The king's voice was quiet, lacking the thunder that had dispersed the guards, but there was no hiding the power that thrummed through every syllable.

S̆arrābī’s expression was stony, giving away no sign of the storm of emotions that raged within, as he shook his head.

“I know little and suspect much, my lord.”

The winged Djinn growled. “If you were wrong, you would have killed him. Then what would have become of my plans? You risked endangering the good of many for your own selfish desires.”

S̆arrābī remained stone-faced. “But I was not wrong, my lord, was I? And even if I was, if he really was a fraud, you could always have found another to play your part. Few have met him.”

Wait - what? Jasper had no idea what, exactly, they were talking about, but it didn’t take a genius to realize that he was probably the one who could have been killed. What the bloody hell did you do to me, S̆arrābī?

S̆arrābī's reply displeased his liege. The burning embers that were the king's eyes smoldered as he glowered down at his subordinate.

“There was more risk than you knew, as your suspicions are only partially correct. You could very well have killed the lad.”

S̆arrābī paled, the defiance in his stare finally dropping away as he bowed his head. “I am sorry, my lord. I-”

The king cut him off. “In the end, you have done him a boon, so I will overlook it. But let me make myself clear, S̆arrābī. There will be no further ‘misunderstandings’ of my orders.”

The Djinn nodded curtly, a sick look on his face as he glanced back at Jasper. “Yes, my lord.”

The king dismissed him, his piercing gaze turning now on Jasper. He trembled beneath the Djinn's gaze. An inexplicable feeling of sorrow swelled in his chest and his legs shook like a newborn foal struggling to stand for the first time. But he persevered, forcing himself to meet the king’s eyes.

The Djinn smiled, revealing rows of black, razor-sharp teeth. “Good, you have courage.” The king paced around Jasper like a hungry lion examining its prey. “Still rather weak, but the potential is there,” he continued. “And my, my - that skin. No one will doubt now that you are a royal. Nor should they,” he added, almost as an afterthought.

Confused, Jasper stole a glance at his hand and let out an audible gasp as he realized his tone had changed again. The pale red had deepened in color to match the almost wine-toned skin of S̆arrābī. Distracted by the unwelcome development, he was unprepared when the king reached out his hand and grabbed his shoulder. The king pushed him down, not unkindly, on his knees, and bending over, kissed the crown of his forehead. Despite Jasper’s fire immunity, the Djinn’s lips burned, leaving a stinging sensation even after the king had released him.

“Rise, Yas̆peh, rise a branch of the gis̆ātu. May your leaves blossom and your flowers bloom. May S̆ams̆a’s light succor the flame you bear within, and may your seeds spread far and wide.” The king spoke solemnly as he lifted Jasper to his feet.

“Now, go. Speak with S̆arrābī and do not forget to meditate on what you have learned,” the king admonished him, his tone brooking no opposition. Silently, the pair retreated from the throne room, but Jasper could feel the king’s gaze burning at his back until the monumental doors closed behind them.

He followed the Djinn blindly, the two winding through a series of halls and corridors and back out into the garden complex before they finally stopped at one of the manors that dotted the forest. S̆arrābī did not speak as he lead Jasper into his office, settling into his chair with a pensive look.

“I-" the Djinn begin, but Jasper could not hold in his anger any longer.

“What the hell? Did you try to kill me? Did you think I would just forget that?!” He exploded. His hand quaked as he raised it, still shaky from the vision he had experienced.

S̆arrābī froze at Jasper’s outburst, taken aback by his sudden daring, but he recovered quickly, the Djinn's lips curling into a scornful scowl. “I did what I had to, and I will not apologize for it. But no, I wasn’t trying to kill you. I was fairly confident you would live.”

Jasper scoffed. “Fairly confident? When it’s my life we’re talking about, fairly confident isn’t good enough. And last I checked, the king said you were wrong. What did you do to me? Was it the leaf?”

“It’s none of your business,” S̆arrābī snapped, glaring back at him.

Jasper met the Djinn’s eyes for a second as an unspoken battle of will raged between them. Then, abruptly Jasper stood up and headed for the door, leaving the Djinn to gape in shock. “Stop! Where do you think you going?”

He paused, glancing back at the lord. “I’m primarily working with you because I was afraid that if I didn’t cooperate I would be killed. But if you are going to kill me anyways, why should I waste my time helping you? Just get it over with, or let me leave in peace.”

“Fine,” the Djinn relented, speaking through gritted teeth. “Sit down, and I will tell you what little I know.”

Satisfied, though still fuming, Jasper took his seat.

Suffocating a sigh, the Djinn ran his fingers through his hair. “There’s not much to tell really. You remember, of course, the background I gave you?”

Jasper nodded. “Yes, I am supposed to be the bastard son of a Princess Da’iqta and a minor Seraph noble.”

Unauthorized reproduction: this story has been taken without approval. Report sightings.

“Da’iqta was my sister, and everything in the story is true, or at least, I believed it was true until quite recently. A few months ago, the king summoned me and told me of his plan to use you to leverage support for the empire. He also ordered me to use my sister’s background as your own. At the time, I believed it was nothing more than a convenient, if rather inconsiderate, ploy from the king.”

Jasper wrinkled his brow in confusion. “Do you mean you’ve now changed your opinion?”

The Djinn nodded. “Everything changed when I met you." He hesitated, his hands gripping the edge of his desk so tightly the wood threatened to splinter. "You are the spitting image of my little Da’iqta," he finally managed to say. "At first, I didn’t know what to believe. It was impossible - it had to be - but I couldn’t drive the doubts from my mind. So, I had the graves of my sister and her child exhumed, just to make sure that they were really in there, but the tombs were empty.”

