It was possible, Saya thought, staring at the beautiful young man sitting in their dining room, that she might be experiencing what people called love at first sight, or lust, or desire, or whatever feeling it was that justified her need to have him between her thighs before the day was over.

She might want more than that before the day was over, judging from how fast her pulse was racing.

It didn't happen a lot––that instant affection or desire for someone. Perhaps only once or twice when she was still a young girl getting to know men for the first time. Al-Sana was an isolated place by nature. Unless one knew how to scale its cliffs which could be accomplished in an hour or two, the alternative was a hard, two-day climb up the mountain to reach the plateau on the peak where she and her father lived. Visits from outsiders were therefore rare and far between, and her interactions with men and women were limited for that reason.

But however secluded they were on Al-sana, as with every girl, there came a point in life where she discovered the use of her more private parts and the curiosity that came with it. Such curiosity had to be satisfied in some ways, and for Saya, the answer lay in those who paid Akai izr Imami a visit over the years. Not a large number of choices, but one took what one could from life or be prepared to die wanting, her father often said. It was true, especially when one lived on Al-sana.

The first boy she slept with was a messenger sent from Citara to deliver a letter to her father. She had been sixteen at the time, a little over two years younger than the boy. Her heart had raced like this when his hand touched hers by accident, and then afterward, when it slipped between her thighs during the night while her father was asleep. The boy had been inexperienced, and it was over quickly. She had been disappointed, but sometimes, a prolonged hunger that hadn't been properly sated often made you crave for more than you originally needed.

Her encounter with the boy was five years ago. There were many after him she'd taken to bed since then. Some of them were her age, others older, sometimes by many years. To her further disappointment, most of them had no idea how to pleasure a woman beyond what her hand could accomplish, or they weren't interested in accomplishing it from the start. But every once in a while someone would come along and manage the task. Those were the ones that could get her pulse racing, sometimes even before she invited them to her bed.

Not like this, though. Never like this.

It hit her like a punch in the gut, like being burned by a branding iron––the inescapable awareness that accompanied him when he'd stepped through the door, telling her that there was no possible way to go through life after this, no chance for her to move on from that moment without the need to have him in it. Their eyes had met when he asked for her father, and something within her slid into place, snapped into position by the end of the single sentence he'd spoken. He was that last drop of water in the desert, that memory of rain in the middle of a drought, the sight of the summit when her legs had already given out during a climb. That morning, he had walked into her life, took apart what had once been whole, and left behind a hollow only he could fill.

A hollow he had no interest in filling, that much had been clear from the start.

He'd looked at her only once after that. Had smiled politely when she served him tea before shifting his attention to her father entirely. No one had treated her that way since she became a fully grown woman. She was beautiful, tall, desirable in appearance, had been told so by many men whose interest in her had been obvious when she gave them that smile of invitation. She had done that with him, had smiled and touched his hand on purpose when she handed him the cup, and yet he seemed to be paying no more attention to her than the tea and the leaves in it.

It stung, but she was not the kind of woman who turned away from what she wanted for being stung.

"My name is Amar izr Zaharran," he said. A beautiful name, she thought, one that matched his Makena silk-smooth voice. "I bring greetings from Nazir izr Za'in, the kha'a and oracle of Visarya." He handed her father a neatly folded piece of paper with both hands. "The letter explains my purpose here."

She watched her father take the letter with a ghost of a grimace. The fact that he took it at all was a surprise. The last khagan he wanted to be involved with was the Visarya. She wondered if Amar knew that.

From across the table, her father read the words quietly. It took him longer than usual, she thought. Something in the letter must have made him read it twice. When he was done, without looking at the man sitting across the table, her father folded back the letter, and burned it on the candle between them.

To his credit, Amar showed no signs of surprise at the response. He sat still and quiet, his grey eyes studying her father's expression closely, waiting for him to initiate the conversation.

"Izr Zaharran?" said her father. "This is the name you will use now? Izr Shalyk has adopted you?"

