Each morning I awoke in a haze, unfamiliar with the surroundings of the small inn I’d managed to swindle my way into. The inn-keeper seemed very familiar with Al’Namir, and upon laying eyes on the Imperial Crest I brought he was happy to give me lodging for no cost. I balked at the inn-keeper at first, thinking he was going to at least make me pay some lodging fees, but when I offered to do maintenance around the property he gave me a hardened expression and insisted I stay for free. I couldn’t help but feel as though fate had, once again, given me good favor with no reason.

In the library, I spent my time unfurling old scrolls and translating books. Old recounts of Kings long passed, their cultures, and different wars that were recorded consisted of a majority of the contents within the tomes I came across—a few poems, and articles about Mahsul’s founding piqued my interest. Most of the articles were positive, though the poems I’d found were written in an older dialect of Otlank, scornful of Mahsul’s creation. I tried to decipher many of them, but I stopped mid-way through. There were few people who came into the library, Itunu was right. They didn’t allow many people in aside from scholars and priestesses. I couldn’t help but wonder what the Prince meant about returning the favor. Maybe he was letting me into the library prove something to me, to Mahsul. Zarvan wasn’t enemy territory, and I planned on relaying that to Namir once I got back. Their people were kind, with much to give and little to hide.

My second night of residing in Zarvan, I was all but dragged by a couple of women to a festival being held by the townspeople. Their white and gold robes had been switched to amethyst and silver, as the streets were decorated with the same phosphorescent fungi that Itunu had told me about—how they’d managed to transport the mushrooms without killing off their luminescent properties was beyond me. The Kingdom that sat within a cliffside was bustling that day, as children ran by each other and parents chatted. Women of upper-status wore their hair in intricate braids, adorned with similar cuffs as Itunu wore in his locs. As I freed the grasp of the young girl who had brought me to the heart of the festival, I smiled at the sight before me. Lanterns accompanied the fungi, their yellow light contrasting the blues from the mushrooms. Spices and herbs filled my nostrils as older women cooked, accompanied by their husbands as they did the heavier labor of stirring the large pots.

As I was contemplating approaching one of the groups to try their food, a woman’s voice called out from behind me.

“Abyad!”

I turned around and laid eyes upon one of the most beautiful women I’d ever met. Clearly a noble, by the metal woven into the delicate braids she wore, she smiled at me. Her brown eyes reflected the lantern she was close to, and I couldn’t help but tweak a brow at her knowing my name. She moved her hair over her shoulder and waved for me to come closer—I wasn’t one to turn down the company of such a stunning woman.

“You’re the man from Mahsul that my brother found, hm?” She asked.

My eyes widened, and I saw the resemblance in that moment. Her nose was just like Itunu’s, broad nostrils and a deep slope. Her eyes were a bit more upturned, but they were so similar in appearance that I almost kicked myself for not realizing right off the bat. She even carried herself with the same elegance the Prince did. I smiled at her and nodded.

“How did you know?” I asked in a playful tone.

“You don’t come across looks like yours in Zarvan naturally, and rumor has it that a blue-eyed man was snooping in our library.” She replied, swishing her drink in her glass as her smile widened.

“Are they truly that blue?” I asked as I opened my eyes a bit more and let her look at them. She came closer and examined my face for a moment, I could have sworn a light blush flushed her cheeks. She drew her lips together as she smiled now, and I couldn’t hold back my own smile from growing wider.

“They might be more grey.” She teased, drawing back an inch.

I chuckled at her, bringing my arms to my chest as I looked back to the crowd.

“It’s not fair that you know my name, and I don’t know yours.” I said, offering a sidelong glance in her direction.

“Abeni.” She told me. “Abeni Niwaju, Princess of Zarvan.”

I offered an over-exaggerated bow to her, “An honor to meet you, Abeni.”

“Don’t do all of that!” She chided in a hushed voice, amusement lining her tone. “I don’t need it.”

