[quote=@persianversion]
Najla’s exhaustion might have kept her eyes closed until the heat of the desert was at its worst, but she would find no such luck. She would not awaken as she normally did, at her own leisure and in her own bed, but at the soft touch of a slave. The feeling of a hesitant hand on her shoulder roused Najla, and she awoke to find herself without any of the comforts of home, on a bed that offered her little of the relief her own did. When her eyes snapped open, she felt the hand draw back quickly, as if her awakening had burned her.

[i]<“Forgive me Sultana. I tried to rouse you, but you would not wake. You asked me to-”>[/i]

[i]<“It’s alright.”>[/i] Najla’s mumbled words cut through the girl’s worried words, and when she looked up at her, she could see that her head was bowed, her eyes not on Najla, but on the ground beneath them. She would not have much time to recover from the haze of sleep, Najla found, for her tired eyes suddenly widened, and a hand snapped up to her neck, only to find it covered by a tangled mess of hair. Her haste had left her bruised wrist exposed, but the girl’s eyes were firmly on the ground, and Najla let out a silent exhale in relief before hiding her wrist again.

[i]<“Is my brother awake?”>

<“I don’t know, Sultana.”>

<“Make sure he is. Get a guard to wake him, if he is not already. Go now, I’ll ready myself.”>[/i]

The slave girl bowed her head, and Najla would not move to rise until the girl had ducked under the flap of the tent, the movement exposing a small beam of light before it was hidden once more. Najla gave herself little time to adjust to the morning, forcing herself to stand up and walk towards a bowl of water that had been laid out for her. She washed her face quickly, ridding it of sleep and sand alike, before moving to dress herself. Najla had allowed no slave to help her since the incident with Osman, for though there were those few she had entrusted to witness their relationship, she did not trust any enough for this. Once again, the marks were covered with gold, and her circlet was settled atop a sheer white cloth that covered the short scar the night before had left. Once more, she donned the golden mask her cousin had gifted her, and once she was satisfied that she was only showing what she wanted to, Najla went to wake her brother.

It seemed the slave girl had done her job, though the poor girl had only done it as best as she could. When Najla entered the tent, she saw her brother still seated on the cushions, a cup of water settled in his hand. Basim looked quite disheveled, especially in comparison to the sister who stood before him, perfectly put together and smiling in amusement. 

[i]<“You overestimated yourself.”>

<“Shut up.”>[/i]

Najla’s amusement only grew with that, and she was still smiling as she continued to speak. <“Drink your water. Throw up now if you need to, I won’t have you running off in the middle of breakfast to do it.”>

[i]<“I’ll be fine, I’ve drank before. Can you leave?”>

<“If you’re annoyed with my talking now, you’re going to hate the negotiations.”>[/i]

She’d leave him to his headache then, though she would not move to join Thamud quite yet. Instead, she found Zahira in her tent, alone, where she had stayed behind as her husband went to breakfast. They would join, yet not before a final bit of business was accomplished. 

[i]<“These negotiations are going to be pointless, you know that. We’re going to argue with Thamud all day, until the Banu Dunya come, then we’re going to listen to them argue with him. Can’t you just ask Thamud for the Servant’s head and be done with it? Tell him you’ll trade your cunt for it.”>[/i]

Najla grinned at Zahira’s crass words, more amused by how rapidly her cousin had accustomed herself to the tribesmen than she was by the words themselves. They both knew the complaining was useless, they had come here to do the negotiations after all, even if Thamud would only be a barrier until his death. Beyond that, neither of them were quite so certain that any would dare to face the Servant after they watched one of their warriors burn the night before. She could promise whatever parts of her she wanted, it would hardly be worth a man’s life.

Nothing was worth that. Najla would never forget that night. Even now, she recalled the horror vividly, remembering the way she’d watched with wide eyes as Ketill strode under the canopy, blood dripping from his body and axe. She’d never seen a man nor beast so dedicated to bloodshed, so hungry for a kill, and then, she felt as if she’d remember little else from that night. Ketill had sought to prove her wrong, as he so liked to do, and had succeeded.