Amar nodded. "I have been given the honor, yes. He also sends his regards and hopes you consider the request to take me in as an apprentice."

It would never happen, Saya thought, if apprenticeship was something he was after. For the past ten years, Akai izr Imami had turned down every request to take in another student, had chased all the remaining ones off the mountain the day Za'in izr Husari––once his finest and closest apprentice–– burned down the villages outside Sabha. Her father had yet to forgive himself for that. He'd trained a monster, he'd said, and since then decided to take in no new students because of it. This was not only a request to train, but a request made by someone from the Visarya, carrying a letter from the son of Za'in izr Husari himself.

"I no longer take in an apprentice," said her father.

"I am aware," Amar replied, mildly.

"And yet you risk coming here knowing I can have you killed for this? For who you really are?"

Saya drew a breath and turned to the visitor, trying to guess the content of the letter she would never see. A new name, new identity meant the old one held significance. One important enough for her father to have heard of it up here on Al-sana––one dangerous enough for her father to issue a threat.

Amar nodded, calmly, politely. "It is an option, yes," he said. "But we all do what we must, and what I must do is to gain a place as your apprentice. Nazir kha'a has trusted you with my true identity to show respect and honesty. If you must have me killed for it, then that is my fate. Although," he paused, caught her father's gaze and held it before he continued, "why burn the evidence, if you were going to expose me?"

Clever, Saya thought. Also daring for a warrior in grey to confront her father that way.

Akai izr Imami sipped his tea, watching the young man from above the rim of his cup. "Citara will take my word, with or without evidence. That is not a problem."

That, they would, Saya thought. Isolated and in self-imposed exile he may be, but Akai izr Imami was still a legend that could walk into the White Tower's high council and get someone to offer him their seat, or so she had been told. His words had enough weight to execute someone without trial.

"I see." Amar izr Zaharran sipped his own tea and placed it down on the table. For someone who was being threatened by Akai izr Imami, he was admirably calm. "You will take this to Citara, then?"

Her father stilled for a time, his eyes fixed on the guest, studying him. "And if I say I will?" he asked. His right hand, she noticed, was kept free and close to the blade at his waist.

"Then you will destroy the Visarya for having aided me, and in doing so rob the White Desert of any chance to survive the Salasar."

A brief pause. Another sip from the tea by her father. "And that, you can't allow."

"No," said the young man, softly, "that, I cannot."

Silence came into the room, seated itself between the two of them like a screen separating two beasts about to get into a fight. The air around them turned thick and heavy, laced with something that gave one a sense that breathing wasn't really a good idea. Saya placed a hand on the sword at her waist, though not entirely sure why. It felt necessary, however.

"I wonder," said her father, "how you intend to kill me. With that dagger in your boot or the one strapped to your arm?"

She glanced at those two places and just now saw the evidence. The fact that she'd missed them from the beginning was a testament to how distracted she had been. A flaw she had to address, to be sure.

Amar smiled, impressed or amused she wasn't sure. "I won't last two seconds wielding a blade against Akai izr Imami. You need not worry about them."

"I see," her father nodded. "With something else, then?"

The man sipped his tea slowly, as though the discussion had been about the weather or something equally unimportant. "There are many ways to kill without having to defeat someone in combat, yes, and I have been taught by the best. But I have not come to demonstrate those skills, izr Imami. I have come hoping I won't have to. My hands, however, are tied by my oath, and there are people I must protect or die trying. For that, I am sorry. If you intend to turn down this request, please reconsider. "

Her father listened quietly and shook his head. "I have already armed one monster too many. I will arm no more, especially not someone who has been trained to kill indiscriminately. Do leave this mountain in peace, or I will be forced to kill you before you kill me. There is no need to throw your life away for this."

Saya swallowed. It would come down to that, she knew. Akai izr Imami wasn't the kind of man who threatened. He didn't kill unless he had to. She was certain the young man had no chance against her father, but somehow her hand was still on the hilt of her sword, perhaps holding it even tighter now. Before you kill me, her father had said. He seemed to believe it was possible.

