[quote=@persianversion]
It had been some time since she’d heard her former name, and Najla had not expected that the sound would anger her this greatly. Ketill would see this anger when he spoke, though it was present in nothing but her expression, and would vanish instantly once the pair left him. She was not given any longer to be angry about his defiance, his refusal to use her true name, for it was nearly impossible to feel anger towards a man as his back was being split open.

Yet she would not show him pity either. Instead, Najla looked upon Ketill with a fascination that nearly bordered on awe. She had only ever seen a few lashings quite this silent, and those had always been light and brief, quick punishments for disobedient slaves. This was neither light nor brief, and yet Ketill focused his gaze upon her as if he could not feel the crack of the whip. Najla would return his gaze, her hand still grasping her brothers, though she was thinking only of the words he had spoken before.

His mention of the Gods would not occupy her thoughts for long. She had only ever known Ketill as a devout man, and in her time traveling with him, she had never heard anything to dispute it. It must have been a slip of the tongue, surely this was expected seeing as his Broacienian was starting to fall out of use. The mention of his God’s anger had interested her, but even in her time in Broacien, Najla had not learned enough of the Monarchist religion to know if their God would truly be angry. Not even the ravens had interested her for long, regardless of how odd their presence was. 

It was the use of her name that had interested her, the way Ketill had made it obvious he was beyond her control. At least, that’s what Najla had assumed he meant. She did not know of the omens he mentioned, all she saw was a slave that she could not command. She could punish him, rip his tongue out as she had promised to do if he spoke the name Saina again, but it would not stop him from thinking it. She had no use for a slave like that, especially not one that wished to ‘set greater things in motion’, a notion that Najla could only see as a threat. It couldn’t be anything else.

Thus, even though Ketill’s gaze would move over the crowd of spectators, Najla settled her eyes on him. She knew that if she could just feed his motivations, she’d have an asset beyond compare, a Servant loyal to a Sultana. She had never been able to feed these motivations as Saina, and it frustrated her to consider that even now, as a Sultana, she still had nothing to bargain with. Who could bargain with a beast? Without his loyalty, he remained something between a nuisance and a threat, and yet, Najla watched him with this same fascination. 

She would not tear her eyes off of him until Osman approached the platform. He bowed his head towards her, but would not say a word as he reached out to take Elif’s hand, leading her away from the horror she had been forced to witness. Though Najla could see that he was unhappy, she gave little care as to her betrothed’s emotions now. She had warned him of the beast Ketill was, Osman had been the one to prove it twice now. As she nudged Basim, motioning for him to hurry and escort her away from the scene, Najla could only hope that her lover would not seek to prove it again.

[hr]

Najla would not come for Ketill for some time. Perhaps it was best for him that way, as it would allow him more time to heal from his wounds, but this had not been her intention. In fact, Najla had no intention. She had no plan for Ketill, no clue as to what to do with her slave. His worth as a trophy did not outweigh his risk as a threat, and yet, Najla hesitated to kill him. Perhaps it was political, or perhaps it was a weight in her conscious that kept her from ridding herself of him for good, but Najla simply assumed it was the former and went on about her life. Punishing Ketill had been a mere diversion from her day to day business, and so she would allow him to recover while she returned to it.

She had brought this business to her cousin Zahira, the daughter of another of the Sultan’s older brothers, a clever girl only a few years older than Najla. They shared similar features, such as the long dark hair and honey-colored eyes, but Zahira’s skin was a few shades lighter than Najla’s. Beyond that, the girl had a thin black tattoo, a simple line that led from the center of her bottom lip down her chin. It was a symbol of a married woman from the tribe she had married into, and Najla had been with her when she received it, wincing as the women pricked her cousin’s skin with needles and rubbed soot into it. Najla would likely mark herself as well, for Osman’s tribe participated in a similar custom. However, she was grateful that the women of Osman’s tribe did not do so on the sensitive skin of their face.

