[quote=@persianversion]
The heat and dust did not filter up to where Najla stood now, for she sat in luxury as always. A few chairs had been brought out for them, though the only one who sat in them was Adina, holding a squirming Mehmet tightly on her lap. Najla and Zahira chose instead to stand, leaning against the edge of the balcony as they watched the men below. Najla was far more anxious than her cousin, her fingers toying relentlessly with the thin gold rings that always seemed to be on her wrists. Zahira stood as a sharp contrast to her nervousness, leaning over the balcony eagerly as if it would help her get a better glimpse.

[i]<“What are you so worried about? You’ve seen him fight before.”>[/i]

Najla finally stopped toying with her jewelry, looking up at her cousin with a raised brow. She did not need to say anything, for it seemed her cousin realized what she had said, giggling and turning her gaze back to the men below.

[i]<“At least you know he won’t die and embarrass you.”>

<“Yes, thank God that the Servant lives.”>[/i]

Najla’s sarcastic tone only caused her cousins smile to widen, though Najla had returned to fiddling with her bracelets, and therefore would not see it. Truthfully, Najla cared little for her pride in this moment. She only hoped that she had not made a mistake by giving Ketill the sword he’d asked for. His words had managed to nestle in her mind as they had in Osman’s before, and she found she could not shake them. Despite all the gold and silk that wrapped her body now, Najla found herself remembering what it was to be Saina, and she knew that Ketill was right.

She had always wanted more. Fear had prevented her from asking for it, but Najla had never been satisfied with what Ketill provided her. She could have taken Ghalid’s offer long before, and returned to her luxuries if she had wished, despite the price, but she had not wanted those luxuries. Najla had only ever wanted to be here. Her ‘world’ was comprised solely of those who shared her blood or name, it had always been. If Ketill truly intended to take her world, he would do well to start there. However, Najla did not know how much Ketill knew of her. Perhaps she was worrying too much, perhaps he thought her world was the wine and hash she ingested, or the gold and silk she donned. Najla hoped that was the truth, for he would have to tear down the Sultanate to take those away from her. In reality, her world could be taken with the swing of a blade, even if he did not want it.

It took a conscious effort to quit worrying as she looked down at Ketill once more. It made no sense to wonder about what mattered to her, that answer was easy. Najla could not understand what Ketill wanted. He had no wife or children to return to, no family that she knew of, so what was truly waiting for him outside the Sultanate? Did he wish to return to Coedwin that badly, to continue shedding Sawarim blood there? 

Freedom in itself was a goal worth pursuing, Najla knew, but it told her nothing of who this man was. She had wanted freedom as well, especially when she had been handed off to the Servant as if she were a horse. Even then, freedom had meant she’d return to her family, not that she’d be allowed to return to a lifelong quest to spill Sawarim blood. She would ask Harith later, or perhaps her father, both people who could understand the Servant far better than she ever would. She could prod at his motives forever, but so long as Najla didn’t understand the need for blood, she would never know what to offer him beyond that. She was abruptly shaken from her thoughts when Zahira reached out and grabbed her hand, exclaiming loudly. 

[i]<“They’re starting!”>[/i] 

Najla returned the tight grip on her hand briefly, only to be interrupted by Mehmet pulling at her skirt, as he seemed to have heard Zahira’s cry. She lifted her nephew back onto her hip, settling him as they watched Ketill approach the guard. There seemed to be no age at which the Sawarim saw fit to hide the violence of their society from children, unless they happened to be girls. Even then, it was no easy task to shield their eyes from it completly. When Ketill began smashing down upon the man’s shield, Najla would only hold Mehmet tighter, ignoring his excited words. In contrast to her nephew’s excitement, Najla could only watch in horror as Ketill jumped on top of the man, calling out a word she’d never heard, and would quickly turn Mehmet’s face away. Regardless of what other violence Mehmet had seen at his young age, Najla did not want him to see this. Though he struggled against the hand that blocked his vision, eager to see, Najla kept her hand in place, not allowing him to watch as the axe continued to pound away at the man below.

When Ketill finally got off the man, Najla let out a sigh of relief as she finally allowed her hand to drop. Mehmet’s complaints went ignored again, and Najla set him down, turning to instruct him to return to his mother. He would not move, and so she took his arm and led him over, listening as Zahira spoke behind her.

[i]<“He’s so violent.”>[/i] She spoke breathlessly, never tearing her gaze off the men below. [i]<“I can see that you were not exaggerating. None of the Al-Uba’yd could face him.”>[/i]

[i]<“Not even your husband?”>[/i] Najla teased as she tried to help settle Mehmet beside his mother, smiling at the boy’s pleading to be allowed to see. She heard Zahira scoff behind her and turned her head back to glance at her briefly as she spoke.

[i]<“My husband is a man. He has only ever fought men. How could he face that which he has never seen?”>[/i]

[i]<“He stills bleeds. Bear or man, if he bleeds, he can be killed.”>[/i]

[i]<“I suppose we’re about to see.”>[/i] Zahira’s tone had shifted, and Najla could hear her cousin’s smile in her voice. It was a tone she recalled from their days together before Zahira’s marriage, and one that had only ever caused her worry before. Najla looked back at her cousin, confused, though Zahira’s gaze was still on the ground below.

[i]<“What do you-”>[/i] She wasn’t even able to finish her sentence before the realization caught up to her. The men she had chosen would never be a threat to Ketill, for even if she had not asked for these men to be disposable, she had seen how the quickly the last fight had ended. There were likely only a few exceptions on the training grounds, none of whom had volunteered earlier, though one in particular had been all too eager to test his strength. Najla rushed over to the balcony then, cursing loudly as she looked over only to have her fears confirmed. The string of words drew Adina beside her as well, who would let out a gasp at the sight. 

[i]<“Najla, you can’t let him.”>[/i]

There was no sense in responding. It had not been her choice from the beginning, Najla knew. If Harith had wanted to heed her request, he would have. He had chosen to be a warrior, but he had still been born a prince, and had learned to do as he pleased. Though Najla could hear Mehmet chirping behind her, begging his mother to be allowed to see, she ignored both him and his mother and continued to curse as if Harith could hear her. 

It was to no avail, and the three of them were forced to watch as Ketill tackled Harith to the ground. For a brief moment, Najla felt some sense of excitement as Harith rolled on top of the Servant, but this was quickly cut short as she watched Ketill’s fist strike her brother in the face. As soon as Ketill had struck the final blow, Najla and Adina were already rushing down the stairs.

Najla would not even glance at Ketill as she rushed past the guards escorting him, though she knew Adina well enough to feel her angry gaze behind her. Najla was focused entirely on her brother, who was holding his nose in his hand still, and she rushed to his side quickly.

[i]<“Tell me you’re okay.”>[/i]

[i]<“I’m fine, I’m fine.”>[/i] He brushed off her words, just as he shooed away the guards that approached him now. He repeated these words to Adina when she approached, but Najla had already straightened up, and the anger had already started to filter into her gaze. When Adina was finally satisfied, Najla spoke again. 

