[quote=@persianversion]
The morning of the duel, Najla had awoken as usual, repeated her morning prayers, and immediately set upon the task of preparing herself to face the events of the day. While for Ketill, that had meant servants to hand him weapons and help him into his armor, for Najla, it meant servants to fix her hair and fit her into her dress, finally placing that thin gold ring upon her head once they were finished. She looked every bit the Sultana whose honor would be restored, though she did not quite feel this way. Regardless of what happened today, she would find no victory. The most she could hope for was that her honor would be restored for her family’s sake, even if it would not do so in her husband’s eyes.

They would begin to head towards the duel early into the afternoon, as soon as Najla and her family were readied. The process went as expected, with her mother escorted by her father, Harith escorting Adina and his son trotting behind both of them, and finally, Najla, gripping onto Basim’s arm as they spoke. She could tell that he was trying to ease the nerves he imagined she held, and so Najla allowed him to do so, never quite telling him that she felt no worry. That would indicate that there was a desirable option, one she was worried they would not reach. All she could feel now was dread, and as they stepped towards the arena, she felt it consume her.

Here, they would have to exchange their niceties, following each of the tedious Sawarimic rituals to the letter, before they would be allowed to settle in their seats and watch. They had approached the Sultan as a family first, and Najla initially stood back and watched as he greeted them. It was custom, after all, for him to speak with his brother briefly first, and then it was Harith who’d approach him, bowing his head and kissing his hand, before carefully instructing Mehmet to do the same, though he would not understand the meaning of the gesture. Finally, it was Basim, after which her uncle finally motioned for Najla to come before him, to kiss his hand and press it to her forehead, before straightening up. Her family was not yet out of earshot, and Basim was only a few paces away, waiting to escort his sister again, but Najla was the only woman of their family who’d speak to the Sultan without her escort’s presence beside her. It would go unnoticed by most of the crowd, certainly, but to Osman’s family, Najla knew it would not be forgotten.

[i]<“I admit, my blood, I was excited to see your Servant fight. I simply wish it had been under different circumstances.”>

<“As do I, Sultan. I cherish none of the blood that is to be spilled today, only the peace that it will bring.”>

<“I hope so. This will be the last day I hear of this matter again.”>

<“Yes, Sultan, it will. You have my word.”>[/i]

For a moment, Najla simply stood before her uncle, waiting for him to say something. He simply looked her over with that same gaze he’d held all day, all her life really, one that never quite betrayed what he was thinking about, only that he was thinking. Basim held a near-similar gaze when he was deep in thought, a shared quirk among blood that brought her some comfort, even when she was waiting for her Sultan to continue expressing his disapproval.

[i]<“Are you nervous, Aynaya?”>[/i]

My eyes. These were the first words that brought a smile onto her face that day, however brief it was. It had been the nickname given to her as a child, not long after she had been given her own name. She’d heard it when she had scurried through halls as a child, and when her family had lovingly chided her afterwards. It had been years since then, and Najla had not heard the name in any voice but her mother’s for some time, so to hear her uncle speak it again felt strange. More than anything however, it gave her a brief hope, an indication that perhaps this would truly be over.

[i]<“No, Sultan. I hold no fear of the Sawarim’s judgement. His will has acted upon me in far more trying ways, and each time, he has shown me that those who retain their loyalty to both him and to you, will always return to his graces. Whether I should win or lose today, so long as I emerge as a better servant to my God and my Sultan, I see no need to fear.”>

<“May the Sawarim will it so. Go, return to your family.”> [/i]

Najla nodded at the command, before leaning down to kiss her uncle’s rings again, finally turning and walking towards Basim to take his hand. He escorted her to return to her family, though Najla knew that this would not be the end of it. They had greeted the Sultan, acknowledged his impartial right to determine this matter as the enforcer of the Sawarim’s will, but now, they would be made to face their opponents. For Najla’s family, that would mean standing behind their daughter and drinking in the greetings of Osman and his family, but for Najla, that meant standing before Elif herself, to speak cordial words she did not mean. Hopefully it’d be one of the last times she’d have to do so.

So she waited amongst her family, where they would only have to wait briefly before Elif approached the Sultan, escorted by Osman, who could barely look Najla in the eyes as he walked by. Yet she would not tear her eyes off of him as he bowed low before the Sultan, straightening up to recite a few familiar lines before the Sultan was through speaking to him. Najla could only hope that Osman would not notice what she had suspected, that her uncle’s opinion of Osman had been substantially lowered by this matter. He had proven all too clearly that he had little ability to control his wives, and a man who could not even win the obedience of his wives would be hard-pressed to find it elsewhere. Her uncle’s opinion of Osman did not quite matter to Najla now, who knew that on some level, it would make Osman more reliant on her to keep his influence with the Sultan. After all, it seemed her uncle would forgive her eventually, though she did not yet know when. But these were not matters that could quite concern her now, for before she could think too long regarding the matter, Osman and his family had come to approach her. They greeted her father first, as expected, repeating the cordial greetings that she was certain none of them felt. Yet Najla could not listen to such words, for she was all too focused on the eyes she could feel burning into her, watching her so fiercely that Najla was worried she might speak.

Yet she was silent. Even when Elif and Osman came to Najla, and even as they forced out the few well-wishes and expressed their acceptance of the results, whatever they may be, she was silent. When all the niceties and formalities were over, and the families could move to ascend their platforms, Najla would have been quick to forget those piercing eyes, if it had not been for her brother’s soft whisper in her ear as they walked back.

[i]<“Did you see the way she was looking at you?”>

<“I can’t blame her. I’m about to take her sons life.”>[/i]

An unpleasant matter, but the way Najla spoke of it seemed almost dismissive. It was not Osman’s mother she was worried about, after all. It was certainly regrettable, but there was little that her mother-in-law could do to her. It was her husband that she was worried about, and it was the look in his eyes that she could not forget, the one that told her she’d never be forgiven for this. It was this look that she tried to shake from her vision as they sat down in their seats, with nothing to do but wait for the fight to begin.

Even so, it seemed they’d find some entertainment while they waited, for Sa’aqr was quick to enter the arena. Najla leaned forward in her seat, ready for Ketill to exit after him, but a voice pulled her back quickly.

[i]<“I don’t think they’re starting.”>[/i]

Najla moved back in her seat, looking up at her father as she replied. [i]<“Then what’s he doing out there?”>

<“Embarrassing himself. These are the last words his mother will ever hear him speak, and they’re going to be lies.”>[/i] 

This reply had come from her brother, though her father’s silence was proof enough that he agreed, though he wouldn’t say it. It would not take long for Najla to understand why, as Sa’aqr was quick to begin parading himself before the crowd, making grand gestures and making various grand claims about vanquishing a Servant to the crowd. It was an entertaining show, and though most of the crowd seemed to appreciate it, Najla found little humor in it. He would die soon, and each and every one of these claims would be forgotten once he did. A glance around at her family seemed to suggest the same, for those who had seen Ketill fight seemed to understand that these were the last few words he’d be able to speak. Those who had not seen her Servant were likely worried, or simply uncomfortable with the grandiosity of it all, bar Mehmet, who was enjoying the show all too much.