They had brought their talk to the hammam, which would seem a strange place to bring such discussions to, considering it was hardly a private place to talk. It was a rare sight to see the bathhouse empty, for there were usually naked noblewomen and royals lounging in the pools, or scurrying across the tiles, all while clothed slaves tended to their every need. The smell of scented oils and soap, cultivated from the oils of various desert plants, filled every inch of the bathhouse. Najla was always amazed that the slaves were not perpetually dizzy, but they had never failed in tending to her needs. Najla chatted aimlessly with her cousin as a slave scrubbed her down, clearly used to the process and the luxuries involved, though she would dismiss the girl as the conversation turned.

Most of the secrets of the Sultanate could be heard in this bathhouse, Najla was sure of it, but they would be hard to distinguish from each other. The slaves that tended to these women were well taken care of by the spymasters of the palace, for gossip flitted around nearly every corner of the bathhouse. Some of it echoed loudly throughout the hammam, while the rest was whispered in the corners of the luxurious pools, unheard by any that were not meant to hear. 

This was where Najla lounged with her cousin, the shallow waters of the pool ebbing around their waists, though none seemed to care how much was exposed. Though her cousin was still as she spoke, resting her head back against the tiles of the wall, Najla kicked her feet lazily through the water, her eyes always shifting towards any woman that walked too close.

[i]<“You trust me then? You have heard the rumors as well? He attacked the village, this is not spoken out of greed, dear cousin.”>

<“I never assumed it was.”> 

<“Your betrothed does.”>[/i]

Najla would not argue with her cousin on that. Zahira’s husband was of the Al-Uba’yd clan, a second son to his aging father. The first son was a man named Thamud ibn Khaldun Al-Uba’yd, a skilled warrior and a charismatic man, who had been slowly taking over his father’s duties as the man aged. There were no doubts as to his abilities to lead, and so this transfer of power would not have been an issue, until whispers of recent events began to find their way to Najla. She trusted these whispers, even if Osman did not.

[i]<“It doesn’t matter what Osman believes. I’ve confirmed the reports that he allowed his men to conduct a raid on the Banu Dunya village, it is as you say. His men stole nearly two dozen horses. He broke their pact in the night, like a coward.”>

<“Not his pact. His father’s. He does not want to be as his father was.”>

<“A pity. His father was a loyal man.”>[/i]

Zahira had opened her mouth to reply, but at that moment, a pair of laughing noblewomen darted past them. As they waited for them to pass, Najla submerged her head under the water, rising only to brush the hair out of her face. While Zahira spoke, Najla would continue to swim around her as if she was playing in the pools with Mehmet, though their talk was far more serious. 

[i]<“Then you understand why I tell you there is no sense in renegotiating their pact for them. Thamud will only break it again. He’ll probably take a Sultana, give back the horses, and keep quiet for a year or two, but not forever.”>

<“He’s not being offered a Sultana. He’s not being offered anything. I don’t want to bribe a coward into keeping his promises.”>[/i]

[i]<“He’s not going to give the spoils back, not without something better. And the Banu Dunya people will not agree to a pact unless he does.”[/i]

[i]<“Fuck.”>[/i] Najla cursed, halting in her relentless swimming. Regardless of a horse’s value to her people, their pride would always matter more. [i]<“These tribesmen and their egos, they are always such a pain.”>[/i]

The pair were silent for a moment, and Najla sat beside her cousin, leaning her head against the tiles as she thought through the matter. It was not long before they’d inform the Sultan of the events that had transpired, and Najla would have to present a solution alongside it. It would be easiest to arrange a marriage, but it would only make the situation more difficult when it arose again. Zahira had suggested an alternative, to eliminate Thamud entirely. Osman had viewed the suggestion with suspicion, but Najla saw little issue with allowing Zahira’s husband, or more truthfully, Zahira herself, to lead the Al-Uba’yd clan. 

[i]<“We will have to go renegotiate nonetheless. If Thamud will not give back their damned horses, someone else will. I’ll make sure Osman sees it similarly.”>[/i] Najla sat up as she spoke, motioning a slave to come. Though her intention was spoken ambiguously, it seemed she did not need to say more. Zahira knew what she meant. If Thamud was not persuaded by the Sultan’s power, they’d have to put in someone who was.