[i]<“I told you not to fight him. You can’t go brawling with slaves every time you’re bored, you’re a fucking prince.”>

<“And I told you, if you wanted any sort of fight you’d have to give him a challenge. Not this lot.”>

<“You are not the only one able to wield a sword here!”>

<“Yes, but I’m the best.”>[/i]

Najla looked down at Harith’s grinning face in annoyance, though his eyes only glinted as he returned her gaze. He had been the most difficult of their family to handle, a secondborn son with little care and less responsibilities. Though Najla loved him dearly, times like this made it difficult to see why.

[i]<“They’re going to say a Servant beat you empty-handed. You let him insult you even further by fighting without a weapon.”>[/i]

Harith let out a laugh at that, reaching a hand up to shoo away another handful of salves. [i]<“Do you know so much about warfare that you can deem it an insult?”>[/i]

[i]<“Clearly you don’t know that much either.”>

<“Maybe that’s why I'm not insulted.”>[/i]

For a moment, Najla only studied Harith’s face angrily. His grin never faded, as he could tell that Najla had nothing to retort with. It was a rare occasion when her words stopped, and Harith delighted in it now just as much as he had when they were children, laughing again when she caved and swatted at his arm.

[i]<“I hope he punches your stupid smile off next. Where did you send him?”>[/i]

[i]<“To a private room. I even sent him up a girl.”>[/i] He grinned up at Adina then, who was still looking down on her husband with a frown. No doubt, as soon as Najla was done unleashing her anger on him, his wife would pick it up rather quickly. However, Harith did not seem to know this, for he took his wife’s hand and kissed it. [i]<“There’s really nothing like a beautiful woman after a fight.”>[/i]

[i]<“You rewarded him for feeding you a mouthful of sand?!”>[/i] Harith would not even have time to reply to this, as Najla quickly turned around, childish words fleeing her mouth while her brother was still in range to hear it.

[i]<“You absolute [b]idiot[/b], just wait until father sees what he did to your face.”>[/i] Even as she cursed however, this was cut short by the sound of Harith’s laughter from behind her. Even Najla could barely stop herself from smiling when she heard her brother's first line of defense as his wife picked up where Najla had left off.

[i]<“To be honest, my love, I think he knocked my nose back into place.”>[/i]

Biting her lip to keep from smiling, Najla approached one of the guards quickly, her face stern once more when she looked up to give him an order. 

[i]<“Whatever harem girl he’s with, bring her to me whenever they’re done. And do not let them bring him back to the barracks. Whatever my brother gave him is the Servant’s now.”>[/i]

[hr]

Najla made certain that the next few weeks would look quite similar to Ketill’s first day of training. She had little hand in that part, of course, choosing instead to leave that to her brother. Despite her anger with him for fighting Ketill at all, it was clear to Najla that there was little to be lost by it now, as the damage had already been done. She played little hand in the rest of his life as well, beyond instructing the guards and slaves that were meant to care for him. He would indeed be kept fit as Harith had commanded, no longer subject to the diet of a slave, but offered plenty of food, water, and wine, all of a noticeably higher quality. He would be given no other task during his time training, one of the few promises she elected to keep, as it seemed Najla had found her new use for him entirely more valuable. Ketill would be rewarded for this new use every so often, always with the same girl, accompanied by the promise that he could always ask for another when he tired of her. It was a harsh offer, but the harem girls were used to hearing it.

The only other factor that would change in Ketill’s routine were the spectators. Najla would appear often, though she would never stay longer than however long a conversation with her brother or a demonstration of Ketill’s training took. Zahira was often with her, as she had made her fascination with the Servant little secret, but the most noticeable came a week in. Initially, Basim would appear alone to join Harith, though never to fight himself. However, when he came with Najla later, it became apparent that she had allowed this, for whatever reason. One could assume many reasons, perhaps that Basim’s will had overridden hers, or that Najla had forgotten her irritation with him, but the truth hardly involved Basim.

The root of Basim’s involvement was not in Najla’s inability to control him, but Osman. He had refused to accompany her to the Al-Uba’yd tribe, angered both by Ketill’s presence and her own intentions there. Najla had responded to this by accusing him of placing his will above that of the Sultan’s, a notion which Osman had not responded well to. They fought without any of the courtesy they would have shown if arguing in the Sultan’s council chambers, and with little of the affection that lovers were meant to show. After a few days, and a particularly explosive fight, some business had been invented for Osman to remain in the capital, and Basim was invited to be her male escort for the journey. It was a minor victory for Osman, who covered his scratches with fabric, but to Najla, who covered the bruises on her neck and arms with gold, it was a loss she could not recover from. Their relationship would recover, she would continue her business, and the incident was easily kept between the two of them, but Najla herself could not, not yet. 

She could have created numerous reasons to excuse his behavior. After all, he was her betrothed, and so she was to meant to show him deference as the Sawarim demanded of a wife. She was not meant to challenge his will, or replace it with her own, but to respect his authority as her husband. Surely calling Osman a useless coward, among other names, had been a violation of this. Despite the abundance of excuses, Najla did not bother to find one. It would not happen again. That was all that mattered.

Besides, in some wicked way, it would work out better this way for Najla. She knew enough of Thamud to know he was just the type of ambitious that grew bolder with a Sultana present, especially if her husband had been left at home. Basim was excited to go as well, as he was completely unaware of the reasons why. He only knew that his sister had apologized for trying to stop him from watching the Servant fight, and was eager to see more of the Sultanate. Therefore, when Basim joined Najla and Osman to discuss the matter, the boy had only been eager to listen and learn. By this point, keeping the truth from her brother had become second nature. The bruises on her skin were hidden carefully by fabric and gold, and she spoke to Osman in the tone she remembered best, that of a dear friend and a devoted lover. 

Preparing her brother had been a final concession Osman had made to Najla. Truly, it was little concession. It would seem strange to many, including Basim, if he shirked his duties on this matter entirely, regardless of what excuse Najla invented for him this time. The Sultan had unofficially granted Najla and Zahira authority on this matter, for Zahira’s husband was a man of the tribe, and Najla was willing to do anything to see the treaty pass. Officially however, it would be Basim that replaced her bethrothed to speak her words. Basim did not seem to realize that entirely, for her will had been the Sultan’s will after all, but he understood that Najla could not be the one to negotiate all on her own. There was no doubt that she held far more influence in the Sultanate than her younger brother, but by the customs of the Sultanate and the laws of the Sawarim, it would be her brothers will that would be formally reckoned with. It was an exhausting notion when she had first started to deal with such issues, but Najla had since grown used to speaking through a man’s voice.

It took some time before Basim was ready to be that voice, but in the few weeks that Ketill was made to train, Basim was readied as well. It seemed that despite his initial excitement, the more Najla and Osman told him of the Al-Uba’yd and the tribesmen, the faster his excitement faded. He was worried he would not be able to hold himself as a prince among them, that they would test his strength or violence, and that he would fail. In contrast, Najla had every confidence in her brother, for she believed his intelligence would carry him until his experience could. Those words had been her final comfort to him the night before they left, just before she shooed him out of the room to get some rest and closed the door behind him, allowing her to say her goodbyes to Osman. 