She’d watched with revulsion as he pressed the man’s face to the fire, and if she had been able to look away, Najla would have seen the same on the faces of the audience. The screams of the man had reverberated through the empty desert, echoed by the wails of his widow, and yet, Najla felt as if she could hear nothing but the lick of the flames. She forced herself to choke down a wave of nausea, though it rose dangerously in her throat, listening as the screams were replaced with a roar, and a name she’d heard once before. When it was all over, she’d speak briefly to the guards, ordering them to escort Ketill to the healer immediately, but those words were all she’d be able to say for some time. It was only as the noise of the camp had risen that Najla was able to join her voice to it once more, without the burden of a man’s burnt corpse on her expression. Even now, her words were still light, her smile remained, and yet the memory lingered.

[i]<“I do not know why you are so eager to see me become a whore. Even if I were to do such a thing, Thamud is no longer fool enough to fall for it. At least not so deeply that he will risk burning to obtain it.”>

<“I don’t believe that. You know what they say, a honeyed tongue and a gentle hand could lead a wild horse by a hair.”>[/i]

The old saying made Najla’s grin widen, for it was a saying past their time. She recalled her mother repeating it to her, when she had tried to teach her the courtesies of a lady. It would be repeated to her more as she grew older, though when her cousins spoke those words, it typically had a meaning quite unrelated to courtesy. Regardless, Najla was not too worried about whether Thamud would fight Ketill. It would be the easiest way to dispose of him, but it was not the only way. 

[i]<“If it is necessary to kill him, I will, without fail. Do not worry cousin, and do not go offering me to tribesmen so soon. I promised you I could begin this process, so long as you are able to finish it.”>[/i]

It had been simple enough, though carefully coordinated so that no suspicions had been aroused. Najla had obtained the tools to end Thamud’s life, having brought the Servant if she found Thamud to be bold, and another weapon if Thamud was even bolder. Zahira only had to ensure that whatever injuries the man sustained would kill him, and they had done so by ensuring the loyalty of the Al-Uba’yd’s chief healer. This had not been difficult, for most of the women of these tribes only ever wanted better for their children, and it was well within Najla’s power to grant them such. The healer’s daughter had been granted an advantageous marriage to a wealthy trader, taken away from the hardships of the desert to live in the ‘luxuries’ nearby cities could provide. All the old woman had to do was see that Thamud succumbed to whatever illness he saw, and she would join her daughter to live out the rest of her days in peace and comfort. Whether the promise would be fulfilled remained to be seen, and was entirely dependent on whether Zahira was confident in her silence or not. Either way, Najla’s part in sending the girl off had been accomplished successfully, the healer himself would be left to her cousin.

[i]<“What will you tell Basim?”>

<“The same I will tell the Al-Uba’yd.”>[/i]

[i]<“You do not trust him?”>

<“It is not that, I know him too well. He has Jalil’s distaste for what he called ‘the weapons of women and cowards’. Basim will not understand, only because Jalil and Harith always refused to.”>

<“Uncle taught them well. What happened to you?”>[/i]

The teasing remark brought a smile to Najla’s face, and she stood, taking it as a sign that they were done here. Zahira followed, and the two began to walk out of the tent together as Najla replied. [i]<“You and that relentless horde of cousins, who loved to treat me like a bird for your gossip. Don’t tell me you’ve forgotten.”>[/i]


[hr]

Breakfast was an easy affair, taken at the same time as most of the camp, though not within their presence. While the people of the Al-Uba’yd arose to eat in and around their tents, the leaders of the clan had invited their guests to eat with them in the shade of the oasis. The gentle water and tall trees were welcome, though little compared to the thick gardens of flowers she was used to. Basim would join them, looking nothing like the mess she had seen minutes before, and far more like a prince. There, they took breakfast as a family, for truthfully they were all related through Zahira’s marriage, and would speak to each other as such until breakfast was cleared away, and they could finally speak of the reasons they were here.

[i]<“The people of the Banu Dunya are going to arrive today, no?”>[/i]

[i]<“If God wills it, Sultana.”>[/i]

It was a formal response that would not have brought her pause in the Sultan’s court, but here, Najla knew better. She knew her people too well, after all, and had heard such ambiguous answers often from those that did not like to answer questions. A glance up at Zahira was all it took to confirm her suspicions, and while her cousin remained silent beside her husband, Najla spoke up again. 

