Da’iqta ran through her checklist one last time, her hand drifting toward her belly as she felt the faintest flutter within. The slight bulge was quickly growing, and she knew she could not hide it for much longer. The repercussions...well, she wouldn't be the first or the last in the royal house to bear a bastard. Hell, she knew her brother probably already had one of his own running around somewhere, but expectations for her were different. She had been elevated to the status of princess, and was expected to act like one. No, there would be no hiding her condition soon, but Da'iqta had no intention of sticking around to face the music.
She picked up the letter she had written to her brother. It was everything she had wanted to say to him. Every word was perfectly crafted, the simple truth she had been dying to tell him spilled out on a few pages. Then she ripped it up and tossed it into the smoldering fire. The flames sparked to life, the edges curling as the fire ate the proffered sacrifice. She watched in silence, a few tears spilling past their dams to trickle down her face. She wanted to tell him, but she couldn’t. If he knew, he’d try to stop her, and then? Her resolve hardened. As much as she loved her brother, she couldn’t face living in this gilded cage any longer.
Standing up, she thumbed through her wardrobe until she found something that cloaked the telltale bump, and headed out the door. Morning exercises at the temple would start soon, and she couldn’t afford to be seen missing them.
The sweat was running down her back like mountain streams by the time the instructor finally called for them to halt. The heat had never really bothered her before, but the pregnancy was definitely messing with her systems. She wanted nothing more than to collapse in the soft sands of the courtyard, but she forced herself to remain standing, as she waited for her friend.
After a few moments of idle chatter, the older woman approached. A faint tinge of gray peppered her friend’s lilac hair, but she carried her age gracefully, her face as of yet utterly untouched by the ravages of time.
Da’iqta grasped her friend’s hand anxiously, for the moment not caring what others might think. “Did you get it?” she asked breathlessly. “Tell me you got it, Hayil.”
Hayil laughed, pushing her friend’s hand away. “Relax, princess. Everything has been arranged.”
Relief flooded through her. “Thank you, Hayil.”
Her friend scoffed. “It was nothing,” but Da’iqta persisted. “No, really. I couldn’t have done this without you.”
For a second, doubt flashed through Hayil’s lavender eyes. “I hope I’m doing the right thing.” Her eyes drifted down to Da’iqta’s belly and, despite the fact that her friend already knew the truth, she reflexively sucked in.
A slightly sad smile crossed the woman’s face. “But I’ve been where you are; I couldn’t stand by and not at least try to help. So, as I said, it was nothing.”
She patted Da’iqta’s hand again, subtly slipping a small locket into her fingers. “Just activate at the appropriate time, and everything else will be handled.”
Sliding the locket into her pocket, Da’iqta headed back out of the temple. She cast a longing look at the bubbling hot springs, her aching muscles begging her for a relaxing soak, but it was out of the question. There would be no hiding her condition there.
It was a long, anxious wait until the Divine Warrior had returned to his slumber, leaving the Celestial Queen to take her throne in the heavens. As the time approached, she finally bound the slender, silver locket around her neck, feeling it gently burning against her skin. She hastened to combine the ingredients for the ritual. In a cauldron over a fire, powdered bauxite and iron were mixed with salt and blood before the more exotic ingredients were added. Da’iqta cringed a bit as she watched several years' worth of her allowance disappear into the slightly bubbling mixture, but she pressed on, pouring every drop of her essence into the potion.
The ritual was torture. Da’iqta had always had an enormous essence pool, rarely even getting close to running low when in combat, but this blessing only magnified the horrendously splitting headache that cracked her skull open as her essence bottomed out. She pushed through the pain, though, driven by necessity. When the last drop of her essence was forced into the potion, she swayed, propping herself against the cauldron as she struggled to stand on her feet. She felt the baby kick within her and placed a protective hand on her belly. “Don’t worry, s̆errī. They promised me this wouldn’t hurt you,” she murmured as she stared at the still-unchanged potion with a touch of worry. Did I do something wrong? Her doubts were assuaged a moment later as the reaction kicked in.
The reddish concoction darkened as the boiling rapidly increased. Then, in a wave erupting from the center, the concoction turned a deep, rich blue that reminded her of the halls of As̆rukkat. Dipping a goblet into the water, she muttered one final prayer to Shamsha before she drank. As the liquid graced her lips, Da'iqta was surprised at how sweet it tasted, the elixir so pleasant that it could have fetched a high price in the market.
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But a second later, the sweet liquor was replaced with an odious, noxious taste. She gagged as she choked it down her throat, dry heaving as her body tried to reject the potion, but she managed to hold it in, even forcing herself to swallow the vomit that flooded her mouth again and again. The next hour was an exercise in agony. One cup of the mixture was not enough - she had to drink the entire cauldron, every last drop of the foul potion. By the time she was finished, her still relatively flat stomach was swollen and distended and she felt sick to her very core.
But as she looked in the mirror, she could see the concoction was working its magic. Already her skin was a shade lighter, her horns a touch smaller, her thick musculature a tad softer. She dragged herself up the stairs to her roof and somehow, fell asleep beneath Selene’s watchful gaze.