[i]<“You shouldn’t have told him how much of the vipers sweat he’d have to drink, you scared that poor boy half to death.”>[/i]

Najla’s sentence ended as she turned to look at Osman, who sat in the seat before her desk, grinning. He had not intended to worry him, but the look of dread on Basim’s face had been amusing to both of them.

[i]<“I only wanted to warn him. Wouldn’t it have been worse if he got there expecting wine?”>[/i]

Najla giggled at that as she walked towards Osman, reaching up to pull an earring out of her ear. She stood beside the desk, pretending as if she could not feel her lover’s eyes on her, watching as she pulled off her jewelry. Najla stared out into the darkness of the courtyard as she pulled the bracelets from her wrist, their jingle now piercing in the silence when she placed them upon her desk. Finally, she reached up to pull the chains from around her neck, only to be stopped by a hand reaching out towards her. She barely stopped herself from flinching, but it was unnecessary. Osman’s touch was gentle when he took her hand, and when he pulled her towards him, at which Najla obliged. His touch was still gentle when he raised her hand, pressing his lips to the green bruises that marked her wrist, though Najla’s gaze was emotionless as she watched him.

[i]<“May all your pain fall onto me.”>[/i]

She did not respond. Instead, Najla drew her hand out of his gently, pulling the tangle of necklaces over her head all at once. She set this on the desk as well, brushing her hair back to reveal the rest of his handiwork. The bruising stretched from the lower parts of her neck to her collarbone, just where he had held her to keep her against the wall as he spat insults into her ear. Now, his voice held none of the venom as he stood up behind her, leaning down to kiss her neck. She felt her skin tingle as his lips brushed against the delicate skin gently, yet remained silent.

[i]<“Allow me to apologize until I have no breath left. I would rather die than live knowing I have caused you pain.”>[/i]

They were pretty words to Najla, empty, considering he had already caused her pain, but she had appreciated hearing them regardless. He had apologized to her countless times, and she had forgiven him, but she had not brought him into her bed since. Osman had continued to speak these pretty, empty words for some days now, and Najla had not seen her bruises heal any faster as a result. Even knowing this, her voice only held affection for her betrothed when she finally spoke.

[i]<“You’ve apologized enough. Truthfully, I am amazed you any have breath left at all.”>[/i] She turned around then, now facing Osman. He had not pulled away from her, and so she reached out and placed her hands on his chest gently, tilting her head up to speak to him. [i]<“I do not want to hear you apologize. Just tell me you will miss me.”>[/i]

Osman chuckled, and she felt his hands grip her waist, pulling her towards him to close the small space that remained between them. [i]<“I’ll be useless at anything else.”>[/i] He paused then, and when he began speaking in her ear again, Najla found herself remembering why she had devoted so much of her life and heart to this man. [i]<"Just like the first time you left me, when I had only just arrived. Without warning, you were gone. I spent days hoping to run into you before I found out you were on some business.">

<"I remember. You were one of the first to greet me when I returned, before my own mother could see me.">

<"I still insist that was an accident.">[/i]

Najla let out a soft, happy laugh, though it was just as pleasant to have it cut off when his lips touched hers. Her bruises forgotten, Najla returned his embrace fervently, only to pull away after a few moments.

[i]<“Do not go to Elif tonight.”>[/i] Coming from another’s lips, this would have sounded like a plea, to keep her lover from going to his wife. Yet Najla was still a Sultana, and her words were spoken far more like a command than a request. [i]<“Stay with me.”>[/i]

[i]<“What would I tell Elif? She knows you are leaving-”>[/i]

He clearly intended to push his point further, but Najla would not allow it. Her brow furrowed slightly as she interrupted him, and when she spoke again her voice sounded a little less like a command and a little more like a plea.

[i]<“It doesn’t matter. I don’t care. Just stay.”>[/i]

[hr]

[center][youtube]https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=mvRQtbqLPK8&t=482s[/youtube][/center]

Najla awoke earlier than the rest of those she was meant to travel with, earlier than even the slaves that were to ready them. The desert sky was still dark when she sent Osman off to return to his room. There would be no chance to return to sleep, and so Najla prepared herself to travel quickly, hiding her bruises under fine fabric once more. It would be early in the morning when Najla, Basim, and Zahira would leave the capital with an escort of guards and a small following of slaves, including Ketill. 

Despite the splendor they lived their lives in, it seemed the royal family did not travel accordingly. Najla had dealt with tribesmen long enough to know that they would never hold respect for her if she appeared to them pulled along by an animal, or worse, in a litter held up by slaves. No Sawarim would follow a leader who couldn’t ride alongside them, even if Najla would never be the one to ride into battle with them. They traveled over the course of two days, at an exhausting pace, barely resting until nightfall, but it would not show on the faces of the royals who arrived. As Najla had told Basim, they were never to mention their exhaustion, even when the Al-Uba’yd invited them to rest. Instead, they would refuse, allowing the slaves and guards to deal with settling them in, and go visit Thamud’s aging father before they were able to sit. Basim had been annoyed at this notion before, claiming that even the slaves would get to rest before he did, but he understood the appearances they were meant to keep, even if he had a difficult time doing so.

This had been one of Zahira’s greatest concerns, but they knew that the Al-Uba’yd would only be happy to claim that the Sultan’s nephew stayed among them. It was not as if he’d have to do much either, for behind closed doors, Najla would need to do most of the actual negotiating. Still, it was a delicate business, and the three of them would continue to speak on it in great detail when they were able to ride slowly enough to do so, though always just barely away from the ears of guards or slaves.

[i]<“Of course, if we could just make Thamud give those damned horses back, all this would be far easier.”>[/i] Najla complained, her voice mirroring the exhaustion on her brother’s expression.

[i]<“That’s what Cousin Akbar said. He said it’d be easiest to give him another wife and move on.”>

<“A Sultana for two dozen horses? Akbar has little respect for the women who will spend their days drinking desert dust.”>[/i] She paused for a moment, looking over at Zahira. [i]<“Of course, I mean no offense.”>[/i]

[i]<“And I took none.”>[/i] Zahira looked back at Basim now, a smile on her lips. [i]<“Najla is right. Ask Akbar what luxuries he’d willing to relinquish for this treaty, you’ll see how differently his answer sounds.”>[/i]

[i]<“Do you not like it here?”>[/i]

[i]<“I do, truthfully, but I agreed long before I did. We must all do our duty to the Sultan, not all of us get to choose as Akbar does.”>[/i]

[i]Or as I did.[/i] The thought made Najla smile slightly. It was not a smile born out of humor, for she could still feel the bruises fading under the fabric and gold, but she did not regret her choice to pursue Osman. It was simply amusing to consider that Zahira was about to take control of a tribe, alongside a husband who wouldn’t dare to stand in her way for something as silly as pride, while Najla’s choice had left her with someone who was all too eager to do so. 

[i]<“Do you know anything about how my people live?”>

<“Yes. Najla told me a lot about the Al-Uba’yd.”>

<“Like what?”>[/i]

Basim glanced up at Najla, though he got nothing from her. There was no need, Basim was not looking to her for permission, she knew her brother too well. He had agreed not to come to Ketill’s training before she had allowed it simply because he wanted his sister to be happy, not because she had asked him to. He was still his own man, though a far gentler one than his brothers.