[i]<“The Sultan has willed it, and God has given them nothing to hinder their travels.”>[/i]

There was a moment’s pause then, but it was Thamud’s voice that answered her question. Though his voice was far deeper and rougher than Najla’s softer tones, yet somehow, there was no question that he was answering to her now.

[i]<“Sultana, we sent word of your arrival as soon as you reached. We hope that they will be here by nightfall, but do not know if they are ready to treat with us yet.”>

<“Why is that?”>

<“They said they're only going to ride to us on the horses we stole. Sultana.”>[/i] The voice that answered her now was not Thamud’s, but one of his brothers, who was clearly frustrated at the conversation. Najla had not missed that he nearly forgot her title, but after her eyes raked over his figure once, she understood. Basim would have had the same pained expression on his face if he had not been trained better than that, and she almost felt pity for the man who would have to remain speaking in this heat for hours to come.

[i]<“They’ll ride here on their own horses, or I’ll have the Servant drag them here.”>[/i] 

Najla left her threat hang in the air, despite the fact that it was not for them, she knew the weight such a sentence would carry. She ignored Zahira’s pleased smile, turning instead to motion a slave over to her. While she gave the girl a few commands in a whispered voice, ordering her to prepare a guard to ride to the village, she could hear Zahira and Basim resume the conversation behind her. Basim still seemed somewhat silent in these discussions, either due to timidity or his headache, yet Najla was pleased to hear his voice as she returned to the discussion.

[i]<“You have already dealt with the men who defied you?”>

<“Yes, we do not deal with such matters lightly I assure you, Sultanim. Those who have committed the crime have been punished.”>[/i]

Thamud’s answer caused Najla to frown, though this would be hidden behind the golden mask she had donned once again. She did not believe him, and though her words could not betray this fact yet, she did not want Basim to accept this answer so easily.

[i]<“Not too harshly, I hope?”>[/i]

Her words were spoken softly, as if she was genuinely concerned for the severity of the punishment. They had only taken horses after all, had the raiders taken women, they would have been able to demand a greater punishment. 

[i]<“I did not think violence worried you so, Sultana.”>

<“When necessary, it does not, but I believe in following the teachings of a merciful God. Yet I have seen no man amputated here.”>[/i]

Her words were spoken harmlessly, but the pause that they brought on was not quite so harmless. The implication was left hanging over the small group, though Najla pretended to be ignorant to this as she reached out to pluck another grape. There were only two punishments for theft, a piece of the man’s hand, or his life. It was a barbaric practice when she had seen Ketill pay a debt with his finger, but it was a common punishment for thieves. Had they taken women, she would have been able to comment on the unmarked skin of his warrior’s backs. Seeing as how such a mutilation was considered the most merciful punishment, Najla spoke as if she believed Thamud had executed every man that ‘defied’ his orders and violated the treaty. Yet he knew better, as did all those sitting on the cushions around them, for Najla had spent a night among the woman, and would have known if there were several new widows among them. The one Ketill had created last night was already too easy to spot.

[i]<“The Banu Dunya have demanded no flesh, Sultana.”>

<“I am pleased to hear that. Thank God they only want their horses.”>[/i]

Though her words were not entirely subtle, Najla knew there was nothing in them that could bring them to feel as if they had been insulted. Besides, she doubted there was anything in her tone that they had not heard before from Zahira. All Sultanas had perfected such an art, after all, to speak a man’s words in a woman’s voice, to confess their knowledge under the guise of ignorance. The question of whether she believed Thamud’s words regarding the punishment was left ambiguously answered, and Najla fell silent again as Basim spoke. She knew her brother, and thus could see in his face that he understood the message she had been trying to impart with her gentle questioning. Thamud was lying about punishing his men, and thus, had to be lying about the nature of the attack. 