I laughed as I rose from the bow, crossing my arms once more and shrugging. “Is it wrong to show respect to royalty in your Kingdom?”

“Nothing of the sorts, we merely don’t make a scene of our presence.” She replied, “If you do that in Mahsul, it’s fine—but here, you’re in the company of equals, not elites versus commoners.” She added.

I eyed her clothing, similar to the robes the regular citizens wore and nodded. My eyes lingered on her hair once more.

“The braids are tradition, and nobility braids the hair of the commoners as the night goes on. Each braid is woven to bring a wish to life.” She explained, noticing my gaze.

“Is that what the festival is for, then?” I asked.

“No, the festival is to celebrate Zarvan’s founding. You managed to come at an interesting time, you know.” She smiled.

“I guess I did…” I replied, awe in my voice. Children danced with each other to the sound of stringed instruments being played, a whimsical melody for them to let loose to. There were no records of the country’s founding dates in Mahsul’s libraries, this truly was just happenstance.

“Who braided your hair?”

“Itunu did.” Abeni replied. I was impressed to hear such an answer, knowing it must have taken a good chunk of the day to fashion each individual row into their stitched sections.

“He did a great job.” I told her, meeting her eyes once more after the music paused. Her bashful smile was endearing, and I was right—she had a light hue of pink on the apples of her cheeks. “Are you two close in age?” I asked.

“We’re twins.” She replied, smile still intact. “I’m six minutes older though.” She winked. I couldn’t help but let out a breath of laughter.

“What brought you to our library? Itunu said you were searching for information on the Child of Calamity…”

My chest tightened, reminded by my purpose of being here. It wasn’t to enjoy a festival, it was to find out the true whereabouts of my friend. I hugged my arms a bit tighter to my chest, and Abeni’s smile fell a bit. She knew she’d hit a sore spot.

“Al’Hala hasn’t contacted us, herself, in almost seven years.” I admitted, my hushed voice laced with bitterness. “All we’ve gotten are letters from Duke Markovni…something about it doesn’t feel right.”

“I’m sorry…” Abeni said, placing a hand on my arm and squeezing gently. Her eyes were filled with pity. “Maybe I shouldn’t have asked…”

“No, it’s okay.” I reassured her. “I know it’s a little far-fetched, but I have this hunch…perhaps the Cursed and Blessed Ones exist…perhaps there’s one I could ask to help uncover whether she’s truly okay…”

Abeni’s eyes softened, as she leaned in to look at me. “Don’t you know those Cursed Ones are devils?” She asked concernedly.

“I’m willing to roll those dice.” I told her, steeling my resolve.

I wasn’t unfamiliar with the tales of the Cursed Ones, they always asked for deals. Some of the recounts Iirshad had given me spoke of humans offering their own life, but those were scenarios of higher stakes. I had concepts of deals to strike with the Child of Calamity. If he asked for my life, I would find a different Cursed One to barter with.

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“You’re crazy, is what you are.” Abeni said.

“You can’t be sane to be a strategist.” I smiled.

Abeni shook her head, and retracted her hand. She mirrored me, now, crossing her own arms and hugging them tight to her chest. A familiar voice came from behind us, slurring their words just a bit.

“Abeni! Getting to know Abyad, are you? Planning to take him back to the palace?” The voice japed, clamping one hand tight on my shoulder, the other on hers. Abeni almost spilled the drink she held as he shook her. Itunu reeked of wine, but seeing him so clumsy in comparison to his graceful saunter in the jungle was almost refreshing.

“You’re such a bastard when you’re drunk.” Abeni grumbled.

“Hey! This bastard has the same parents as you!” Itunu replied. I smiled as I looked at him, leaning his weight mostly on me.

“Have you had any water tonight, Your Highness?” I asked.

“Not planning on it.” He replied, smiling. “You do her hair for eight hours and see how it feels, you’ll need an entire barrel of wine.” He pointed at Abeni with the hand he had on my shoulder. I felt him stumble a bit as he leaned further on me and laughed at Abeni’s disgruntled face.