[i]<“Well, she told me that they started out as nomadic raiders. They were fighting with a lot of other small clans, but they took control of the Bahr al-Akhdar Oasis. The other clans they fought with faded off, didn’t they? They’re fighting with a new village.”>[/i]

[i]<“They are not [i]fighting[/i] yet, by the grace of God’s will, let us hope it remains that way. But do you know why the other tribes ‘faded’?”>[/i]

He hesitated for a moment, then nodded. [i]<“You said they cut off all access to the oasis for them, right Najla?”>[/i]

[i]<“They did. They ended entire bloodlines without swinging a sword. That was before they were loyal to the Sultanate however, it has not happened since the first time. But they love to tell that story, both to us and to the tribes that rely on the water they control. Don’t let them frighten you with it. They need the trade their oasis brings just as the traders need the water. It is Thamud that forgets himself.”>[/i]

[hr]

[center][img]http://orig09.deviantart.net/139f/f/2009/238/d/3/d368f609c6c119c6509a36691272ff28.jpg[/img][/center]

They would arrive near dusk, tired of these conversations, and the abating heat of the sun, to a welcome view. They had traveled deep into the desert territories of the Sultanate, and here, the immense dunes would finally part to reveal the most precious sight to a Sawarim: water. The Bahr al-Akhdar Oasis was enormous, lined by date palms and various other trees, a blue and green beacon of life where there had only been a parched desert before. Now, it was not alone, as many of the villages surrounding it would have irrigated their fields precisely, leaving small, careful fields of various fruits for their people to eat. It seemed a precarious way to live, to spend year after year praying the water was enough and raiders wouldn’t come, but those who lived here knew no differently. 

There was a small village built around the oasis, painstakingly built from whatever materials traders could bring through, or they could find in the vast emptiness around them. Thus, most of the village itself was built out of a clay-like mixture they were able to develop from the sand around them, and was used almost entirely for those who traded through the oasis. Most of the Al-Uba’yd themselves lived in tents, as their raiding forefathers did, and though the current aging leader did live within these sand structures, their son, Thamud, had opted to live as his people did. There was no doubt that this had been a praiseworthy move, and that his people had admired him for it, but it meant that Khaldun’s other sons needed to follow, a fact Zahira had despised. It seemed that they were already expecting their guests however, for the oasis below them had been lit up by fires and torches, and the sounds of laughter and voices creeped up from the tents packed some ways behind the village itself. Of course, they would not be able to approach such an area uncontested, and Najla had seen the trackers watching their movements along the path. However it was only now, as they began to near the oasis itself, that riders would come to greet them.

Three men wearing the white long, loose robes of the Sawarim approached them, led by a man who didn’t seem to feel the beginnings of the desert cold at night. He was bare-chested, though his head was covered, and held no weapon on his person. None of the others did either, for it seemed the trackers had done their job well enough, and let them know that the expected royals would be the next approaching. Najla commanded a guard to stop, and while he relayed the command to those who served her, Basim, Najla and Zahira rode forward to meet them. They stopped just before each other, and Najla silently watched as Zahira to gave her brother-in-law an informal greeting before she kicked her horse past him, to one of the men behind him, who was apparently her husband. 

Thamud turned to face the pair of siblings waiting to greet him then, bowing his head low before kicking his horse closer to them. Neither Basim nor Najla would return the gesture, as expected, and were silent until Thamud began to speak. There was no doubt he was a tribesman long before he spoke, betrayed by his scarred chest, sharp cheekbones, sun-darkened skin, and the characteristic beard. His throaty voice acted as a confirmation. The Sawarim children that dwelt in cities were always told tribesmen spoke like that because they swallowed the sand that walls could block, and it cut away at their throats. Perhaps that was why the people seemed happy even living in their poverty, for at least they could be grateful for their walls.

[i]<“Basim Sultanim, we are honored by your presence. May you stay as our blood and tread as easily as your journey.”>

<“May the Sawarim bless you and your blood, Thamud Khan, it is an honor to meet you.”>[/i]

Najla glanced over at Basim as he spoke, and when she looked back towards Thamud, her smile was no longer cordial, but proud. The rather formal words were irritating for Basim to learn, but he looked every part the prince when he spoke them now. Thamud turned his gaze towards her then, bowing his head once more.

[i]<“Sultana, it is an honor to call you our guest. Your reputation precedes you, but you are just as welcome. I aspire to make the harsh journey worth your while.”>[/i] The rather formal welcome was a surprise coming from the tribesman who sat on his horse before her, but Najla smile indicated none of this.

[i]<“May the Sawarim reward you for you hospitality, my friend. I have heard much regarding the Al-Uba’yd, and you.”>[/i] At that, she paused, making a point to look upon the scars that raked his chest. She looked back up at Thamud then, the smile growing slightly on her face as she spoke.[i] <“To meet those behind such stories has made it a worthwhile journey already.”> [/i]

Thamud looked slightly surprised at her words, for they were spoken slightly more intimately than these greetings usually consisted of, but it did not seem enough to truly shock him. They would quickly ride past to greet the other members of his family, and when Thamud invited them to rest, Najla stayed silent as Basim replied, now consciously trying to suppress the pride in her expression when he spoke again.

[i]<“We are not so tired that we have forgotten your father, Thamud Khan. Will you allow us to greet him before we can rest?”>[/i] 

The tribesmen would oblige quickly, sending the guards and slaves towards the tents, where it seemed the royals would be staying. Thamud had offered to make space in the village, but the royal party had refused without hesitation. They could stay in no greater comfort than their hosts did. It was yet another of the endless list of rules that only served to create a proper appearance for the Sultan’s family. Perhaps it would have been unnecessary, for it was not as if the tribesmen would come to dismiss their authority should they choose to sleep in greater comfort, but experience had taught Najla better. As she had explained to Basim, those that a tribesman bowed to, and those that they treated with, were not always quite the same people.

Thus, it was the slaves and guards that were allowed to set up their tents and rest, even as the royals quickly rode down the length of the oasis to one of the small buildings in the village. Those they passed kneeled low to them, as most would when not on horseback, but the few that would not, the royals were unbothered by. These were men who wrestled sheep to the ground, at various areas around the camp and village so they would not see other animals being slaughtered, then cut their throats swiftly, allowing the blood to drain. It was a careful process, to be done according to every will of the God that granted them such food, and the royals allowed them to do so without interruption as they rode on into the village.

There, they greeted Khaldun Al-Uba’yd quickly, insisting that he not rise from his bed. He would move to bow his head, but Najla’s gesture interrupted this quickly, and she took his hand, pressing it against her forehead. It was a gesture nearly similar in respect to how she greeted the Sultan, but the Sawarim believed there was no respect too great for a tribe’s elders. Basim and Zahira followed suit quickly, and they spoke to the chief only briefly before they returned to their tents to ready themselves for the night.