[i]<“Which they will have, Sultana. We have only asked that they correct the number and approach the Ta’arof with honor.”>[/i]

The negotiations would continue for some time in this manner, though as they went on, Najla found that she needed to prod at Thamud less for Basim to catch on. After all, his nature was revealed rather early, and it had become clear that Zahira was not lying. Thamud was not holding on to two dozen horses for honor, though it was a cause his people would fall behind without question. As the Al-Uba’yd continued to make claims regarding their possession of the horses, pushing trivial claims here and there, Najla could only find it tiresome. It was not as if they cared about the horses, after all. Najla knew Thamud was pushing for more. Regardless of what it was, she would not concede so easily.

Thus, they moved off the subject of the horses, and into the heart of the pact they had broken. This proved to be far worse for Basim, who had managed to push through the arguments easily. His headache would only worsen as they were forced to move through every inch of the pact to determine what the Al-Uba’yd wanted renegotiated regarding their trade with the Banu Dunya. It was Najla that suffered most of the renegotiations here, and as the sun reached its peak, even she was beginning to feel her mind give in to the growing exhaustion. They broke to eat and rest, and though Basim would head to his tent instantly, eager to find shade and rest against the scorching sun, Najla’s business was not quite finished. Instead, she kissed her brother’s cheek goodbye, offering him a short praise on his abilities before leaving him to find the healer’s tent.

[hr]

For once, Najla would come to Ketill. Rather than have him flanked by guards and forced to speak to her in whatever splendor she sat in, she ducked under the flap of the healer’s tent, where she would have instructed them to keep Ketill the night before. Two guards followed, positioning themselves behind her as Najla glanced around the tent. Though her eyes sought out Ketill first, she did not say a word until an older voice spoke up. 

[i]<“Sultana.”>[/i] Najla turned her head to see an old woman bowing her head, to which she smiled gently. For a moment, Najla felt as if the woman was going to try and bow lower, and she reacted as she had with Thamud’s father, stopping the woman by taking her hand. 

[i]<“Mother, I did not mean to disturb your work.”> 

<“Not at all Sultana, I am grateful for your presence.”> [/i]

Najla released the woman’s hand then, stepping back. She would not spare Ketill another glance as she continued to speak to the woman, as if it had been her true intention to do so. She would continue to call the old woman ‘mother’ throughout the brief conversation, a respect granted by the Sawarim to older midwives. It held a particular respect in these tribes, for there were not many that lived long enough to earn it. 

[i]<“My cousin tells me your daughter has been recently been married.”>

<“Yes Sultana, just a few weeks ago.”>

<“May your eyes be lightened by their happiness, Mother, and may the Sawarim grant them many children.”>[/i]

Najla spoke to the woman kindly, as if genuinely pleased to hear of this stranger’s marriage. Her ignorance was a lie, of course, for she had been the one to arrange this match. However, she had happily granted all the credit to her cousin Zahira, who was just as glad to take it. It was a great kindness done for a respected woman, and it could only help elevate the Al-Uba’yd’s respect for the Sultana that lived amongst them. Najla was just pleased to keep her name off the endeavor as far as she could. They spoke briefly, before Najla politely requested a few moments to speak to her slave. The woman bowed and moved to shuffle out of the tent, but Najla’s voice would cause her to pause.

[i]<“Mother, no, I would not kick you out of your tent, especially not in such heat. Please, you are more than welcome to stay.”>

<“No need, Sultana, please, the tent is yours. I am expected to help prepare Yazan anyways.”>[/i] 

Najla nodded at that, for it seemed the name of Ketill’s victim had been enough to silence any further protest. It had not been as difficult as she’d thought to hide her horror at the night before, but something about the man’s name seemed to give her pause. Najla waited until the old woman had left the tent, before turning to face her slave, no trace of that gentle smile lingering on her lips now.

[i]“Ketill.”[/i] 

She spoke Ketill’s name softly as always, though it was difficult to do so. The thick accent upon her tongue made her force an awkward gentleness upon his name, one that did not fit the name nor the man that bore it. Najla turned towards him as if she had just noticed him, closing some of the distance between them in a few slow steps. As always however, there was a distance between them, one that felt even more pronounced when Najla stood before him, forcing him to look up at her if he wanted to meet her gaze. Perhaps it was a conscious gesture, to try and keep Ketill’s eyes from boring into her, and yet Najla knew from experience that she had little control over what her slave chose to see, say, or do. 