Zahira smiled as Najla spoke to the slave girl, quickly requesting some scented oils for her hair. As the girl fetched them quickly, Zahira continued to speak, no longer worried about who could hear.

[i]<“Then you are bringing the Servant with you?”>[/i] It was a seemingly innocent question, but they had spoken on the possibilities at length already. Ketill would instill some awe of the Sultan’s power, surely, but it seemed Najla had greater intentions for him.

[i]<“Yes, let Thamud see how far the Sultan’s power truly reaches. Besides, if Ketill wants to slit Sawarim throats so badly, I suppose it should be to my benefit.”>[/i] The slave girl returned now, and Najla allowed her to comb through her wet hair softly, closing her eyes as she continued to speak. [i]<“Perhaps I should leave him in the desert afterwards, just as Osman suggested years ago, to let God decide his fate.”>

<“If you do that, the harem will decide yours.”>[/i]

Najla let out a soft laugh at that, opening her eyes to see her cousins grin. [i]<“If they wanted him so badly, they should have tried harder at the party, don’t you think? Especially for the price Osman put on him”>

<“Why should they try? It takes no effort to seduce a man, only a cunt.”>[/i]

Najla smiled widely at that, though she closed her eyes once more, allowing the slave girl to comb the oils through her hair carefully. [i]<“Ketill is no man. If he was, perhaps they wouldn’t want him.”>[/i]

[i]<“A bear still fucks, no?”>[/i]

She let out another laugh, splashing her cousin softly at that. [i]<“Ya Sawarim, you have been in the desert too long. You’re starting to sound like a tribesman.”>[/i]

[hr]

Najla would not come see Ketill. Not to see if he’d healed, not to yell at him for speaking to Basim, not even to inform him of her intentions for him. Likely, he would not be surprised by her actions, for as a Sultana, Najla had only acted as if she were indifferent towards him. 

Indeed, Najla was not entirely indifferent. She had argued with Osman for some time after the lashing, for he was still angry at the lack of impact it seemed to have had, and Najla had to be the one to convince him he could do no more. Even Elif had come to speak to her in private, worried about what would happen if the Servant was allowed to remain. Najla had a suspicion that Osman had sent her, but she could not prove it. Instead, she merely fed the girl a few glasses of wine and sent her back to her husband with the same answer she’d given him before. Ketill would endure no more punishment for his violence, and Osman would not provoke him into causing more.

Whatever kindness she had done Ketill in keeping her husband away from him, Najla would not do more. She had not kept Osman away as a kindness to Ketill, though she believed he had already suffered enough. She had done so for the sake of her husband, her proud foolish husband, who seemed eager to take another beating from a slave. It had taken Najla some time to convince Osman that this was truly the case. The notion that he’d gotten a beggar’s leftovers had nestled into his mind, Najla could tell from every word he spat regarding the Servant. He had eased some when Najla told him of her intentions for the Servant, likely hoping there was a chance that Ketill would not return. Najla held no such hope, but she would not shatter that of her husbands.

Ketill would be brought to Najla once the healer deemed he was well enough to fight. It would seem that Najla did not trust him enough to bring him to her chambers again, for Ketill would instead be brought out into the sun once more. He was led past the guard’s barracks, into a small arena clearly designed for training, already populated with guards and recruits despite the early hour. Their eyes followed him as he was led past these men, making sure not to bring Ketill close to any weapons, though it would be pointless soon. The man who greeted him would be a familiar face, and though it would likely not be from a pleasant memory, it did not seem like Harith knew that, for he greeted him quickly with a nod and a grin.

[i]<“I’ve never been excited to see a Servant fight.”>[/i]

These words were clearly not directed to Ketill or the guards, but to the man standing beside him. This one would not be a familiar face to Ketill, yet another cousin that had found his place in the Sultan’s royal army. While this cousin stood straight, his hand resting on the hilt of his curved sword lazily, Harith was leaning against the wall. He was a man who held little interest in the appearances they were meant to keep, for his status and reputation had long since insulated him from any criticisms it would bring. It was reflected in far more than his posture, for he studied Ketill with a smile, pushing himself off the wall as his cousin spoke.