The next morning she woke up a different person. The warlike princess, whose pale, milky skin, golden hair, and stately horns had filled the dreams of many a prospective suitor, had been replaced by a small, raven-haired human. No longer contained by her abs of steel, her belly had popped, far beyond the state in which it could be hidden. But there was no need to hide now.
Her lip quivered as she stared at herself in the mirror. The princess was gone - she was gone. Even her beloved brother wouldn’t recognize her now. She felt a stirring in her chest as the gis̆ātu sapling she had bonded with struggled against the potions constraint, and guilt flooded her heart. I am sorry, my friend, but this is for the best. Once we are safely there, I will figure out how to release you. The sapling ceased its struggles at her reassuring words, but she could sense its unhappiness through their bond.
The locket around her neck heated up again, and she gathered her things. Her stuff had already been packed. Most of her clothes had to be left behind - where she was going, they would be utterly unusable anyways - but she had been quietly selling her belongings since she’d discovered her predicament. Between that and her usual allowance, she would have plenty to sustain herself on the other side.
Hayil’s connections had come through for her. She slipped through the still silent streets of the city as the sun just begin to peak its crown above the distant mountains, finding the carriage waiting patiently near the docks. By the time the sun had finished its ascent into the heavens, Da’iqta was already far away from Mahāzīnu.
The trip was exceedingly unpleasant. Her new human body forced her to remain hidden in the carriage and, worse, was far more susceptible to the pangs of pregnancy. But after a few weeks, they arrived.
The clans deep within the mountains never paid more than lip service to the king’s rule, a source of much aggravation to her family. But their autonomy was to her benefit now. Nestled deep below the city of Katmû, one of the clans guarded a lost ruin of the Mwyrani or some other ancient race, a true portal.
As she stepped out of the carriage, Abdiel was already there, waiting for her. She blushed as he swept her into his arms, embarrassed by the public display of affection. “How do I look?” Dai’qta forced herself to speak with a levity she didn’t feel, afraid of what he might say. She knew she looked nothing like the Djinn beauty she had been.
But all her worries fled as Abdiel flashed her a radiant smile, pulling her tight against him. “You’ve never looked more beautiful, my love,” he whispered, and though she knew it wasn’t true, she melted against him.
“Are you sure you can’t come?”
Abdiel shook his head. “The king himself gave me an order. If I flee, my entire clan will face punishment.” He ran his fingers through her now brunette hair gently. “I am sorry. When the command is finished, I can try to join you…”
Fighting back the tears, Da’iqta shook her head. “No, don’t. They say time flows differently through the portal. If you can’t come with me now, there’s no point.” He hugged her tighter and, this time, she could not choke back the tears from her treacherous eyes.
How long they stood there, she didn’t know, but traveling through the portal was not an easy endeavor, and the magic waited for no one. Far too soon, she felt a tap on her shoulder.
“My lady, it is time to go. We cannot hold it open any longer.”Dragging herself out of his arms, she followed the clan mage over to the glowing doorway. Already the runes around the edges had dimmed, the lights flickering ever so slightly. She hesitated on the threshold, then turned around. Grabbing something out of her bag, she tossed it at Abdiel.
Startled, her lover still caught it easily, looking at the leather-bound book with surprise. “What is this?”
“It’s my journal. Just…” she struggled to speak through her tears, “just put it back in my study; maybe my brother will find it one day. Maybe, if he wants to follow me…” She trailed off, knowing it was a pipedream. Her older brother, fiercely as he loved her, was a slave to duty. He would never disobey the king, not even for her.
Silence stretched between them as, squaring, her shoulders she stepped through the portal to her new home, a planet near the old Mwyrani colony of 'Adammūni. She wrinkled her nose, trying to member the name her briefing had taught her. What do the locals call it again? After a moment, it came to her. That’s right, earth.
The glowing liquid washed over her, flooding every opening with a smooth, soothing warmth as she left the shackles of her former life behind, the endless expectations of her royal status exchanged for the freedom of a brave, new world.
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Jasper let the diary fall back on the rickety old desk. A small cloud of dust erupted as it landed, billowing into the air, but he barely noticed it. “Wow” was all he had to say.
“Did it answer your questions?” Ihra asked, placing her hand on his back.
His brow furrowed as he shook his head. “For every question it answered, it simply raised a new one. I have an older brother and…” his voice choked “I had a sister. So, I can’t possibly have been the child in the diary. And as for my mother," he hesitated, "Honestly, I can’t remember a single thing about her that would make me think that she was anything other than a normal human. I know this journal mentions some kind of potion, but it's pretty hard to believe.” He shook his head again. “Assuming this is true, I really only see two logical possibilities. Either I am not the child in the diary, but my older brother was, or,” he hesitated, not wanting to acknowledge the possibility, “I was adopted. And it's not clear at all if this Abdiel is actually my father or the father of some half-sibling of mine.”