[i]“She says you will heal, easily. I hope your wounds do not trouble you too terribly until then. I would hate for my blood to have gone to waste.” [/i]

At that remark, Najla reached up, her bracelets clinking as she softly touched the small scar on her forehead, just below the hairline. The scar was not long at all, easily hidden if necessary, and yet, she would never be rid of it. It had been opened before, for purposes far greater than the protection of a Servant who did not know its meaning. She would not be the one to explain to him further, allowing him to assume what he liked. At this moment, she would move towards a cushion placed some ways in front of Ketill, guided by a guard’s hand. It was here that she sat, so that she was somewhat closer to being eye level with him. When she finally lifted her gaze to meet his, Ketill would notice that she hesitated to do so, as if unwilling to meet his eyes. Whatever exhaustion she was feeling would not be hidden from her expression now, though it only served to make her look uninterested in her slave, as if he were a task to be dealt with, not a man. The guard stood before her, between his Sultana and Ketill, while another stood beside Ketill himself, as it seemed that Najla wanted to make doubly sure that he would not hurt her now. She would not mention this added protection as she reached up, removing the golden mask from her face slowly, her tired gaze never leaving Ketill’s.

[i]“Did you burn him on purpose?”[/i] The mention of the fight before was rather sudden, yet Najla showed little disgust or horror at the thought. After all, it was not the first time she had seen him commit such an act. Then it had been brief and necessary, and Najla had been allowed to show her horror without fear of appearances. Then, the act had not been committed under her command to kill. [i]“You must have. Servants cannot be ignorant to the Qawanin Al-Harb.”[/i]

Though spoken in an unfamiliar tongue, there was a reason Najla believed the words themselves would be familiar. She was speaking of their laws of war, a list of rules scattered throughout their holy books that dictated exactly how their warfare must operate. Some were easy to understand, for they rested in practicality, such as the law against burning the few fields the Sawarim had. Others, like the one Ketill had broken, were rooted far deeper, in meanings the Servants would not always care to understand, but one that Najla would continue to explain.

[i]“Man or Daab, you are most certainly not a God. It is not for a man to decide who burns and who does not, that is a power to be dealt at God’s discretion.”[/i]

Her words betrayed her assumptions easily, as Najla had no intention of hiding them now. It was obvious that she believed she understood why Ketill had committed such an act. It was unspoken arrogance for a Sawarim to burn another man, an expression that they believed they were level with their God. Najla assumed that had been Ketill’s purpose, to insinuate he was above their God, and it was clear that she was not pleased at such an act. It seemed Najla would require far more than the life of a single tribesman for that. Yet she was not entirely displeased with him either, for she would not seek to punish him for what he had done. He had served his purpose, and as always, Ketill was little to her beyond that.

[i]“I am not here to punish you for doing as I asked, despite how…distastefully it was accomplished. You may call yourself God, beast, or man, it does not matter. You can only climb so high with another on your shoulders.”[/i]

It was a strange statement, translated somewhat awkwardly from her native tongue, though it held a hint of truth. It was not as if the Sawarim could be angry with a Monarchist for violating their laws of war, it was simply another reason they could consider them savages and infidels. His brutishness had only fueled a new admiration for the Sultana that had survived it, and a respect for the Sultan that had managed to enslave him.

[i]“You were not like this before.”[/i] She spoke these words softly, as if she were a concerned friend, not a horrified mistress. [i]“You were a savage, always, but I fear you’ve gone mad. I suppose that would be my fault, but I am not so arrogant as to believe I could do this to you. Perhaps Tahir-” She paused for a moment, only to shake her head slightly. “No, but it doesn’t matter. Tell me, what are you sustaining yourself for?”[/i]

The question was spoken as confidently as it was sudden, and Najla would quickly reveal the reason why. It might have seemed odd, for it was a subject she spoke on little, but she had few other experiences to draw on in order to understand Ketill’s position. 