To her surprise, the statement seemed to trouble him, judging from the way he averted his gaze toward the cup. "That part of my life has ended when I swore an oath to Djari iza Zuri. I am not," a pause, almost a stutter, "the man I once was."

Her father finished the tea, poured himself another before filling the visitor's cup. "Our past is never left behind," he said softly. "It makes up who we are at any given time, it dictates what we do in every situation. If you are not willing to make peace with your past, then you will never find peace. A man who cannot find peace is a monster in disguise I will not arm. Your secret is safe with me. Take my word for it, and blood need not be spilled here, today."

Amar, to her endless surprise, listened and appeared to be lost in thoughts. A few minutes ago he'd seemed so sure of himself, now a sense of uncertainty circled his presence, not too different from the way he turned the cup around in his hands. Her father's words had touched somewhere no one had reached before, and instead of lashing back at such intrusion, he seemed to be considering them in earnest. Most men she'd met never took it well when their shortcomings were pointed out. He was not most men, by then, that much was clear.

After a moment, he looked up from the tea and stared levelly at her father. "Perhaps you are right," he said. "Maybe I am a monster in disguise as you believe me to be." The sincerity in his tone was unmistakable, at least to her. "But if I am, izr Imami, then you are asking me to climb down this mountain and into the world as one, knowing I am one. You said you will not arm another monster, but a man who stands aside to watch the world burn when he could have put out the fire is just as guilty as the one who strikes the flint, is he not?"

She looked at her father then, and saw something shifted in the way he studied the young man. Her heart, she realized, was beating very fast.

"Your master has taught you well," said Akai izr Imami, thoughtfully. "Maybe I can, or maybe I can't put out that fire. You seemed willing to change, but how much of it is talk, I wonder? You have, after all, been trained to persuade. That is what you do best, is it not?"

"I have, and it is." The reply, this time, came with some hesitation. "I am trying to persuade for a good cause. There is that."

"A good cause, you say." Her father placed the cup down on the table, his tone now laced with steel if still as quiet as it had been before. "What is good, tell me. Good to whom? To the Visarya? The White Desert? To Djari iza Zuri? What do you fight for? What happens when what you consider good requires a sacrifice to be made by another? Good is subjective, it will always be subjective, so is righteousness, morality, fairness, and even freedom. What gives you the right to decide what is good and right for the world, for anyone? You are sitting here, telling me that you will fight for goodness, but you will kill me and perhaps also my daughter if I were to share your secret with Citara. It may bring down the Visarya, perhaps also the White Desert. But what good is the White Desert if it is made up of people who will kill over a name? For something to be called ours and not someone else's? What gives the Shakshi more rights to live than the Rashais? Your cause is neither good, nor right, nor fair."

She could agree with that, had expected the man might argue otherwise. Men didn't like to be corrected, and people sometimes believed their cause was good and righteous enough to fight blindly for it. Amar izr Zaharran didn't reply. He simply sat there, listening and thinking about every word being said. She liked a man who listened. There was also a woman's name being mentioned, she noted.

A small pause from her father, followed by a long breath drawn before he continued, "Fighting for an ideal may make you a hero," he said, "but it makes you a villain just the same to those who disagree. I will not trade one monster for another and spill more blood on this peninsula uselessly. If you want me to train you to fight, there must be a better reason. Until you find the right one, my answer is no."

Saya stepped up to the table. She hadn't known she was going to do that, or say what she was about to say. Life was sometimes altered that way––on impulses and for no good reason.

"Let me train him, father," she said. "Give him a chance to prove himself. You can kill him later if he disappoints or take him in if he proves his worth." Saya drew a breath, felt a stirring of something inside that told her there were more things she needed to say, and briefly wondered if she should.

She decided she would.

"I think," she turned to Amar and caught his gaze, "that you are the man I'm supposed to marry."

***

A/N: The real war, ladies and gentlemen, has been declared. :D