Finally, it was time, and the crowd’s attitude seemed to change entirely when Ketill stepped out, his armor flashing under the Sawarim sun. However excited they had been, however riled up Sa’aqr’s words had made them, the crowd seemed to quiet for a moment as they took in the beast their Sultana had brought. The facemask only made him more fearsome to look upon, and Najla felt as if she could see the ice of his eyes from where she sat. As the crowd’s volume began to rise up again, likely now excitedly discussing the ‘Bear of Broacien’, Najla’s mind had turned to another matter entirely, and she leaned over, whispering in Harith’s ear softly.

[i]<“You never told me, what did you do with the armorer?”>[/i]

The question elicited a grin from Harith, who glanced down at her briefly before turning his gaze onto the arena once more. He had told her of the man’s transgression, and though he’d had to explain a few points regarding the armor to Najla, she had been quick to agree with Harith, this could not go unpunished. Yet Najla had left the matter to him, for it was Harith he’d lied to, after all, and Harith who had volunteered to find a just punishment.

[i]<“You don’t need to hear about such violence.”>

<“What?”>[/i] Her whispering was slightly louder now, harsher even, though she could not quite tell if Harith was joking or not. [i]<“You brought your child to see a man die, but you won’t tell me that?”>

<“He’ll see plenty more death before his time, I’m not going to pretend otherwise.”>

<“And I haven’t?”>[/i]

She would get no chance to pursue this further, at least not today. The silence of the crowd was quick to indicate what was about to happen, and the armorer was quickly forgotten as the prayers began. They were the same as ever, the familiar words that preceded harsh deaths and blood-stained sands, yet they felt different to Najla when she spoke them. The last time had been just before Thamud’s death, or the slow procession towards it, and even then, she had not felt that sense of dread in her stomach.

It would not be given long to settle, for as soon as the prayers were over, the fighters were ready to begin. Najla merely watched for a moment, though it was not long before her father spoke up, pointing out some of the details he believed his daughter was missing. Perhaps her father should have been whispering this knowledge to Basim, who would find far more use for it, but it was Najla that seemed far more eager to hear it. While Najla appreciated the distraction from the events that were to come, Basim would likely not be half as eager to have the details of the violence pointed out to him. And her father would be wasting his breath on Harith, who would be whispering the same to his son in time, but for now, was grinning like a maniac. 

[i]<“See how they’re testing each other? Watch the way they’re estimating each other’s movements.”>[/i]

He’d have to begin to explain some of the finer details to his daughter, who continued to ask her father questions about their movements, trying to see if she could understand the tide of the fight better this way. It was also a helpful distraction from her nerves, though Najla would not reveal this to her father as she continued to ask questions, hoping he wouldn’t notice. There was no sense in revealing her nerves to him, he was not a man that would help her to calm down. If that had been her goal, Najla would have asked her mother, but now, her father’s words were giving her some sort of insight she had not had before, which were a comfort in themselves at least. 

She had felt a hint of nerves set in when Sa’aqr first struck out, grazing Ketill’s armor with his dagger, though it faded rather quickly when Ketill set upon him, slamming into his shield. Or rather, it was not Ketill that eased her, but Harith’s soft chuckle, as he leaned over where she sat to speak to his father. 

[i]<“Didn’t I tell you I wasn’t just wasting those shields? It’s no wonder he went through the supply!”>[/i]

Harith’s amusement had been a stark contrast to her father before, though this comment managed to bring a smile onto his face briefly. It did not last long, for Najla’s hand was quick to shove Harith out of her line of vision, letting him settle back in his seat as she focused on the fight once more. It seemed her father had caught the impressed look on her face when Sa’aqr dropped his shield to grab the spear, for he was quick to speak again. 

[i]<“He’s performing. Don’t let it worry you.”>[/i]

His words were affirmed quickly whenever Sa’aqr began to spin the weapon around in his hands, and so Najla simply watched as they finally approached each other again, as Sa’aqr moved to slam his spear into Ketill’s head. As the two tangled together, the fighting seemed to grow more violent, more brutish, and she felt her body tense as they exchanged blow upon blow. When they finally split apart, as Ketill moved back to call for an axe, Najla just watched the way they walked, feeling that dread seep into her stomach again. They were beaten and bruised already, there was no question as to that, and so she could only hope that they’d end this fight soon.

Unfortunately, she’d get her wish. The sounds of the crowd cheering and gasping fell silent as the pounding of Najla’s heart rose in her throat. He’d been hit. She could not tell how badly, but the nerves she’d been trying so desperately to hide showed themselves now, as she gripped her father’s hand tightly. He said nothing as to this, offered no words of comfort, for soon Sa’aqr’s yell filled the arena as Ketill dragged him down, only to be followed by a familiar voice.

Najla looked up across the arena, only to settle her eyes on her husband. He looked terrified, as did his mother, both watching as Ketill raised the axe towards their son. Though she glanced down when Ketill struck, the excitement of the arena would not be able to keep her attention for long, and her gaze returned back to her husband. For a moment, Najla felt only pain, remorse that she had caused such a hardship upon the man she loved. This would not last, for a stern voice in her ear would be quick to redirect her attention.

[i]<“Don’t look away. You sentenced him, you owe him that much.”>[/i]

So Najla looked, her expression fading to something completely unreadable, no trace of the remorse or pain, no sense of worry or fear. She merely watched as Ketill pulled the tip of the spear out of his side, raising it in the air, and though her father had told her to look at Sa’aqr, her gaze was on Ketill. She could not read his expression from behind the facemask, but Najla felt as if she could feel his eyes on her, boring through her, harsher than any weapon he’d touched before. Perhaps she was imagining it. Her eyes followed the spear as he lowered it, stabbing it through Sa’aqr’s neck, twisting it and letting the man fall upon the sand. The crowd roared to life behind her, even as Najla watched the blood spread across the sands, staining each grain. She’d sentenced her brother-in-law, and now, the crowd behind her cheered even as her husband grieved across from her. Perhaps she would suffer for this too, later, when the people realized they were cheering for a Servant. For now, they had seen only violence, and they had loved it.