[hr]

It did not take much for the Al-Uba’yd to prepare for the celebrations, and the tribe had gathered around the center of their camp rather quickly as the travelers rested briefly. Here, they had set up a canopy in the center, under which Najla and her family had been placed. Most of the tribesmen that sat under there seemed to have some importance initially, members of Thamud’s family and warriors within his tribe, but as the night continued, this distinction became impossible to hold. They filtered in and out from under the canopy as they pleased, though they did not have this same freedom in approaching the royals in the center, as most only approached when encouraged by Thamud. Those that did were greeted graciously by Najla and Basim from their positions beside Thamud, though they never stayed long.

Basim was seated on Thamud’s right, as was expected. Najla likely should have been seated on his right, or even farther, besides Zahira and her husband. It would be a far more difficult situation in a court, for though she was a princess, she was still a woman, and it would be rude to seat her next to men all night. However, lounging on the cushions to Thamud’s left, Najla made a stark contrast to most of the women here. They all wore loose dresses that left no skin uncovered to the heat of the sun, and many wore head coverings even now. Some even wore masks of fabric, beads, and even coins threaded together, which would cover their foreheads and noses, exposing only their mouths and the thin tattoos that marked them as married. Zahira and Najla had both donned these masks as well, though theirs were made of interlocking golden chains. Under the rustle of this jewelry, Najla had stained her lips a dark red, and her kohl-rimmed eyes flashed mischievously as they peered out from her mask.

Najla wore a few thin gold circlets wrapped around her neck tightly, just enough to cover the bruising on her skin. Her dress was far simpler than usual as well, loose and long-sleeved so as to cover her wrists, though it had a neckline that dropped sharply, barely threatening to reveal the curve of her breasts. She had made certain none of the green that dotted the side of her collarbone was visible. Dressing was a more precarious business than she’d imagined, for Najla was not used to worrying about what skin to hide under what. Perhaps it would have been easier to cover herself up entirely as most of the women of the tribe did, but she had not forgotten who was entertaining her tonight. It seemed her host could not forget either.

[i]<“Sultana, forgive me but I need to ask.”>[/i]

[i]<“Hm?”>[/i] Najla raised an eyebrow, looking up at Thamud. His eyes were locked firmly onto hers, and Najla would not look away, but returned his gaze with a sweet smile. [i]<“What need is there for forgiveness between friends? Ask, please.”>[/i]

She watched as Thamud grinned, and followed as he pulled his gaze off of her and onto where Ketill had been seated, just outside the canopy with the other royal slaves. Thamud’s grin did not die down, but Najla found that it was more difficult to keep up her charming smile when she was staring at a man that wanted to kill her. Reaching for her glass, Najla forcibly swallowed another sip of that horrible cloudy drink, just to have something to hide the fading smile behind as they spoke. 

[i]<“I’ve heard many stories about the Servants. After seeing one, I have no reason to doubt them.”> 

<“Are you wondering how I survived? Or do you wish to know which of the stories are true?”>

<“Neither, Sultana. I want to why you kept him.”>[/i]

Najla giggled at that, a sound which drew Thamud’s gaze off of Ketill and back onto her. Najla was slightly slower at doing so, and it took a few moments before she wrenched her gaze off Ketill and back up at her host.

[i]<“I am not a warrior, Thamud. I do not have your strength, or else perhaps I could have captured and killed him myself. But it was not so. It was the will of the Sawarim that he should be mine, and he delivered him to me. I simply did not want to interfere with that will.”>[/i]

[i]<“It is an honorable thing, to act in the will of God. Has he converted?”> 

<“No. But I have not deemed him hopeless yet. Any savage can become civilized.”>

<“Through the word or through the sword, no?”>[/i]

Najla’s grin answered him, and she raised her glass to take another sip of the drink before setting it down. She had grown tired of talking about Ketill already, for she knew that she would be spending much of the next day doing so. Now, she had Thamud’s full attention, and intended on keeping it for the rest of the night. It would not be a difficult feat, for though Najla did not believe he was enamored with her, at least not yet, she knew she had captured his interest. These tribesmen were easier to handle in certain regards, for he had not learned to watch where his eyes moved or the tone of his words, even while Najla manipulated hers carefully. 

[i]<“Bring me a sword to match his, and perhaps I’d be more inclined to try that way.”>

<“I have plenty to match his, Sultana.”>[/i]

[i]<“Do not risk the lives of your men to prove it, Thamud Khan. I believe the Al-Uba’yd are skilled warriors, there are none that doubt that. But he is a beast, your men will not return to their families.”>[/i]

[i]<“They would be proud to do so. They die of dust and thirst every day, a chance to die as a witness will be a blessing.”>[/i]

Thamud motioned a slave over to refill her glass, and Najla raised her glass to allow the girl to pour more easily, despite not wanting it. She continued to sip it slowly as the two talked, and for some time, she had nothing else to distract herself with. Basim was doing quite well, it seemed the tribesmen liked him, though that was no surprise to Najla. His endless questions annoyed his family often, but the warriors of Thamud’s tribe appreciated having a prince to brag to, and Basim was enjoying their stories. That left little that could distract Thamud from this Sultana that seemed intrigued by him, and the pair spoke without interruption until a small group of women filed into the tent. 

The noise would not quiet as some passed trays of food between the guests, but some did halt their speech as Thamud stood, leaving her side to approach a woman holding a tray. From that, he lifted a knife, sharp and tinged with dried blood, before walking towards Basim. Though Basim had seen this tradition often, it would be his first time accepting it himself. By showing him the knife, Thamud was telling Basim that he had slaughtered the meat himself according to God’s law. The importance of a few words could not be downplayed, and Najla watched her younger brother carefully, studying his face for any signs of distaste as Thamud bowed to him.

[i]<“It is an honor to give our sheep to feed such guests. All the food before you has been slaughtered by the laws of God, laws we are honored to serve the Sultan under.”>[/i]

Basim did not hesitate, and nodded at Thamud before reaching out and taking the knife by it’s hilt. He set it down some ways before him, where it would be in plain sight of all those eating their dinner alongside Thamud. It was an acknowledgement that this meal was not for them, but to survive another day to serve their God, and an intense expression of gratitude for those to whom such meat was precious. When he spoke, he did so well, his voice carrying out beyond the canopy, and Najla looked on Basim proudly as he did.

[i]<“A thousand blessings upon you and your people, my friend. May the Sawarim reward you for your gracious hospitality and your faithfulness to the Sultan.”> [/i]

With that, the noise would only bounce back tenfold as the tent grew more crowded, with food and drink being passed around as guests laughed and spoke loudly. Najla however, did not touch her plate until Thamud returned to be seated beside her. He was the last to be served in the tent, just before the slaves, as was custom for the host, and yet Najla waited regardless.

[i]<“Sultana, you have had a hard travel, there is no need to wait.”>[/i] Thamud spoke even as a woman finally placed a plate of food before him. [i]<“Although you are kind for doing so.”>[/i]

[i]<“It is no kindness, my friend.”>[/i] Najla smiled, finally ripping a piece of bread to pick up some of the meat with. [i]<“A meal’s taste lies in the company you eat with, no?”>[/i]

It seemed that Najla was committed to making certain that Thamud’s meal tasted better than usual. She had learned how to flirt like a Sultana when she had been a young girl, and she could tell by the amused glances that Zahira threw at her that she was following her teachings to the letter. Perhaps it would have seemed useless, seeing as she’d left a husband-to-be waiting at the capital, but it was rare that those a Sultana flirted with would ever make it to her bed. The trick was to make each man they spoke to feel as if he was different than the rest, a far easier feat when the man in question believed it already.