[i]<“Won’t be much of a fight. Look at the group that they gathered.”>[/i]

This was the first time Harith would take his eyes off Ketill, only to rest them on a small group of men, lined up in wait. They were all dressed in the uniforms of the guards, but they were all new recruits, eager for the chance to fight a Servant. The sight of them caused Harith to let out a soft laugh, and he glanced back up at Ketill before walking back to his cousin.

[i]<“They gathered themselves. Apparently, killing a few raiders makes you capable of fighting a Servant. Stupid on their part, but Najla wanted it this way.”>[/i]

Najla had not asked for new recruits, or volunteers, or any particular sort of man for Ketill to begin fighting again. She had used merely one word: dispensable. It seemed they had managed to fit her expectations. 

[i]<“Where is she? Why ask to meet at an hour she’s not even going to be awake for?”>[/i]

As if on cue, the sound of a child’s voice pulled Harith’s attention to someone approaching from the side. Flanked by two guards, Najla walked towards the pair, still dressed as finely as always, though a thin blue fabric was draped elegantly over her head and body, blocking out the dust and heat of the sun. She carried a child on her hip, a boy with skin even darker than the aunt who carried him, and a voice that did not seem to stop. Najla was smiling widely at his words, responding to his curious statements even as they approached her brother, at which point the child would suddenly be distracted once more. 

[i]<“Baba!”>[/i] Najla set Mehmet down at his cry, allowing him to run off towards his father. Harith bent down and scooped up his son with ease, kissing his head before he turned to his sister. Najla kissed her brother on the cheek in greeting, and moved to do the same to her cousin even as Harith spoke.

[i]<“I said he could come so long as he didn’t come down here.”>

<“He’s fearless. He slipped away again, the poor girl thought she was done for.”>[/i] By ‘girl’, it was obvious to Harith who Najla meant. Mehmet was a common cause for grief among the slaves that were meant to watch him, as he was eager and capable of dodging every slave that meant to keep him still. The girl that had let Mehmet slip this time had been on the verge of tears when she came to find Najla already holding her charge, but Najla had dismissed her without punishment. It was Mehmet’s fault after all, not hers.

[i]<“She could not withstand the will of a five year old?”>

<“Not your son’s, no.”>

<“Basim is not coming?”>[/i]

At the mention of Basim, Najla finally turned towards Ketill. Though he would not understand most of the words that had been said, surely he would understand this name. Thus, Najla’s first real look at Ketill since the lashing was done with angered eyes, and she quickly switched to Broacienian to answer. It was unclear whether she had done so for Ketill’s sake or so that the guards would not hear, but regardless, she kept her words simple for her brother to understand.

[i]“No. Basim will not come.”[/i]

Najla had been furious at her brother when she found out. She had been furious at Ketill as well, but she could not have expected any differently from him. She had known that Ketill would not lie about the incident, but Najla had not expected that her brother would go chasing after the truth. She had been so angry that Basim had never had a chance to ask how she found out, for Najla had made him field question after question, pulling every bit of the conversation from her brother in a difficult, and rather loud, conversation. When it was all over, Najla had confessed most of the truth to her brother, and had warned him to stay away from Ketill. Thus, while Basim had been eager to see him fight, Najla had enforced this warning for her teenage brother, though not for the child she had brought on her hip.

[i]<“Pity. It might have done him some good to see a Servant fight.”>[/i] Even as Harith spoke, Mehmet reached a curious hand out towards Ketill. He had seen the marks on his forehead it seemed, and stretched his arm out towards the man who bore them, as if expecting to be allowed to touch them. Seeing this, Harith quickly pulled his son’s arm down. [i]<“Ya Sawarim, you’ve got bigger balls than half this lot.”>[/i]

[i]<“Why did he draw those?”>[/i] The child’s question went ignored for now, and Harith would only nod at Ketill before moving to walk past him. It seemed that while Najla was much more indifferent towards Ketill besides when she had a use for him, Harith had a far greater respect for his sister’s slave. Though Mehmet would continue to ask questions, clearly intrigued by this new figure, Harith was not quite as eager to introduce his son to Servants quite yet. Surely, he would have a lifetime to get to know these men, just as Harith had. Her cousin followed her brother, and the pair left Najla alone to explain this curious new situation to her slave.