The crowd would quiet as the Sultan stood from his throne. His voice carried across the arena, announcing that the Sawarim had decided in Najla’s favor, officially deciding this matter. As ritual demanded, he would turn to Najla’s family then, and call for them to demand their recompense. This compensation typically varied, from a small sum to the murder of a near relative, depending on the crime. But as promised, Najla shook her head at her father, who stood, his voice answering his brother’s question on her behalf. It was a strange comparison to the first time Najla had sentenced Ketill, where she had stood to announce her will to the court, but it seemed here, in the face of violence, the Sawarim had separate rules about their women’s roles. It mattered little to Najla, who could only tear her gaze off of Ketill when the Sultan would accept this notion, leaving before allowing the crowd to disperse after him.

[i]<“My daughter says she will reject any Qisas that is offered. This suffering is regrettable, and we will see no more of it.”>[/i]

With that, it was over. The Sultan would leave, and the crowd would move out just after, gossiping and talking amongst themselves about what had just happened. Najla’s family would not remain, but leave just after the Sultan. She could hear Harith and Adina’s hushed arguing behind her, likely about the violence their son had just witnessed, she could hear Mehmet speaking to Basim, who pulled his nephew along as he spoke about anything but the violence the boy had just witnessed, and finally, her parents, though she could not quite hear what they were saying. Najla however, was quiet up until a slave ran up to approach her, bowing quickly.

[i]<“Sultana, forgive me, the Servant-“>

<“Has a healer gotten to him yet?”>

<“Yes, Sultana.”>

<“Good. If he needs further attention, have the healers sent to his room. And instruct his servant to notify me once he’s healed. Otherwise, I don’t want to hear anything more regarding him unless he dies.”>[/i]

 [hr]

The Sawarim believed in burying the dead as soon as they were allowed, and so Sa’aqr’s body would be taken quickly, carried off the arena and into a temple. Here, he was joined by his male kin throughout the day, who were tasked with cleaning the blood off his body, preparing him to meet his God. Perhaps it was a cruelty, to force family to do so mere hours after his death, but the Sawarim God was not a soft God, they had long since seen that. Once they were done, they’d wrap his body in a white cloth, securing it tightly with rope, before leaving him to wait until they could bury him. As with all other aspects of their lives, death was a highly ritualized process, and so they would have to wait until the next day to bury him during the proper hours. Until then, they would allow visitors. First it was Osman and his family, of course, but they tapered off throughout the night, until Najla could finally call upon him herself.

The sound of her steps against the tile seemed to reverberate against the temple walls, indicating just how alone Najla was now. There was only Sa’aqr before her, though he was not the man he remembered. She had recalled him as a boastful man, entertaining when he was drunk, prone to large gestures and a penchant for playfully teasing his younger brothers. Now he was a corpse, wrapped tightly in white cloth and set upon a slab of marble. Though his body had been cleaned, so that the white cloth could not be stained despite the injuries that had left him here, it still smelled. Najla was hard-pressed to keep from wrinkling her nose, and instead uncorked the small bottle of pressed rosewater she had gripped in her hand, holding it to her nose as she walked closer.

Najla seemed to hold no fear of a corpse, and so she felt no hesitation as she walked around the slab, stopping behind it to look down at the white cloth that so tightly wrapped his body. It was stainless, an indicator of how he would leave this world, though Najla was certain it would not be so by the time he was buried. They would have to rewrap him if it was dirtied, but she had seen enough funerals to know how many corpses were buried with their mother’s tears upon them. Still, she did not touch it. Rather, she simply lowered the bottle of rosewater from her nose, using a small amount to wet her hands in preparation for prayer. As she set the bottle down on that slab of marble, just beside the corpse, the sound of a footstep came. Far heavier than hers had been, and faster. There was no question as to who it could be, for there would be no one else allowed within the temple while she was here, and so Najla did not even look up as she continued to rub the scented water into her hands, though she could feel her heart starting to race.

[i]<“Were you waiting for me?”> 

<“For some time. I was beginning to think you weren’t coming.”>[/i]

[i]<“You shouldn’t have waited.”>[/i] Najla’s voice was soft, making it clear that her words were coming more out of concern for him than herself. Finally, her eyes lifted up to her husband to be, and she felt herself falter before her next words. She had never seen Osman so hurt, his eyes bloodshot with grief and lack of sleep, his voice hoarse despite his strangely calm demeanor. It pained her to think that she had brought this upon him, even though she would not acknowledge it yet. [i]<“You need to sleep. I can see that you haven’t rested since.”>[/i]

[i]<“Of course I haven’t.”>[/i] Osman was quick to walk closer, stopping on the other side of the slab which held his brother. His tone was growing angrier now, though the grief that permeated them was unmoving, resistant to any other emotion. [i]<“I spent the day washing his corpse, and the night scrubbing his blood off my hands. How could I have rested, when my hands still burned with his blood?”> 

<“May your pain be taken from you.”>[/i]

It was a formal response, though the tone she spoke it in was soft, as if it could bring him some comfort. Osman’s eyes lifted to her, still burning, and Najla could tell that he had noticed. She had not offered to take his pain onto herself, for she could have done that long ago, had she named Harith as a champion. Whether that would have evened the score in Osman’s eyes, she did not know, but something in her words seemed to ease him. It was not that he was not entirely angry, but he was precariously balancing between his emotions, perching halfway between grief and anger. It seemed as if the former won out, briefly, for Osman’s words felt as if he was aching for some comfort, even from her. 

[i]<“I feel as if I’ve already forgotten his face. Every time I try to picture him, I don’t see a man anymore I just-“>[/i] 

He paused here, drawing a deep breath to steady himself. Najla wanted nothing more than to reach out to him, to pull him into her arms and take such a grief from him, but she couldn’t bring herself to lift a hand. Instead, she spoke again, her voice barely heard above his heavy, tortured breathes.

[i]<“His face will return to your memories as it is meant to. It will take time, but-“>[/i]

[b][i]<“Stop lying!”>[/i][/b] His hands suddenly found the marble slab, leaning against it to steady himself. The anger had returned to his voice, and for a moment, it had caused Najla to jump as his demand echoed against the tiles of the temple. It was a lucky thing that the guards were outside, though Najla did not feel so lucky as Osman continued.

[i]<“Do you see Jalil’s face in your memories? Do you see the boy he was, can you picture that? Or is it just a rotting, crushed skull on a man’s body?! Sa’aqr still bleeds, in my mind he has not stopped bleeding, I cannot see anything else!”>[/i]

[i]<“I hear his voice.”>[/i] Najla forced herself to continue speaking, though the way his hands tightened upon the marble, mere inches from his brothers corpse, should have been a warning. [i]<“And I- I feel his presence. They say the witnesses never truly leave us, and they speak the truth.”>

<“[b]You[/b] made him a witness.”>[/i]

The accusation was spoken through clenched teeth, and suddenly, it felt as if Najla was more aware of how empty the large temple was, how the only one that stood between her and her lover was the corpse she had created. The fear had settled for some time, but Najla would not give in just yet, could not bear to show it, in hopes that perhaps his grief would overwhelm his anger. Elif could not understand his grief, but she had spent nights in Osman’s arms, seeking comfort when her memories of Jalil could not be put away by sleep or wine. It was a fleeting hope however, for Najla knew by now that their memories of before would not be enough.