[i]“Life by itself is not enough. I did not endure my time as Saina because I valued my life so dearly. Death would have been easy, quick, and I would be free from any further humiliation at their hands.”[/i] She stopped talking for a brief moment, allowing herself to breathe deeply, as if she was gathering her strength. When her eyes opened to meet Ketill’s again, there was no pain in them, nor sympathy. She was speaking only of distant memories now.

[i]“They took much from me, but I had many reasons to withstand it all. You have endured worse, even caused yourself worse, and for what? So far as I know, you have no family to return to, no lover waiting for you, no wealth or power, only an order that has forgotten your name. I had all of those, and some days, even that was not enough. If it had not been for my brother, I might have slit my throat the day I was given to a Servant.”[/i]

If the mention of her time as Saina was strange, the mention of her brother was even stranger. Ketill knew he was dead, though she did not know if he had ever cared to find out more regarding Jalil. Her words could either mean she had failed to keep him alive, or he had needed her after his death, though Najla would not tell Ketill that she had failed in that endeavor too. 

[i]“I believe I know why sustain yourself. If I am right, I am afraid you will find your life wasted in a fruitless pursuit. If I am wrong, if you have something, someone to return to…”[/i] Her words trailed off now, and her gaze turned into something a little more mischievous, almost as if she was playing a game with Ketill. It seemed Najla would never grow tired of seeking to understand her slave, even if she understood there was no chance of securing his loyalty now. She did not ask the question itself, only pushing herself off the cushions delicately, then taking the guards hand to raise herself the rest of the way. She had gotten nothing from Ketill, and she doubted that he enjoyed his time in her presence. 

[i]“I hope I am wrong, Ketill. Until then, I offer you what I can.”[/i] It was a sentence that was spoken effortlessly, betraying how easily Najla was able to manipulate her tongue. Ketill was her slave, fulfilling her demands to kill, and yet, Najla spoke as if she was doing him a favor in offering him blood. [i]“I will ask you to fight again, not just here, but elsewhere. You will not be allowed to kill all of them, and I cannot allow you to kill in this manner again. If you cannot control your bloodlust, I ask you to tell me now, so that I may find you more disposable opponents.”[/i] With that, Najla moved the golden mask back onto her face, struggling somewhat, as it was an unfamiliar accessory to her. [i]“Rest, and heal. If you are not well enough to fight, I will not ask you to do so, though that will be have to be decided at my discretion, not yours. May you rest easily, knowing that you have robbed me of the same.”[/i]

Najla would leave Ketill to rest after that, for though it seemed she was eager to relax as well, that was not an option quite yet. Instead, she’d have to drag those two guards to the village, to meet with the family of the bereaved until negotiations had to begin again.

[hr]

The heat was settling unpleasantly in the desert afternoon when Basim would call Ketill into his tent, forcing him to walk through the piercing heat of the day briefly before he found respite in the prince’s tent again. The negotiations had started up once more, yet regardless of what they had accomplished, it all seemed meaningless unless they were ready to hand back the spoils, which the Al-Uba’yd seemed reluctant to do. The discussions seemed to be all for show now, and the true negotiations would begin again when they broke once more. Though everyone else had dispersed, Najla had asked Thamud to take a drink with her, and they had returned to speak privately in her tent. Basim was not asked to join, though he did not seem to mind, nor care what they were speaking of in there, so long as this problem would be resolved.

Basim was laying on his back, staring up at the cloth of the tent while he spoke to one of his guards. It was a conversation born out of boredom, not necessity, and thus easily interrupted when Ketill was escorted in. Basim would dismiss the slave that escorted him, but not his own guard. He had not forgotten the night before.

For a moment, there was only silence. Basim looked upon Ketill with a look quite unlike what he’d studied the Servant with before. He was still curious, clearly, though he no longer looked at Ketill with the same sense of wonder one did a curiosity from a foreign land. There was something new in the way he considered Ketill, an emotion nestled somewhat between horror, confusion, and respect. If he had considered Ketill a violent savage before, the way his sister did, there was no telling what he thought of him now. 