“You act like my hair is a bird’s nest!” She snapped, yanking her shoulder from Itunu’s hand.

“It’s worse.” He whispered, his mouth so close to my ear that I reflexively pulled away. Itunu roared with laughter as I looked at him, and let go of me to see others at the festival.

“If this style didn’t last for so long I’d have his fingers chopped off.” Abeni snarked as he stumbled away. I let out a laugh, shaking my head in amazement.

It seemed like this Kingdom had something Mahsul could take note of: a familial bond between each other regardless of status. There was always such a harsh line drawn between the Nobles of my homeland towards those without. Namir tried his hardest to prevent it from happening—his marriage to Al’Haya was a statement in and of itself—but the Nobles were their own beast. I sighed, watching as Itunu made a fool of himself while he danced with children and adults to the now staccato rhythm of windpipes and drums. Maybe a few more generations, and Mahsul would be in a similar state.

————

The fourth day in Zarvan was when I finally came across a vein of books I was looking for. Personal diaries, some of which without names, that described plans to take kingdoms down. Mentions of contracts and deals; descriptions of a man whose eyes were red as fresh blood. I felt my heart beat grow faster as I thumbed the pages of a diary written in Old Zarvanian, trying to find a name anywhere. As I scanned the papers, I only saw names whose popularity had died. Then—I found one of a completely different origin: Bròn.

I kept the page open, and moved to the next diary. Ten minutes into scanning the pages and I found the name again. This time, the diary had been written in Strolgian. Another diary: Jagan. Kital. Gorlach. Diaries I couldn’t even translate sat upon shelves in the back of the library, so dusty I was almost amazed that the pages hadn’t dry rotted. Each diary contained the same two names, at least the ones written in languages similar to the living languages spoken to this day. After a few hours, my lungs could hardly stand the stifling air from the wing I sat in. A break. I needed a break.

The fresh air at the entry of the grotto burned my lungs as I coughed. I had to sit down beside the pond as guards stared at me, eyeing the reflection of my disheveled appearance. I hadn’t managed to shave in days, and my hair was a mess. The circles beneath my eyes proved how comfortable the bed back at the inn was. A deep sigh escaped my lips as I rubbed my face, my head heavy with frustration. Bròn. The name was what the Child of Calamity used when making deals with mortals, binding them with contracts according to the books I’d read in my younger years. If I could just find those contracts…

“Still haven’t found it?” A familiar voice rang from before me.

I uncovered my face, looking at Itunu as he stood at the other end of the pond. The midday light set his skin aglow, the fine white silk a contrast to his dark complexion. If I could illustrate the man before me, people would think him to be an angel. I grumbled a bit as I shook my head, looking up at the hole in the roof of the grotto and into the sky.

“Have you found anything that could help you?” He asked further.

“I think so…but they’re just diaries with names tied to them…” I said breathily. “I can’t translate some of them—the languages are dead, and no one in Mahsul speaks Frins.”

“I speak Frins.” Itunu replied.

“Would it really help, when I have books in Old Otlank regurgitating the same vengeful bullshit?”

“Perhaps not.”

I brought my head to my hands again, rubbing furiously. “If I could just find proof of his existence besides some old bats’ diaries, I’d be able to get somewhere…I need to find the newest one first…”

“Let me help you, then.”

I withdrew my hands from my face, eyeing Itunu with caution. “You’d do that?” I asked.

Itunu nodded, bringing his hands behind his back and clasping them as he walked around the pond to my side.

“It’s not like I have anything better to do.” He smiled.

————

Itunu and I spent a week sorting through that wing of the library, taking down and putting back a maddening amount of books and diaries. It wouldn’t be until we made it to the second-to-last book case that we found a musty box, filled with cobwebs. We had to take our scarves off to cover our mouths and noses as we brought the box out, and once I began emptying its contents Itunu let out a shrill scream. I almost thought he’d found photos of a dead body, but when I looked over at him—he was on the other side of the room. A small house spider sat on the table where he was standing previously, and I let out a bray of laughter.