[i]<“I didn’t want this. I didn’t name him.”>

<“Or Harith, hm? Was my family the only one meant to bleed?”>[/i] He finally released the marble, now slowly walking around the slab where his brother lay, his eyes frozen upon Najla. She had to force herself not to take a step back, praying that he would not be so stricken as to hurt her here, in the presence of their God. 

[i]<“No, I would never wish this upon you. I didn’t want him named, I could never have imagined this.”>[/i]

[i]<“Don’t tell me you didn’t know what your dog would do.”>[/i]

[i]<“My love, you’re grieving.”>[/i] Osman halted, for now he had made it around to her side, though he was still a few paces from her. [i]<“We’ll deal with the dog later. We shouldn’t talk about such things now. Not here.”>[/i]

For a moment, Najla wondered if her words had worked. Osman shot a quick glance at the white cloth that covered his brother’s face, and Najla watched as his eyes moved upwards from there, tracing the ray of light that led straight up past the decorated tiles, as if he could see his God in the sky above. After all, while it was the law of God that a man was allowed to strike his wife, it was not a tradition that was smiled upon, especially not in so sacred a ground. Perhaps, given more time, she could have spoken to him, convinced him of the difficult situation Elif had put her in. Whatever brief hope of that had begun, it was quickly dashed, for Najla watched as Osman’s gaze snapped back to her, the anger still very much apparent within them.

[i]<“You think God will judge me here? After all that you have done? You unleashed a Monarchist dog upon your people-“>[/i]

[i]<“Osman-“>[/i] Her plea was cut off as Osman took another step towards her, and finally, Najla tried to step back, out of his reach. Still, it was too late, for his anger had peaked. Whatever those brief moments of thought had brought, it was not peace, Najla could see that in his eyes. He seemed nothing like the man she had fallen in love with, he was not her husband, but a beast that wanted her gone, dead. Another among many, it seemed. 

[i]<“I listened to the people [b]cheer[/b], for the end of my brother’s life, for the glory of an infidel! Look what you have brought upon my family. You should never have returned, you should have rotted beside your brother-”>

<“Please-“>[/i]

Her words were barely spoken when they were cut off by a harsh crack, followed by a sharp sensation of pain in her lip. Najla would have fallen over from the force, but Osman was quick to grab her before she fell. His hand wrapped in her hair, as before, but Najla was helpless to do much but struggle as he turned her around, forcing her to face the corpse beneath her. One hand gripped at her left arm, keeping her from utilizing it, and it was her right that gripped against the slab of marble, the sole obstacle besides cloth that stood between her and Sa’aqr now. Osman did not push her lower just yet, content to spit words into her ear, as Najla felt the tickle of blood as it begin to move from her lips.

[i]<“Look what you have done! [b]LOOK![/b]”>[/i] 

Najla tried to turn her face away as Osman pressed her head farther down, and she could feel that trickle moving on her face now, threatening to spill down onto the precious white cloth. Even in her pain and fear, Najla held one clear thought in her mind: Don’t stain the cloth. They’ll notice. She tried to hold her bottom lip in her mouth, ignoring the pain and the coppery taste that filled her mouth now. 

It was not enough. Osman’s words were nearly as harsh as his hands, spilling forth his grief in between accusations, but Najla could not hear them. She could feel the tickle of a drop of blood as it ran down her lip, moving down her chin, aching to fall onto the pure cloth under her. She wanted nothing more than to speak, to beg Osman to release her before he stained his brother’s body with her blood, but doing so would only serve to stain the cloth more, this she knew. So Najla held silent for these brief moments, praying that the drop would not fall, but this too, was to no avail. Finally, when she felt as if the drop would fall from her face, Najla released the slab with her arm. In this moment, she reached up, hoping to stop the blood from falling, and Osman’s strength pushed her down farther without such resistance, so that she nearly fell against the corpse. This moment was short-lived however, for Osman’s arms were quick to pull her back, throwing her to the side, away from his brother. Najla fell onto the tile harshly, the first cry of pain escaping her lips as she did so.

For a long moment, they were silent. Najla slowly pushed herself up to sit upon the tile, looking up to see that Osman was bent over, his head resting on the marble beside his brother’s head, as if in prayer. He was not praying however, the way his shoulders rose with his labored breaths, or perhaps sobs, was enough to tell her that. In this silence, Najla slowly took account of her injuries, touching the arm he had grabbed, the side she had landed on, knowing that these were likely to bruise. Finally, she raised her hand to her lip, and when she pulled away her fingers, Najla could see that the red of her blood had already stained them.

The silence endured, and finally, Najla pushed herself to stand. At the sound of her movements, Osman lifted his head, stepping back from Sa’aqr’s body and away from the slab he was laid on, walking around as if he meant to leave the temple. However, he did not quite seek to leave yet, and his eyes remained on Najla as she stepped towards Sa’aqr once more. She did not look at Osman, nor would she speak, only walking towards that bottle of rosewater she had left, the one that miraculously had not been shattered in the wake of her husband’s assault. Once more, Najla uncorked this, but rather than offer it to the dead as intended, she poured a small amount upon her hands, scrubbing the blood off. Again, she filled her palm with the scented water, wincing slightly as she wiped the blood off her chin and lips, wiping it on the black fabric of her dress. It did not escape her that she had dirtied her own clothes to keep that white cloth spotless, and briefly, she felt thankful that she was draped in all black. Perhaps it was lucky that they were mourning, for Najla was quick to lift the black cloth that was meant to cover her hair, draping so that it exposed little but her eyes. No doubt, she would have to wear the fabric in a similar fashion for some time, though none would question her as to the reason, not until mourning was over. When that was done, Najla offered the rest of the water, pouring the final few drops at Sa’aqr’s feet.

[i]<“Ya Sawarim, forgive our living and our dead. Be generous onto him, and cause his entrance to be wide and wash him with water and snow and rain. Cleanse him of his transgressions as white cloth is cleansed of stains. Take him into Paradise, and protect him from the punishment of the grave.”>[/i]

It hurt somewhat to speak the prayer, but Najla persisted, though it was mumbled under the cloth that covered her mouth now. It did not matter. Osman, who was still watching her with those burning, bloodshot eyes, knew precisely the words she was speaking. It was only when she was finished that Najla closed the empty bottle again, finally looking up at her husband. 

