more.
“Lions will thrive under Pharaoh Zaki Atum Ra,” knocked the table twice. Mazin frowned at her. “An old superstition, to speak of a future yet to pass curses the present.”
Mazin nodded.
“What about other clans?”
“The civil war has muddied many things, including their influence on this city. I doubt the kumkani and inkosi have time to plant seeds.”
That he didn’t believe, especially after her earlier words. He wasn’t looking forward to Zaki’s disappointment after this. This wasn’t enough, hopefully Jazmin gave him more.
“Might we speak of other matters? Forgive me if I seem insensitive, but I’m not in the right mood for it.”
“Of course. I fought the book you recommended, by the way.”
“Bavamso and Beyond? I knew you would enjoy it.”
“Bold assumption.”
“There is a passage on Mr’Bhoom.”
“’Frozen brown waves under scorching heat, relentless in its pursuit to drain you of your water.’” Mazin recited.
“’A chilling brown tundra at night, where the whispers of Mr’Bhoom’s ghosts haunt all foolish enough to not seek shelter.’”
Mazin and Nabila shared more passages, until Akeem returned to whisk his tipsy mother from his room. His joy departed with her, and soon his thoughts returned to Farah. Justice delayed.
In the growing quiet of night, with the palace joining the city in slumber, Mazin exchanged his silks for grey cloth and a hood. He snuck his way back to the infirmary. Ironvine ring attracting his fingers once again, but his anxiety not dropping. His khopesh on his back was the only comfort, other than the darkness.
Pitch black and calm, Mazin found serenity. The void comforted him. He didn’t know how he arrived, nor where he slept. In the nothingness he sat, meditating with his arms resting on his knees. Focused on the surrounding whispers.
Indecipherable music to his ears, fluttering and shifting around his vicinity. Some were faint, others were gruff. He blinked when his fine hairs poked up.
“Prince.”
Mazin jumped despite expecting it. Silence followed it, the whispers flapped like distant wings, then focused ahead. This time, a pair of ruby red eyes hovered over him. He shot to his feet and craned his neck up. A bubble grew in his mind.
“Who are you?”
His words sprouted and echoed in the darkness as if he spoke them.
“Prince.”
“You know me, beast?”
This was new to him, not just the beast, but one who sought a human for conversation. They spoke when spoken to, but he didn’t speak to many Tamed Feline anyway.
“Are you doing this to me?”
The openness was short-lived. Mazin regretted his impatience. It glared down at him, its ruby red eyes vanished with every blink. He made out its enormous figure in the darkness. A monstrous Feline, he guessed, far too grand to be real.
Mazin flinched when the bubble in his head popped. The Feline’s bloody gaze vanished, and the incoherent whispers returned like a wave. He didn’t have time to recover, for the ground disappeared below him.
“Prince!”
Mazin snorted awake in a room he didn’t recognise. It was bright with fire and smelled of flowers. His neck tightened when he sat upright, and he groaned when it jolted his back. The prince stood up and suffered a hammering to his temple. He stumbled, snapping the wood off his chair.
“You’re awake.” Farah murmured.
Her cramped room swam all around, her bed floated on tricky waters. Mazin closed his eyes and willed for the world to still. He didn’t recall over drinking, though he struggled to remember when Nabila left. The prince stifled a belch and dared to open his eyes.
Farah was draped in white. Her amputated arm donned fresh silk bandages, but her skin was just as pale. A gaunt ghost. She appeared worse now that she was conscious. Mazin stepped closer, her lye soap scent cleared his nose of bile rotted beer and wine.
He sat on the stool beside her bed. Farah’s eyes stared ahead, ringed by redness, cheeks stained by old tears.
“How are you feeling?” Mazin asked.
“What did you do to me?”
“It was eating you, Farah. You could have died.”
“I’m already dead.”
“I can protect you; they wouldn’t dare come for you here. If needed, I will move you to the palace.”
“No!” She shuddered, Mazin feared she would fall apart. “You should have let Oma kill me.”
“Farah,” he reached of her, but she recoiled, avoiding his eyes still. She moved her bandaged arm to her face, then slumped. Her left arm rose to her welling eyes.
“Just kill me, please.”
Mazin said nothing. He watched her weep, frozen in place. Her shoulders trembled as she cried in silence. The water jug nearby seemed a good idea, and he offered her a glass when a familiar scent neared her room.
“I, uh… you should drink this water,” Mazin said. “I will be right outside.”
Zaki jogged towards him when he rushed out, smelling like he just stepped out of a bath. Beads of water still clung to his curls.
“What did you find?” Zaki asked in a hushed voice. “Whose room is this?”
“Farah’s. Zaki, Nabila warned me of something more, a conspiracy.”
“A vast network of whores and whoremongers – what of it? I received the same warning. We are being watched.”
“I think it’s beyond the Lion Clan.”
“Who was that mistress that attacked this one?”
“Mistress Oma.”
“We have our next target. Did Farah tell you anything else?”
“She isn’t… I don’t think now is the best time.”
“You’re too soft,” Zaki grunted, but Mazin snatched his arm before he barged in.
“If they’re watching us, we show them we have lost interest. Your induction, my departure, we have the perfect excuse to lay low for now.”
Zaki glared at him, his golden right eye dim. Mazin didn’t turn away, refusing to back down from this.
“What about the other one you saved? Will you leave both of them to their deaths?”
“Let me worry about that, I might have an idea.”
“Fine, I’ll search for this Oma in the meantime. If you want to join me, I will wait with Roole.”
“No, you go, I’ll stay with Farah, wait and see if she is willing to let out more.”
Zaki nodded, then spun around and strode away. He brightened the dim passageway and nodded at the physicians and palace guards passing by.