“You’re scared of spiders?” I asked as I made the spider crawl up onto my hand. I took a step towards him, and he nearly fell into the book case behind us.

“Get it away! You never know with those things!” He pleaded. I grinned wider, placing the spider down on a shelf a few feet away.

“I never would have expected a man of your size to be scared of such small bugs…” I replied.

“You tell no one of this.” He demanded, looking at me with the most serious expression I’d seen on him yet.

————

The box contained the proof I’d so desperately been in search of: actual contracts, with names lining up to those in the diaries I’d read. When I looked at Itunu, his eyes were lit with amazement as his hands traced the calligraphy on the contracts.

“I had no idea we’d managed to snag these…” he murmured.

I almost couldn’t believe my own eyes, but Itunu picked the contracts up and went right to work. He studied them each with an attentiveness akin to a master-historian, sorting them by the oldest at the far end of the table and newest up by me at the other end. The most recent contract was written in modern Otlank, though maybe 60 years old. We locked eyes when we read the name fully: Ja’Huysuz Adam. Tavuk’s grandfather, and Late King of Otlak.

“He killed his main advisor?” I asked, reading the terms of the contract.

“And kept his riches for himself, it seems.” Itunu replied as he read over my shoulder.

“How will we know where this contract was made?” Itunu asked. “This lets us know the thing exists, but what of his whereabouts?”

“I could think of a couple of places he might be, if the most recent contract was created in Otlak.” I replied.

————

That night, I went to a tavern with both Itunu and Abeni. Abeni, bless her soul, looked at me with the most pitiful expression when I told her I was leaving the following morning. They tried to convince me to send an emissary to investigate the possible whereabouts of Bròn, but I was far too invested at that point. I wanted to lay eyes upon the entity, myself. That cave I’d ventured into just a few years ago was right outside of Shahin’s property, and the idea of sending someone else to scope the place out felt wrong. If he existed, and lived within that cave—I’d have Hala’s whereabouts known in minutes. My plan was simple, and I was nothing but overly-confident that I could execute it flawlessly if I had the right men.

Itunu looked at Abeni, then to me before grimacing. “I’m going to get some fresh air.” He said, standing from the table and walking out.

“You’re his first friend, you know that?” Abeni said with a sharp tone. “He’s concerned about you, and if you lose your life to something we don’t even understand…”

“I’ll be fine, Abeni. I’ve never been wrong.” I tried to convince her with a playful smile, but she looked at me with a solemn expression.

“All of this for a girl who could be living it up in the lap of luxury?” She asked.

My eyes narrowed, and I leaned my elbows onto the table. “I’ve never been wrong.” I repeated.

Her eyes softened, and her shoulders slumped as she returned my gaze with a pained expression. “If she’s alive, you’ll let us know, right?”

I nodded my head, and she sighed.

“I won’t lie, I was hoping you’d stay longer.” She finally said after a long silence. I raised an eyebrow, intrigued by her statement. “I was growing rather fond of you.”

“Oh?” I asked, smiling back at her. “Was there something you liked?”

“You’re a man of virtue, Abyad. The men in Mahsul are highly revered, and you’ve shown me why.” Abeni explained. “If you ever need anything, don’t hesitate to reach out. My Father is looped in on what’s happened to Al’Hala, and plans to send nobles to Shahin’s next gathering to find intel.”

I couldn’t stop my jaw from going slack, surprised by the notion. I quickly hardened my expression and nodded.

“Thank you…if Zarvan ever requires aid of any form, Mahsul is more than happy to help.” I replied, looking down at the table. Abeni’s hand touched mine, and we met eyes once more. I could tell she was a truly kind woman in that moment as she smiled softly at me.