To anyone that was watching Najla, she would have seemed nothing less than courteous, especially since her more flirtatious attentions were devoted solely to one man. However, to those who knew her well, the difference in her behavior was easily apparent. She sat close to Thamud, and sometimes found herself whispering in his ear as if telling him a secret. When he would reply, she would tuck her hair back to expose the unbruised skin of her neck, giggling lightly at his words and offering a carefully worded compliment she did not mean. Dinner had taken some time, but by the end of it, Najla believed it would not be difficult to goad Thamud into proving himself against Ketill if need be. When she caught her cousin’s wink, it seemed as if Zahira believed so too.

Despite the traveler’s exhaustion, dinner would not mark the end of the celebrations. Najla had warned Basim that this would likely be the case, though he had drank enough that he seemed to be enjoying himself still, with little care as to his fatigue. Those who sat under the canopy filed out slowly, towards those dancing around a large fire that had been stacked in the center of the camp. This celebration would be nothing like that of Najla’s engagement, for though they were celebrating her arrival, these were still tribesmen. The pulsing beat of the drum was nearly drowned out by their laughter and teasing, and it was not uncommon that this laughter would give way to blows. To the families of the drunkards, it would be a source of shame in the morning, but Najla paid it no mind from where she watched besides the fire. They were weaponless after all, so there was little danger of them losing anything but their dignity. 

It was a shock to Basim the first time he watched a man pounce on another, knocking him to the ground before he began to rain clumsy, drunken blows on him. However, as the warriors he’d befriended began to laugh, he did as well, and when it happened again, Basim reacted just as they did. From where Najla sat beside her cousin and some of the other women, she beamed with pride as she watched him. Despite the gold circlet around her head now, Najla was not allowed to do all that she pleased, a fact that became quite apparent around the fire. Unless slaves were performing, the only ones that danced around the fire were men and children, while women lounged on cushions watching them. Here, she would not be able to dance as she did to her engagement, but that didn’t stop her from continuing to drink what the Sawarim deemed ‘vipers sweat’, singing along to the songs she knew, and clapping along to the beat of the drums.

It was clear in her interactions with the tribesmen that Najla had experience in the matter. She was not like Basim, who her mother claimed had ‘an easy path from heart to heart’. His practiced mannerisms had brought admiration and he was a likeable personality as it was. For Najla, her movements were not quite so natural, but born out of practice and clearly set rules on how a Sultana must behave. She would laugh and trade harmless gossip with the women who grew comfortable enough, and trade polite words and blessings with those who were far shyer. Children would often approach curiously, the first being a rather brave few, but they grew braver when a young girl asked if she could try on her crown. Her request startled the girls mother, and she had moved to yank her daughter away, but Najla politely refused the girl with a smile, and would move to brush off her mothers concerns quickly.

[i]<“Sultana, forgive her, she is too young to know what it meant to ask for your crown.”>[/i]

[i]<“There is nothing to forgive. I deem it no insult to ask, it is simply that few are granted the request.”>[/i] Najla spoke, looking up at the girl’s worried mother with a kind smile. [i]<“Besides, perhaps it is a blessing. A girl who is so bold as to ask for a crown will be well-suited to wear one in the future.”>[/i]

It seemed a simple gesture, but Najla had long learned the appeal of such empty promises. After all, each woman here with an eligible daughter was eyeing Basim carefully, hoping that their young girl might be the one to catch his eye and become his first wife. It was an unlikely notion, especially considering that he could not see their daughter’s faces, but Najla was not above pretending as if she would be open to such a conversation, even if the girl in her lap was far too young to be a potential bride. They continued to speak amongst themselves, the girl’s mother now placated entirely, until the conversation slowly turned to a presence on the edge of the camp. He had been a subject of interest for some time, but when Zahira spoke his name, Najla was quick to pay attention once more.

[i]<“I only saw him fight at court, and even that was a sight to behold. I can’t imagine what he was like before. Do you remember, Najla?”>[/i]

Najla smiled at that, turning her head to look at her cousin. [i]<“Of course. I could not forget.”>[/i]

[i]<“I do not know how you survived, Sultana.”>[/i] The comment came from one of the masked women, and Najla’s smiled only widened at that, aware of the women’s undivided attention now.

[i]<“He never turned his sword on me. He fought for me then, just as he does now.”>[/i]

[i]<“You speak as if he was in love with you.”>[/i] Zahira’s eyes were teasing above her golden chains, though Najla only giggled at the thought. She did not mind the teasing, both her and Zahira knew the types of rumors women chose to spread, and it was always easier to address these before they could.

[i]<“The Servant has never loved anything beyond the blood he sheds.”>[/i] She glanced around at the other women then, trying to read their expressions from their eyes alone. [i]<“He obeys me. He loves to kill. I have never seen a beast designed so singularly for the purpose of bloodshed.”>[/i]

Her introduction had intrigued the women, and for some time, Najla and Zahira watched with knowing smiles as the women offered various questions as politely as they could, until finally, Najla called a slave girl over. With a quick command, she ordered her to bring Ketill to her. He would be placed before the intrigued, masked huddle of women, made to stand and wait as Najla’s eyes studied him from over her golden mask. She would not be the first to speak. Instead, Zahira rose and stepped closer to Ketill. For a moment, there was a flash of worry in Najla’s eyes. The two were dressed similarly, and if it had not been for the mark of Zahira’s marriage upon her face, perhaps they would have been indistinguishable tonight. However, her cousin held little fear as she reached her hand out towards Ketill’s arm, though it would come through in her hesitation just before she could touch it.

[i]<“How do I know he won’t hurt me?”>[/i] 

Najla let out a soft laugh then, though her gaze was on Ketill when she spoke, not on her cousin. [i]<“If Servants sharpened their swords on women, they wouldn’t be so skilled,”>[/i] She replied, switching to Broacianen rapidly afterwards.

[i]“No one's going to beat you.”[/i] She reassured him quickly, making it rather obvious that she had not forgotten what he had done to Osman. [i]“Though I do not believe you to be a murderer of women anyways.”[/i] She would be an exception to that statement, Najla knew, but she hoped that her cousin would not be. Zahira gripped his bicep then, giggling as she tried to wrap her hand around it, but the women would not be given long to coo over Ketill before a familiar voice boomed over the crowd to interrupt them.

[i]<“Sultana, you bring the Servant to the women before us?”>[/i]

Najla giggled, tearing her gaze from Ketill to Thamud, who walked towards the women. He stopped only a few paces from Ketill, standing at a respectable distance from the group, but Najla motioned him closer to her.

[i]<“I wanted to offer him a real challenge first.”>[/i] Her teasing was met with Thamud’s outstretched hand, which she took to rise from her current seat among the women. Thamud laughed at that, before turning to look at the men seated some ways behind him.