[i]“There’s water if you want it.”[/i] 

It was a strange way for a prince to greet a slave, but as Basim gestured to the pitcher on the small table, it seemed absent-minded. It was as if he had done so out of habit, for no reason beyond the fact that it was hot outside. He pushed himself off his back then, moving so that he was seated on the cushions lazily, looking up at Ketill with that same look in his eyes, the one that betrayed a new confusion regarding his sister’s slave.

[i]“You did not need to do that, last night. You could have given him a clean death.”[/i] Though answering Basim’s questions was not an unfamiliar process to Ketill, this held none of the boyish curiosity he’d exhibited before. This question was spoken soberly, without excitement, as if he was dreading the answer. [i]“Why didn’t you?”[/i]

Whatever Ketill’s answer, Basim listened intently. He was not quite so ready as Najla to determine a purpose for his actions, and perhaps he would get a better answer out of Ketill as a result. The incident had clearly had a greater impact on Basim than on Najla, and he would not move on quite as easily. Though he did not sound like he was chastising Ketill, there would be no doubt that Basim was unhappy when he spoke up again.

[i]“His wife is a widow now. Najla said she tripled the Mahriyeh, but she still had to watch her husband burn to death.” [/i]

Basim spoke as if Ketill would know what the Mahriyeh was, though perhaps he had been too deep in his thoughts to translate the word. It referred to the gift a husband promised his wife upon his death, enough to help her live comfortably until her death if she was old, or remarry if she was young enough. Though the man’s widow had been young, Najla had made certain the girl could live as a widow forever if she chose. She had spoken to Basim as if that had been enough. It was not enough for Basim, but when he looked upon Ketill, it seemed as if the distaste had been far more about his actions than the man himself. He was smart enough to understand that the man had volunteered, and that Ketill’s actions had been done under his sister’s orders. Whatever kindness she had done the girl afterwards, she had asked Ketill to kill him.

[i]“They will ask you to fight again. I don’t know when the negotiations will be over, but it has to be then, we are not allowed to break bread with them again until they are.”[/i] He paused for a moment then, but would resume speaking almost immediately. [i]“You know, Najla told me a lot about her time in Broacien. She told me about how scared she was to pray after the first time she was caught, especially after she was given to you. She never told me what they did, or what you would have done, but I know what they would do to you. Still, it’s not fair.”[/i]

He spoke as if it was common knowledge to Ketill, clearly assuming that Najla had revealed more about herself than she truly had. It would likely hardly be a surprise however, and there was little for Ketill to draw sympathy from, for she had not suffered for her religion as drastically as he had. Yet at these words, Basim pushed himself off the cushions swiftly, moving to stand. It became obvious that he was moving to walk towards Ketill, at which the guard behind him would begin to say something, only to have Basim’s words cut him off. The guard would not be pleased by them, but could not fight his prince.

[i]<“It will be fine. Stay right there.”>[/i]

He did not walk towards Ketill, but to the table upon which the offered water sat. As he did so, Ketill would notice Basim begin to pull something out of his pocket, though it was small enough to be hidden by his fist. He would not reveal it to Ketill just yet, but laid his hand on the table, keeping his back to his guard. His voice was softer now, and he would reveal his purpose in calling for Ketill almost as slowly as he had to Najla the night before, uncovering his secret in hesitant pieces. 

[i]“Would you have let her pray? She told me she has not forbidden you to pray, but I’ve never seen you do it. If you are risking your life here, I think you should be able to pray, no?”[/i] With that, he slowly lifted his hand off of the small cross, revealing it to Ketill even as he hid it from his guard. Slowly, he pushed it under the edge of the tray, before pouring himself a glass of water, as if that had been his intention all along. [i]“Quick, take it. Don’t let anyone see, not the guards, especially not Najla. She’ll have both of our heads if she finds out.”[/i] With that, Basim took the cup and walked back to his seat, though his eyes studied Ketill curiously, waiting for him to take the cross when the guard was no longer paying attention. Despite his nerves, he seemed hopeful that Ketill would find some relief in this kindness.

[i]“Why won’t you take it? Are you worried? I can hide it for you, if you are. They won't kill me for it.”[/i]

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