[i]<“Are you waiting for me?”>

<“Others saw me enter after you.”>[/i]

Najla did not need more of an explanation than that. They would have to leave together, with her upon Osman’s arm, or else it would raise suspicions. Refraining from mentioning the fact that it was bad timing to get a handle on his emotions, Najla began to walk around the slab, slowly moving towards Osman. He seemed impatient at her pace, and would close the final few steps himself, stopping just before her.

[i]<“Let me see.”>

<“Don’t touch it.”>[/i]

He disobeyed her to reach up, at which Najla flinched. The sight of her flinch caused him to halt, but only briefly, and his touch was gentle as he reached out, peeling the cloth that covered her lip. It was a gesture she would have expected years ago, but not here, not now.

[i]<“It will heal quickly.”>[/i] Though his voice held no softness in it, his touch did, and Najla would not fight or struggle with him now. Her eyes only searched his, as if hoping to see something other than grief in them, though nothing came. 

[i]<“Pity. You should strike my eye next time.”>[/i] 

It was the first sentence she had spoken to Osman that made her feel as if she was fighting back somewhat, as if she had not given herself over to endure until his grief was satisfied. There could be nothing farther from the truth, but Najla knew that this could not last forever. She could not survive like this, treading lightly so as not to spark his anger, there was no life there. Perhaps it would have been easier to have Osman taken out, removed as a danger to her, but there was no winning there either. To even begin to make up for her misdeeds towards her family, Najla knew she would have to endure, but her words had made it clear that this was no easy task for her.

[i]<“When you take another of my blood from me?”>[/i] She opened her mouth to protest, but Osman’s thumb scraped against her lip then. Whether on accident or on purpose, Najla did not know, but she let out a soft hiss of pain as she pulled her face away from his grip. Osman did not try to hold her to him, but let his hand fall to his side. [i]<“The dog will be long dead before you have that chance.”> 

<“Even so, what then? I’ll bear you sons and daughters, to pay the debt of death with life? We cannot build a life upon skeletons Osman, our home will crumble.”>[/i]

The silence that followed was all that answered her questions, though her eyes spilled plenty more to Osman as he stared down at her. Whatever grand dreams of their future they had held before Najla first left Al-Tirazi, they had been dashed long ago. There was no happiness to be seen in their future, where Najla would be left to fight endlessly against Elif and Osman, and where Osman would have to face her every day, knowing she had ordered the end of his brother’s life. There was no hope to dissolve the wedding either, unless by one of their deaths. Najla had come to fear this prospect for some time, the pain in her lip convinced her that if Osman had wanted her dead, he would have had every opportunity. She wondered if Osman feared that as well, though as far as Najla was concerned, her husband was already a ghost. 

[i]<“Others are waiting to pay their respects. We should go.”>[/i]

[hr]

The Sawarim held rituals for nearly every aspect of their lives, but none were so carefully decided as their deaths. Sa’aqr’s body would not be given long to rot in the temple, for the day after he had been washed and shrouded, a crowd had gathered outside the temple to mourn. It was Sawarim custom that any who wished to attend the funeral were encouraged, so that while the first few rows of mourners were filled with Sa’aqr’s family and friends, there were many beyond that, often people who had never seen him before the day they’d watched him die. There were only a few men who would be allowed to enter the temple that day however, as it was Sa’aqr’s male kin that lowered him into a casket, which they would lift onto their shoulders and carry before the crowd.

Osman had been one of the kin meant to carry his brother’s body, which left Elif alone beside his mourning mother and sisters, listening to their grieving wails. Najla felt lucky that she was not expected to stand beside them, but allowed to stand alongside her mother, as tradition would demand of them. Still, it was a small comfort, for the rows of mourners were separated according to gender for the most part. They would slowly start to merge as they walked him to his burial site, but for now, it left Najla standing too near to Sa’aqr’s mother. Had it not been for her wailings, Najla might not have even realized who she was, for many of the Sawarim women looked similar now. They were all shrouded in black, most only showing their eyes and the bridge of their nose, their prayers and tears covered by this thin cloth. An irritating tradition, especially in this miserable heat, yet Najla would not complain about the sweat running down her forehead as the other women were so prone to do. It was a lucky thing, for none could see how swollen her lip was now, nor would they until it had healed. Osman’s family would mourn for forty days, no longer, and Najla would do so as well, out of respect for the man she had killed.

Suddenly, the crowd that had been melting under the heavy heat seemed to come alive, as the first words of the prayer started to move over the crowd. It was her uncle that spoke them at first, as he had given Osman’s family an incredible honor by offering to recite the first of the prayers over their son. As soon as he had finished however, others would pick up the prayers. These were religious leaders with forceful voices, who carried over the crowd and who never faltered, regardless of how far the burial sites were or how heavy the heat weighed on their shoulders. Thus, even as the crowd began to repeat the prayer, it was the voice of these leaders that carried it over the wailing and the chest-thumping, as if their God himself would hear.

[center][youtube]https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=HEHOGvHm7eA[/youtube][/center]

As familiar as the words were to Najla, she faltered in her prayers for a brief moment when the casket was carried out past her. It was a simple casket, covered in a black shroud embroidered with golden lettering of prayers, but this was not what gave her pause. The casket was perched against Osman’s shoulder, and though he stood straight, as did those of his kin that helped him, there was still no mistaking the pain in his expression. They halted before the crowd for a moment, and once the first verse of the prayer was completed, they began to walk past the parted crowd, who would begin to follow them as soon as they had passed. Najla reached out and took her mother’s hand, for she knew how easy it was to be parted in such a crowd, though none would push and shove where the Sultana stood. That would occur near the back of the train, where those who had been strangers to Sa’aqr would mourn, not where the royal family had gathered.

There was nothing quiet about a Sawarim burial, and it was often said that every death within the walls of Al-Tirazi deafened the city. It was only partially true, for every death within the city did not matter. No one mourned for the street urchins or peasants, no one wailed for the slaves. Had Ketill been killed in the duel, none would have gathered to mourn, and even providing him with a burial site would have been a kindness. For Sa’aqr, the city halted. As if the position granted by Osman’s new attachment to the Sultan’s family wouldn’t have been enough, he was a Sawarim, killed by a Servant. He was a witness now, and for that, the whole city would find cause to mourn. 