[i]<“Any of my warriors could face the Servant!”>[/i] This claim brought a round of cheers from his people, though the women behind Najla stayed oddly silent, worried about which of their husbands and brothers would be foolish enough to step forward. Najla leaned in closer to Thamud’s ear then, and she could smell the stench of alcohol on his breath as she whispered to him.

[i]<“I came here so that your people would see no bloodshed in resolving this conflict. Do not ask them to throw away their lives without reason.”>[/i]

[i]<“I am not asking, Sultana.”>[/i] Thamud replied, his voice respectful even though he whispered in her ear as a familiar. [i]<“If you should allow them a chance to fight him, then you will see how many ache for the chance to prove their devotion to you and the Sultan.”>[/i] 

Truthfully, Najla had wanted this. It would be far easier to manipulate the discussions with such an impressive demonstration of the Sultan’s power the night before, and Ketill would once again be ordered to fight the next day anyways, when the Banu Dunya people arrived to agree upon the terms of a renegotiated contract. The Al-Uba’yd had already planned to celebrate even more than they did upon the royal’s arrivals, but they would not be able to do so once more until the new pact had been agreed upon. Perhaps it would be better to blood Ketill early, to give him a taste of what was to come after the negotiations. However, when she nodded, it would seem almost as if Thamud had convinced her.

[i]<“I will ask no man to fight, and neither will you. They will choose themselves, and one will fight him.”>[/i] 

Her next words were spoken louder, allowing most of his people to hear her command. It was the first time she’d spoken so directly to Thamud, without any of the flirtatious tones in her voice, and though he seemed somewhat surprised, the shouts of his warriors distracted him. While he moved to choose among the volunteers, Najla turned to Ketill then. 

[i]“You're finally going to get your blood, Ketill. I hope you’re not too tired. It’d be humiliating for me if you died now.”[/i]

Her words were spoken emotionlessly, though he would be able to see her smile from under the golden mask, as if amused by the thought. Perhaps that had been her true purpose. It would be an easy solution to a difficult problem if he was to die among the Al-Uba’yd.

While Thamud chose a warrior from among the many men who volunteered, Najla walked closer towards where her younger brother sat, among the warriors. Another followed her, a woman with all but her eyes and a thin black tattoo under her mouth covered. Ketill would be led away from the women and brought to follow, positioned where all the tribe could see him. The volunteer came as well, and did not look at the Servant, only kneeling before Najla briefly before his wife approached him. If there was any doubt it was his wife, it was broken quickly when the man handed her a sharp knife. It was a traditional protection, a confusing process to Ketill, certainly, but it would be clarified rather quickly when one of Najla’s guards stepped forward, an axe in one hand and a thin knife in the other. 

The tribesmen had begun to gather, their voices reduced to a whisper as gossip filtered back through the guests, explaining what was to happen. They gathered at some distance before the great fire they had gathered around, in order to allow the fighters room, but otherwise, they packed themselves tightly to watch. Perhaps it would seem strange to Ketill that many of the women chose to leave, or turn their heads away, though the children were allowed to peer through the crowd without a hand to block them. Death was a fact of life here, there was no sense in hiding it. From behind Thamud and Najla, a man stood, and as the guard handed Najla the thin blade as well, the drums began. It was a fast, steady beat, and the rhythmic beats of the tribesmens fists upon their chests mirrored it as a voice began to sing behind them. As the tribesmen would raise their voice to follow the prayer, Najla moved onto her knees. Even a Sultana kneeled before her God.

[center][youtube]https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=TqVBfO2dPnc[/youtube][/center]

Before she took the knife, Najla reached up, pushing the circlet on her head back slightly. She would not remove it, even now, but did not want it stained just yet. No glance would be given to Ketill, though as Najla took the thin knife from her guard, she realized that it was the first time he’d ever seen her pray. 

She did so with her eyes closed, her voice unwavering as it joined the others, and her chin raised high. The woman beside her was quite a different picture, as she had heard all of Najla’s boasting before, but she did not stumble over her words either. They were too familiar. As she chanted, Najla raised the blade, then brought it down on her forehead in a simple, practiced motion. She’d done this before, clearly, and had left a small incision from which blood began to trickle down her face. The woman beside her raised her blade as well, though not to her forehead. Instead, she sliced her chin delicately, following the line of the tattoo that marked her as a wife, and in a few minutes, a widow. Najla did not wince as the blade found her, though her prayer halted only briefly before she picked it up again. 

The chanting had not stopped when Najla rose, nor did the prayer of the woman beside her. Had Ketill been able to understand the Sawarim prayers, he would have known why, for the others needed no explanation. Najla had asked for the Sawarim to bless her slave’s blade, so that he may fight in her place. The woman beside her had asked for the same, but the rest of her prayer called for God to bring mercy upon her husband and to cast his pain on another. Najla wanted none of the Servants pain. Thus, she took the guards hand and stood, smearing the blood on her knife onto the axe he had brought. A slave girl rushed towards her with a rag, which Najla took, pressing it against her forehead. Some of her hair was matted with the blood, but she didn’t seem to notice quite yet. Instead, her eyes bore into Ketill’s as she spoke.

[i]“You wanted my blood so badly, here you are. A few drops of a Sultana’s blood is a fair price for a man’s head.”[/i]

She would not allow Ketill much time to question her actions, though none seemed surprised that she would cut herself for him. It was to be expected after all, for by spilling her blood for that of her husbands, the woman beside Najla was asking the Sawarim that all her husband’s pain fall onto her. For Najla to allow her Servant to fight a man blessed by the Sawarim and win, edged dangerously close to allowing a Monarchist to best her God. By blessing his axe as well, whether or not he wished to use it, Najla was indicating that the Servant was under her protection. She was a Sultana, a position granted to her and protected by the grace of the Sawarim, surely the protection her prayer granted was enough even for a Monarchist. At least, if Ketill had asked, this would have been her explanation. She would not tell him that among the tribesmen, it was also a preemptive form of mourning. Instead, she would step back and take Thamud’s hand once more as he helped her seat herself against the cushions again. Her voice barely carried over the sound of the continued chanting as she spoke to Ketill again.

[i]“Make it a good show. Then you’ll be allowed to rest until tomorrow.”[/i]

[hr]

It was late in the night when Thamud escorted her back to her tent, and they finally abandoned the endless stretch of stars and drum beating. The tribe’s spirits would not be dampened by the violence they saw, and many continued to drink behind them, however, Najla had finally decided that she was allowed to show some of her exhaustion. They laughed together as they walked across the sands to her waiting tent, only to have Najla startle when Thamud began to reach towards her face.

[i]<“Forgive me Sultana, you are bleeding again.”>[/i] Najla looked to his hand to see he was holding a rag, and despite wondering where he had pulled that from, Najla took it without hesitation. She pressed the rag to her forehead, looking up at Thamud again with a smile.