[i]“I didn’t bring you out here to punish you again, even if you’ve given me plenty of reason. You’ve suffered enough.”[/i] 

As always, there was little remorse in her voice. It was simply a statement, which would do little to express her true feelings on the matter. Osman should not have called him in or taunted him, and the lashing had been far more severe than what she’d wanted, even if Ketill himself did not agree. Yet she would never speak these words or show remorse for her actions. In every word, even those spoken to Ketill, Najla had played the part of the dutiful wife-to-be, angered and worried by her husband’s wounds.

[i]“But if you are truly so insistent on killing my betrothed, I don’t see any reason to keep you here. It’s not as if I need you to cut weeds forever. I need a soldier, but only a fool would put a weapon in your hands now.”[/i]

At that, Najla let out a soft sigh, reaching up to smooth her hair under the fabric that covered it from the sun. It was a motion born out of unease, an acknowledgement that she was the very fool she had just chastised in her words.

[i]“I’ve never met a man like you.”[/i] At this admission, she frowned slightly, pausing just long enough to study Ketill’s expression. [i]“You never wanted anything from me. You still don’t, not even now. I could offer you the world, but all you want is blood. Perhaps they were right to call you Daab.”[/i]

She paused again here, though her gaze flicked behind Ketill to where her brother was waiting. It seemed he had found someone to pass his son off to, and was waiting restlessly for his sister. Seeing this, she turned her gaze to Ketill once more, finally explaining her purpose in bringing him here.

[i]“If you want blood, you can have it. Not here, mind you. We will be traveling soon, to the Al-Uba’yd people, to reassure them of the Sultan’s power. I’m sure you still remember how to take a tribesman’s head off, don’t you?”[/i] She smiled slightly at that, though there was no trace of humor in her eyes. [i]“You’ll have some time to train before we go. Until then, no other task will be asked of you, and your every desire will be met. If you can ever imagine wanting something, of course.” [/i]

With that, Najla simply lifted the hem of her skirts out of the sand. She would not wait around to hear Ketill’s opinion on the matter. She knew he wanted her blood, Osman’s blood, more than he’d ever want the head of a tribesman, but it would have to sate him. He would have to fight regardless, and if he lived, she would find some use in his presence. If not, she’d likely be grateful for his absence. Najla and her guards moved past Ketill and out of the training area altogether, though she would reappear soon in the wooden platforms a floor above. There, she was joined by Zahira and Adina, who was now holding her restless son to watch the guards below.

As soon as Najla would leave however, Harith would approach Ketill, motioning the guards to bring him over in front of the line of guards. Though the men looked at Ketill angrily, Harith had only a smile on his face as he ordered one of the guards to fetch the Servant a weapon, before turning to Ketill. He spoke slowly, with a heavy accent, for Harith had only ever made efforts to learn Broacienian at the end of a sword.

[i]“This will be easy. Do not kill them.”[/i]

He turned then, looking over the line of men once before motioning forward one that was looking at Ketill with an intense anger, though he would look little different than the rest. 

[i]<“You want to fight a Servant, come on. Now’s probably the only chance you’ll ever have.”>[/i] As the man bowed his head and walked forward, Harith nodded at Ketill and stepped back. He was nearly as restless as his son watching from above, likely knowing that this was not going to be much of a competition. Najla could tell even as she looked down onto her brother that he would want to jump in soon, not to fight out of hatred as the others did, but simply to test his skills against a Servant once more. She had asked him not to, and Harith had obliged, though she knew this promise would only last until he felt the Servant needed a real challenge.

[/quote]