Those who carried the casket were silent, and though Najla could no longer see Osman’s face, she had not forgotten the look in his eyes as he stepped out with his brother’s casket. Those who followed behind however, were not. The men in the crowd beat their chests as they called out the prayers, some, like her brothers in front of her, did so lightly, more for show than any real desire to mourn. Others would walk away with their chests black and blue, their backs marred with whatever weapons they had seen fit to unleash upon themselves. Every drop spilled for a witness was an honor, after all, and so many of those who beat themselves so thoroughly were not even of Osman’s family, but had simply hoped to gain some favor with God. Noticeably, the women did not scar themselves so, with a few unintentional exceptions. Osman’s mother had not stopped her wailing, and could barely follow along with the prayers, for she could only pull at her hair and beat her chest, crying out for her son. Najla, who followed a few paces behind, only gripped her mother’s hand harder, wondering if she had done the same when Jalil had passed. 

The procession had begun within the palace walls, though it would proceed beyond these walls, out to a suitable burial site for Sa’aqr. These sorts of funerals were one of the few times the citizens of Al-Tirazi saw their royals family, and Najla recalled how they would try to edge their way to the crowd near the front of the procession, hoping to catch a glimpse. Perhaps it was a strange sight to them, to see the royals walking, with none of the luxuries to hold them above the rest, but they seemed to enjoy it, regardless of the circumstances. This time however, Najla felt as if she could already hear their whispers, hoping to find Sa’aqr’s killer among the crowd of mourners. Perhaps they would have been drowned out by the sounds of prayer, but Najla would have no chance to find out.

[i]<“Valide, Sultana-”>[/i] Najla’s eyes jerked up to see a guard standing near her, clearly uncomfortable at his position in the procession. The Sawarim had strict rules regarding these sorts of burials, and though he was not breaking any by approaching her this way, he would be if he lingered too long. Najla however, seemed to have little desire to make it more comfortable for him. More than anything, she wanted to ask how he’d pointed her out among the sea of women, though there was no time for such questions. 

[i]<“You shouldn’t go past the walls. Come, turn back.”>[/i]

The request was rather strange, and Najla looked up towards her mother in confusion. Her mother only nodded, indicating that she agreed with the guard, though she did not let go of Najla’s hand as they continued to walk forwards. Women were not allowed to attend the burials anyway, it did not make sense to stop her this soon, not when she could simply turn back when Osman’s mother and his family were meant to. Al-Tirazi had never been her enemy before, who believed it had turned on her so quickly?

[i]<“On whose order?”>[/i]

[i]<“Sultana, please-”>[/i] They were nearing the entrance to the palace walls now, and Najla showed no sign of stopping. 

[i]<“I’m not turning back for a plea.”>

<“It’s your father’s order. Please Sultana, come with me.”>[/i]

For a moment, it seemed as if Najla was ready to disobey him, but finally nodded, much to the guard’s relief. Her mother followed her as they wormed their way out of the procession, mostly unnoticed by other mourners. There was no way this could be taken as an insult, for the female members of the royal family rarely had an excuse to leave the palace walls regardless, funerals did not do much to change that. However, it was slightly strange, for it had been under Najla’s command that Sa’aqr had perished, it made little sense that she would not see the consequences through. As they finally moved out of the column of mourners, Najla turned back, searching for Osman, who was likely sweltering under the heat and weight of the casket at this point. However, though she could see the casket he carried, Osman himself was lost in the midst of a sea of arms rising into the air, only to be thrown onto their chests again in a hypnotic rhythm. 

[i]<“Where is my father?”>[/i] Najla asked the guard, who was about to respond before her mother quieted her with a sharp tug on her hand. 

[i]<“He knows best Najla, don’t go asking him questions.”>

<“But I am not in danger, I shouldn’t be leaving like this, it’s not right.”>

<“It’s right if your father says it is. Come, you’ll have much more time to mourn, you should ready yourself for the visitations soon.”>[/i]

Whatever protests Najla held were quieted, though not by her mother’s words. It was Ketill’s that rang in her ear now, reminding her of just how little control she truly had. She had not wanted to kill Sa’aqr, but she had set Ketill upon him anyways, the best choice she had in a difficult situation. She had not wanted Osman to punish her for it, but she was reminded of his grief every time she spoke. Now, she was not even able to finish the proper recitation of the prayers to the grave, all from her father’s demand, only to be chastised for even wanting to speak to him. Perhaps her father was right to do so, for while Ketill had put on a splendid show for the crowd, Najla had heard the whispers in the city. Not everyone was pleased with how Najla used her new tool, for while it made for an impressive display, so did Sawarimic funerals, and none seemed to enjoy those either. Whatever the reason, there was nothing more for Najla to do, and so she simply stood aside and allowed the procession to pass her as she continued to whisper along to their prayers, intending on at least finishing her recitation, so that the Sawarim would not seek to abandon her to her sins.

[i]<“In the name of our God and his wife, in the name of the Sawarim, the highest, the ever-present, the lord of worlds, in the name of the Umma, the giver of life, the merciful, the witness to truth, I profess there is no God but the Sawarim. May the Sawarim forgive the dead for their transgressions and reward them for their deeds, may they find peace in their eternal place by your side. May the Umma offer their blood a comfort, and may the dead seek only the highest, for they have died in your name. There is no God but the Sawarim, and it is to him, the all-knowing, that I make this plea.”>[/i]

With that finished, Najla was quick to turn back, allowing her mother to lead her into the palace once more, her mind racing. Whatever reason her father had for this, Najla had gotten little hint of it, and that worried her more than the command itself. She only hoped that Elif had not seen her turn back, nor Osman, for that would be a difficult situation to explain without arousing more anger. She could not blame her father, for he could not have guessed what a simple command could mean for his daughter, but it was not as if she could tell him either, only endure.

[hr]

Though the issue of the funeral had weighed on her mind for a great deal of time, Najla knew she could not address it so quickly. After all, her father and brothers were going to be at the burial for some time, and there were few others that could give her a clear answer regarding this matter. Her mother had been little help, only insisting that Najla not pester her father with questions. Rather, she had returned Najla to the palace, telling her to go ready herself for the visitations later. It would be a long few days for her, for Najla knew she’d have to spend a great deal of time with the bereaved’s family, as tradition demanded. It would be a great deal of crying, praising a witness, and retelling stories of his past braveries, none of which she was eager to hear. Still, she would not abandon this matter so soon, and after she was certain the burial was over, Najla had headed off to find her brother, hoping to get some answer from him.

There were few reasons for her father to issue such a command, and in all likelihood, he had done so out of sheer caution. After all, the people believed Sa’aqr was a witness, there was always the chance that they could begin to whisper that Najla herself had created a martyr. It was a prospect that worried her greatly, for there was no easier way to perish in this desert than to lose the favor of the Sawarim God. Still, she’d heard nothing of real consequence from her contacts in the capital, but even that was hardly a relief anymore. Most of her enemies were inside these walls now, and if they had wanted to kill her, they would not have to bring her beyond the walls to do so. Even here, on the path to Harith’s rooms, would be easier for them.