[i]<“It would be less painful to cut your lip, Sultana. Perhaps next time.”>[/i]

It was the boldest phrase Thamud had spoken that night, a phrase which she had every right to strike him for. It was a phrase he would never have spoken if Osman had been here, if she had not invited it throughout the night, or if he had not had far too much to drink. Still, he was a tribesman, any courtly courtesy was a mask that could be snatched away, just as Osman’s had when she had gone against his wishes. Najla would not punish him for it.

[i]<“As it is not the tradition of the Al-Suwaidi to do so, I doubt I shall ever see that day.”>[/i] For a moment, her words sounded like a warning. Perhaps it was a slip, an underlying hint at her true feelings for the man she’d been speaking so sweetly to, but Najla’s next words would only embolden him tenfold.

[i]<“Then again, I doubt I shall ever see the day a man could best my Servant. I suppose tonight was the closest any man had ever gotten.”>[/i] A lie, but all her words had been. [i]<“Perhaps once I see such a sight, I will stop doubting altogether.”>[/i] She finally turned to look up at Thamud then, smiling sweetly as she stretched her hand out to him. Thamud took this quickly, pressing his lips to her hand and then pressing her hand to his forehead, before releasing her.

[i]<“Sleep well, Sultana.”>

<“And you, my friend.”>[/i]

[hr]

She would not sleep just yet, it seemed, for Najla had only started to remove her jewelry when a figure barged in. It was a lucky thing, for she had just been about to undo the clasp of her necklaces before she turned to see her brother stumble in. He had drank carefully, never too much to lose his senses, but Najla could not help but smile as she reached to help him sit.

[i]<“Aren’t you exhausted? Go sleep, you’ll have a long day tomorrow.”>[/i]

[i]<“On what, the sand?”>

<“You have a bed.”>[/i]

Basim did not reply to her, and Najla studied his expression carefully. It would only take a few moments for Najla to speak, and she talked as if she had understood the source of his silence in such a short time.

[i]<“You did well today, Basim. I have no doubt you’ll do well tomorrow. The Al-Uba’yd like and respect you, you have given them every reason to do so. Go sleep, please.”>[/i] He did not answer again, and Najla sighed, sitting on the cushions beside him. [i]<“I’m exhausted. For my sake, go to bed.”>[/i]

Finally, Basim answered her. His mouth did not open, but he reached into the pocket of his pants, pulling out an object that fit into his fist. When he turned his fist to open it, Najla's eyes widened, and she repressed the urge to slap it out of his hand. Instead, she gripped his hand tightly, studying the Monarchist cross she had not seen in years.

[i]<“Where the hell did you get this?!”>

<“One of the warriors. Abd al-Ad..Abkar, maybe. No, Akbar.”> 

<“We'll try again when you're sober. Where did HE get it from?”>

<“He said they raided a caravan along one of these routes, and he took it off a corpse. He brought it back to burn it before his next raid, apparently. He said it would give him luck.”>

<“Why does he still have it then? Why do you?”>[/i]

Basim shrugged, his gaze still on the cross. [i]<“I guess he thought I’d like to burn it more.”>[/i]

Najla let out a loud sigh then, releasing her brother’s hand. She found herself regretting Basim’s presence rather quickly, for despite Osman’s reluctance to come, she knew he would never have willingly snuck a Monarchist cross to her. At least if he had, he’d have been a lot more straightforward regarding his reasons.

[i]<“You didn’t answer my question, Basim. Why do you still have it?”>[/i]

There was a long moment of silence, so long that Najla opened her mouth to ask the question again, before Basim finally spoke up. His words came tumbling out, so quickly that Najla realized he had been nervous to ask her. 

[i]<“I wanted to give it to Ketill. To pray. What if he dies tomorrow?”>

<“Then his fate will be determined as an infidel. Our God will sentence him to be the sand he tramples under his horse, and you and I will do the same when we pass.”>[/i]

[i]<“It’s not fair though. Wouldn’t you have wanted to pray properly when you were a slave?”>

<“I would have killed for it. But Basim, this is risking a great deal, you don’t understand the weight of what you’re holding.”>[/i]

In no part of their discussion would she be able to convince him. Sometimes, her brother’s intelligence was only an obstacle. He continued to mention the teachings of the Sawarim that fueled his crazed idea, those that allowed infidels to worship without interference. Even in his slight drunkenness, Najla found that he was able to defend his opinion easily. She continued to ask him a number of questions, making sure that he had not been seen pocketing the cross, to which Basim seemed offended. He was not that stupid, he insisted, and after a few questions Najla found herself inclined to believe him. 

[i]<“You’re risking too much for a man who can offer you nothing. Leave it be.”>

<“I don’t want anything from him though. I just think he should be able to pray.”>

<“I have not forbidden him from prayer.”>[/i]

Basim did not respond to her. He looked down at the cross, turning it over in his hands, and Najla watched as he drew his thumb over the circle of thorns. He was intrigued by the symbol, clearly, as the Sawarim could not understand the notion of worshipping a physical presence. Najla had initially seen the cross scrawled out on a piece of paper, placed in front of her by the Broacien slave that tutored her in his tongue. She did not remember his name, but she remembered the sound of his laughter when she had asked him why his God allowed them to worship sticks in his place. He claimed he had converted to the Sawarim faith long before, and though he was educated enough to remain valuable to the Sultan, he had been replaced not long after she began asking questions regarding his old faith. The memory brought Najla no grief, though her expression softened as she watched Basim turn it over.

[i]<“You know you can’t, Basim. That’s why you brought it to me, instead of doing as you pleased. If you really wanted to, you’d do so regardless.”>

<“Why do you say that?”>[/i]

[i]<“You’re much more like Harith than you think.”>[/i] The notion seemed to please Basim, who had only ever desired to be a warrior in the way his father and brothers had been. [i]<“You’re both equally committed to being a pain in my side.”>[/i] Basim chuckled at that, finally looking up from the cross and at his sister. 

[i]<“You’re saying I should burn it then.”>

<“It is the safest thing to do. For both you and Ketill.”>[/i]

Basim finally nodded, pocketing the cross once more as he stood. It was a relief to Najla, who believed he would burn the cross and allow her to sleep, without any of the trouble that would be brought about in the morning. Before he straightened up, Basim leaned down to kiss Najla on the cheek as a goodnight, then began to walk towards the tent flap before Najla’s voice stopped him.

[i]<“Why did you ask me this time? You didn’t bother last time.”>

<“I didn’t want to upset you. I just hoped you’d say yes.”>[/i]

Najla smiled at that, a far more genuine smile than she’d shown throughout the night. Her brother truly was the kindest soul she’d ever met, a fact she relayed to him often, though she would never tell him how much it worried her. He was no fool, to believe Ketill would find anything but danger in a cross, but Najla knew how easily kindness became foolishness. When she spoke again, her voice was soft, barely above a whisper.

[i]<“Go sleep. You’ll have a long day tomorrow.”>[/i]

As Najla watched her brother duck under the tent flap, she let out a yawn, finally allowing herself to feel the exhaustion the day had put upon her. Reaching up, she fiddled with the delicate clasps of her necklaces. Najla peeled them off one by one to reveal the fading green and yellow that colored her neck, all the while praying that her brother would be able to understand her reasons for denying him what seemed like a simple kindness.
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