“Oh.” Jasper wasn’t sure what to tell the Djinn, but the mere idea was absurd. “Well, I hope you find out the truth about your sister, but I can’t possibly be her child. I’m from another world. I’m not even really sure how I got here in the first place - maybe the Mwryani - but I’m not from here. I’m not really a Djinn.”

S̆arrābī smiled wryly. “I agreed with you, which was why I devised a little test. In our family, the difference between those acknowledged by the House and those left as bastards is whether or not they have partaken of the gis̆ātu tree. A sacred relic preserved from our homeland, the tree bonds with those of our blood.” He paused dramatically. “Everyone else, it kills.”

“The king told me to give you the leaf - he meant, of course, a fake leaf - but I decided to misunderstand his command and give you the real thing. I had to know that my suspicions were correct, and your survival has confirmed that, although,” the Djinn frowned, his brows darkening, “I do not understand the pain you spoke of. The ritual of the sacred boughs is supposed to provide the supplicant with an ecstatic vision of the fires of creations, but it is not meant to bring pain. I am at a loss to explain that.”

Jasper shook his head in denial. “That’s impossible. The system must have done it - I’m not from here.”

“No.” S̆arrābī spoke with quiet confidence as he contradicted Jasper. “The system only expresses what you are. It shapes the potential for what you could be, but every possibility is ultimately limited by you. It simply cannot make you what you aren’t. You would not have survived the gis̆ātu tree if you were not related in some way to our House and, given your striking resemblance to my sister, I can see no other reasonable explanation than to assume you are indeed my kin.”

Jasper was grasping at straws by now. “But didn’t the king say you were only partially correct?”

S̆arrābī nodded reluctantly. “Yes, that is true, and perhaps the cause of your pain, but it does not negate my conclusion. You are indeed connected to this house.”

Jasper started to speak, but S̆arrābī shook his head, cutting him off. “I’m sorry, but that is all I am going to say on the matter, for now at least. I will have one of the servants take you back to your manor. Be sure to meditate when you get there,” he warned him, “ and then will we speak again.”

Jasper was in a bit of a fog as he followed the servant back to his quarters. S̆arrābī’s claim was simply unbelievable. It must be some sort of con, he reassured himself, but doubt lingered in his heart. But what if it isn't?

Feeling a bit shaky, he didn’t go inside the manor immediately, flopping himself down on the carefully curated grass that surrounded the manor’s gardens, as he fought to compose himself. Despite having spent the last week there, he saw the slightly dilapidated manor through new eyes. Just two stories high, the rich dark wood of its walls was ornately carved and lacquered, and the gardens were carefully tended, even if some of the rooms showed their age. But none of that registered now.

It was his mother’s house - well, his supposed mother’s, he reminded himself. The connection had meant nothing to him before, but now…he simply didn’t know. With a sigh, he roused himself from the grass, brushing off the few errant blades that clung to his robe, and forced himself through the doors. Since both the king and S̆arrābī had commanded him to meditate, he suppose he couldn't put it off.

The instant he stepped through the door, Ihra pounced on him, eager to learn how his meeting with the king had gone. She sensed his mood almost immediately, though, the sparkling of her eyes turning to concern. “What happened? Did it go poorly?”

“I don’t know,” he responded dully. “It went fine, I guess, but…” He filled her in on the ritual in the throne room and its aftermath. “S̆arrābī is now pretending that I’m really related to him which…it’s impossible, right? He’s got to be just playing mind games with me, but why? I don’t know what to make of any of it.” Jasper sighed, forcing a smile as he met her eyes. “I guess I’m going to meditate. Maybe Kas̆dael will have the answers I’m looking for.”

It was quiet in the manor, save for the soft creaking of the old wooden stairs, as he headed up to his room. Ihra followed along, insisting on keeping watch this time, and he let her, knowing she was right. Sitting down on the plush scarlet rug, he crossed his legs and focused on his mantra.

I am the river; I flow around all things. I am the rock; all things flow around me.

The fear and confusion roiling within him were roadblocks to his meditation, stubbornly resisting all attempts at calm. He didn't fight it, knowing that such a struggle would do nothing but make matters. Instead, he focused on his breathing, letting the world rise and fall with the beating of his chest. And slowly, the fear melted away beneath the endless waters of the stream. As his breathing calmed, almost to a stop, he slipped peacefully into the void.

He came to in the temple, spinning around the room in a tight circle as he searched for Kas̆dael. Last time, after all, she had not been there, but this time, he was not left disappointed.

Though the goddess was not on her throne, she was perched on one of the many marble benches that lined the walls of the room. Kas̆dael was hunched over, her sheer black veil falling low across her face as she tossed her fable dice. They rolled far across the polished stone floor, one skidding to a halt at Jasper’s feet. He stared down at it, reading without comprehension the glowing rune that had landed face-up.

With a twitch of her fingers, Kas̆dael summoned the dice back to her, tossing them back across the floor as soon as they brushed her hands. He walked carefully around the dice, not wanting to risk even the slightest chance that he would bump into one. He had no idea if his shoes would protect him from them, but the mere memory of the pain he’d experienced when he picked one of her die up was strong enough to send a shiver down his spine.

The goddess didn’t look up until his shadow fell across her lap, casting and recasting the die with an urgency he hadn’t seen from her in some time.

“Kas̆dael?”

With a flicker of her fingers, the die scattered again. The gauzy black veil did little to hide the amused smirk on her lips as she glanced up at him. “Been having fun?” She asked sweetly.

Jasper squirmed uncomfortably. “What do you mean?”

“Didn’t you have something to ask me? For a certain sultry someone?” She teased.

Before he could respond, she waved him off with a laugh. “Don’t worry. I already fulfilled the lass’ request.” But her mood turned on a dime, sobering instantly. “But that is not why you are here, is it? So, tell me: which question shall you ask first?”