The guards at the entrance were slow to recognize her, but the sound of her voice, or perhaps the commanding tone she spoke in, was enough to touch their memory it seemed. One went ahead to confirm that Najla could enter, a formality Harith usually didn’t bother with, but it seemed he had asked for some privacy today. Still, it wasn’t enough reason for her to wonder just yet, for she was allowed in briefly afterwards. There, Harith’s large rooms were empty, save for the sight of her brothers, leaned back on their cushions still dressed in their black robes. Still, Najla could sense that something was not quite right, for they were both silent as she entered, making it rather obvious that their conversation had been stopped for her. Even more telling was the fact that neither Adina nor Mehmet were present, though Najla would not mention this just yet.

[i]<“What are you doing here, Basim? I thought you’d both be ready to rest.”>

<“We’re just talking. Did you need to talk to Harith?”>

<“Not about anything important. How was the burial?”>

<“Same as the all the others before him.”>[/i] It was Harith that replied now, his voice dulled by the exhaustion of mourning under such heat. [i]<“More blood though. I guess that’s to be expected, seeing as they’re calling him a ‘martyr’ and all. I swear, they’d find any reason to bleed.”>

<“Did you not bleed for him today?”>[/i]

Though Najla’s tone had been somewhat amused, she could see that her words had brought a rare cloud of seriousness onto Harith’s face, which was surprising, given that his nonchalance seemed to have endured through the funeral. He responded as she moved to join them, settling herself on the cushions far more gracefully than either of her brothers.

[i]<“They only call him a witness because Ketill killed him, as if every cockroach he steps on deserves the blood off my back. Jalil was a martyr. I bled for him.”>

<“May the Sawarim grant him peace. I’m happy to hear your words, but be careful who you repeat them to.”>

<“I won’t have a chance. Who besides you would ask a question like that?”>[/i]

It seemed that some of the amusement had returned to Harith’s voice, nearly as quickly as it had fled. Najla did not spare it much of a thought, instead turning her gaze onto Basim. He was oddly quiet, which was out of character for him, though perhaps it could be attributed to the violence of the past few days. After all, the duel itself had been difficult to witness, and to be among the mourners as they sliced their backs open with lashes was hardly a comfort. It was a blessing of sorts that Sawarim women were forbidden from attending the burial ceremonies, though Najla wondered if perhaps that privilege should have been granted to Basim rather than her. Still, something told her that this silence was not entirely due to that, for while it could certainly have been enough to weigh on his mind, her instincts told her otherwise. 

[i]<“Who else was bleeding?”>

<“If you’re asking about Osman, don’t worry.”>[/i] Again, it was Harith that responded, though Najla could feel her younger brother’s eyes on her. Though he was silent, the way his gaze seemed to see right through the veil that covered her injuries almost unnerved her, and so it was easier to focus on someone who had no reason to suspect anything from it. [i]<“He didn’t seem as eager to beat himself as the others. Not after what happened with his mother.”>

<“What happened? Is she okay?”> [/i]

For a moment, both of her brothers frowned as Najla glanced between them, seemingly surprised that she hadn’t heard. To Najla, it suggested that they had not heard of their father’s command to her, for most of the women were expected to turn back at the same time. 

[i]<“She lost her mind when they told her to turn back. They had to stop the march for a few moments after she tried to jump onto her son’s casket. How did you miss that?”>[/i] This was a common occurrence at Sawarim funerals, where grieving mothers would often beg to be buried alongside their children, wives their husbands, blood onto blood. It was not meant to happen, and disrupted the processes, but it seemed most were quick to forgive the actions of those who mourned.

[i]<“I turned back at the walls. You didn’t notice that I was absent?”>[/i]

This drew a laugh from Harith, despite the rather morbid nature of their conversation. They had both seemed surprised, which indicated to Najla that she was right in assuming her father had not warned either of them about his command. She was not surprised that Basim did not know, but her father trusted Harith with a great deal regarding his activities. It did not always use to be this way, for Harith’s unpredictability was not always an asset to their family, but Jalil’s death had changed a great deal. Still, this only indicated that she wouldn’t have much luck understand his reasons why, at least not here.

[i]<“I can’t tell any of you apart during funerals, you all look like a flock of ravens. Speaking of, take that thing off now, it’s too hot to pretend you’re mourning.”>[/i]

[i]<“I am mourning.”>[/i] Najla replied, trying to hide the slight panic that had arisen at Harith’s words. She hoped that she could simply ignore them, figuring that Harith would be quick to forget, though Najla was not so certain Basim would miss this so easily. Still, she forced herself to make eye contact with her younger brother regardless, hoping he’d see the anger in her eyes above anything else.

[i]<“And shut up about ravens. It’s all I ever hear from Ketill anymore, I can’t stand it. He’s worse than Majnun, except his Leyli is a fucking bird.”>[/i]

This drew a grin from Harith, though she saw no such reaction from Basim. He had never insisted that she thank Ketill, or even mentioned it, though she knew there was a great deal he did not quite understand about that night. To be fair, there was a great deal Najla did not understand as well, but she had long since given up on the Servant, labeling him as an irreconcilable madman. Basim seemed far more reluctant to do the same.

[i]<“What did you do with him?”>[/i] Najla’s eyes turned to Basim as he finally spoke. There was little hint as to what he truly meant, but Najla would not begin to guess, answering as truthfully as he could hope for.

[i]<“Nothing.”>[/i] There was only a moment’s pause before she’d have to speak again. [i]<“Really, no punishment, no reward, nothing. Why, you don’t believe me?”>[/i]

[i]<“It’s not that. I’m just surprised Osman hasn’t insisted on something.”>

<“Even if he does, it doesn’t mean I’m going to give it to him. Do you think I’m that weak?”>

<“You’re not weak, it’s just that-“> [/i]

Basim trailed off slightly here, and Najla’s eyes flitted between both of her brothers, trying to determine if they were nearing the truth. If Ketill was not the reason they’d come here to converse, then Najla could only hope that Basim had not told Harith about the rest of what had happened that night. He would not be so easily to ignore Osman’s actions as Basim was, and even that had not been a simple process. But if Ketill was the reason, then it would mean that they had sought to have this discussion without her present, a thought which brought along no comfort either.

[i]<“What do you think about giving him to me?”>[/i] 

Najla’s eyes widened when Harith finally spoke, and for a moment, all she could do was look between her brothers in shock. She had been right then, in guessing that they had come to speak about Ketill, though Najla could not have guessed that they would come to such a conclusion so quickly. The shock in her eyes was enough proof of that, though there was only a few moments before it rapidly turned to anger. With a sudden motion, Najla stood, pushing herself off the cushions. 

[i]<“Is this what you two were talking so secretively about? You had a discussion about my slave and decided I shouldn’t be present for it?”>

<“Najla, we never meant to go behind your back. We’re asking you now, aren’t we?”>[/i]

Najla turned around then, her face contorted into a frown, though they’d only be able to see the anger in her eyes. Basim’s voice was a carefully controlled calm, trying to ease his sister from making another mistake. She had always found it amusing that he was so level-headed, considering that all his siblings had turned out so differently, but today it only served to irritate her.

[i]<“Should I be grateful for that? Neither of you get to make decisions regarding my property. Ketill is mine.”>[/i]

[i]<“He’ll still be yours this way, he just won’t be Osman’s.”>[/i] These words made Najla pause briefly, and upon seeing this, Basim turned to Harith. [i]<“Explain it to her.”>[/i]

[i]<“We were thinking, you could grant him as a gift to me. I’d find a use for him, and you could still use him to fight whenever you needed. I promise you that. This wasn’t intended as an insult, so don’t go taking it as one. Basim only hoped it’d make this ordeal easier on you.”>[/i]

[i]<“Is this true, my blood?”>[/i] Najla turned her gaze back to Basim then, who seemed somewhat annoyed that Harith had outed the plan as his so easily. She would not have needed that confirmation, for Najla knew her brothers well enough to guess at whose decision this was. Still, she was furious that they had even sought to consider this option, especially after having told Basim that Osman would not take Ketill. It also hinted that Basim had told Harith about Osman’s threat, leaving Najla only able to hope that he had not told him of the rest. Though her tone was somewhat sarcastic, Basim opened his mouth to reply, only to be cut off by his sister, whose voice was rising despite the pain it brought to her injured lip.

[i]<“Do you have so little faith in me? I already told you, Osman will not touch Ketill, because Ketill is not his. He’s mine.”>

<“Yes, for now. But when you’re married, nothing is yours anymore. It will change-“>

<“Nothing fucking changes, Basim. You’re smart enough to see that. What do I own now that is mine, outside of where your hands can reach, what do I own that father could not take?! Baba wouldn’t even let me go past the castle walls to see Sa’aqr’s funeral, and you know what? He’s still dead!”>[/i]

Najla finally halted in her yelling, taking a long breath as she tried to calm herself. She could see from Basim’s expression that he was more worried than anything, for he had seen how easily Najla’s anger had slipped in front of Elif, and perhaps was simply worried that she’d do something dumber this time. However, Najla saw something else in his eyes, something she didn’t want to address. He had not realized that their father had pulled her out of the funeral, it seemed, and while her father did not know the consequences it might have, Basim’s eyes suggested otherwise. If Osman were to find out that Najla turned back midway through his brother’s funeral, it would certainly be a cause for anger. Perhaps that was why he didn’t defend himself, or likely because he didn’t see a need to, but a glance over at Harith showed that he was not quite as calm as Basim now. 

[i]<“Is that why you’re so worked up, because baba asked you to stay in the walls? Ya Sawarim, Najla, don’t yell at the boy because of that, he can’t fucking control it. Besides, baba was just trying to protect you, just like Basim is.”>

<“Protect me from what? The only enemies that concern me now are the ones within these walls, but it’s not like baba would consider that. Making decisions on my behalf is hardly any sort of protection.”>

<“What does that have to do with Ketill, or us for that matter? If you’re going to be this ridiculous, we should just have father take him.”>

<“He’s not his to take!”>

<“Shut up!”>[/i]

Though his siblings were far more used to just shouting over Basim’s attempts to quiet them, this was far more than an attempt, it was a command. Perhaps it was the still-present surprise at Basim’s newfound confidence, but regardless, both Harith and Najla fell silent. He stood then, and when he glanced between his siblings, Najla found herself regretting her words to him almost instantly. She did not want to drive him away, all this had been for that very reason, and yet she had lost control of herself entirely, it seemed. Even worse, was that Harith was the only one who seemed angry. Basim held none of that anger when he looked at her, only annoyance coming through his words as he spoke again.

[i]<“If you think you can keep Ketill, what do I care, just keep him. But if you’re letting your pride speak before reason, don’t be surprised when both fall. It’s not like it matters, we’ve got another forty days before the mourning is over, you don’t have to decide which voice to speak with now.”> [/i]

Najla had meant to respond to him, perhaps even to apologize, but Basim gave her no option. He simply walked past her, and out of Harith’s room, closing the door after him. For a moment, Najla watched him leave, feeling regret that she had allowed herself to yell at her youngest brother on such a day, though she knew Basim was not the only reason this regret consumed her so now. When he had finally left, she turned back to Harith, who simply sat back and raised an eyebrow at her.

[i]<“Are you sun-stricken?”>

<“No, I’m just- angry I suppose. I’ll apologize to him later, it’s not him I’m angry with.”>

<“Is it father?”>[/i]

[i]<“I don’t know. It doesn’t matter anyway, this will all be over soon. By the time the mourning period has ended, it’ll be settled, I promise. I don’t want you to have to shoulder any more of my burdens.”>[/i]

[i]<“We’re blood, Najla, we don’t have a choice on that. Why do you even want to keep Ketill anyways, I thought you could barely stand the sight of him.”>

<“That’s true, but it doesn’t erase his value to me. Besides, even if he had none, I wouldn’t pass the Djinn onto you.”>[/i]

She had meant to say more, but Harith let out a short laugh, before leaning back on his cushions again, just shaking his head. [i]<“You don’t really believe that, do you?”>[/i] When Najla didn’t respond, Harith only laughed again. After all, she knew Ketill was a man, he was flesh and blood just as see was. But Harith had not seen all that she had, he had seen a beast, not a demon. [i]<“You’ve got to be sun-stricken then. Just give me the Djinn, he’ll become a man in saner hands.”>[/i]

[i]<“No. And if you try and take him behind my back, I’ll tell Adina the names of every one of your bastard’s mothers.”>[/i]

[i]<“Don’t make empty threats, my blood.”>[/i]

For a moment, Najla thought her words had served their purpose. Harith’s grin faded briefly, and his eyes seemed to dim, leaving Najla to wonder if she’d made him angry. After all, while they both knew she would never divulge the information, they also both knew that she held it. Harith had never quite held the same skills in obtaining silence from the women, and Najla was always prepared to aid her brother in that. Still, it was a topic they never spoke of unless necessary, and there was good reason for that. Yet it was not a touchy subject either, that much was clear when she watched Harith try to repress that all-too-familiar grin as he spoke.

[i]<“You know you can’t count that high.”>[/i]

[i]<“You’re an ass.”>[/i] His grin finally broke through at these words, though Najla would not wait to see it, turning around and leaving her brother on his own.
[/quote]