'Find something to smile about, my prince. Store them like candies in a jar and take one when you need to smile again.'

Lasura couldn't remember who had said those words or when. One could forget the person who had changed one's life but not the message. 'Never expect gratitude from a good deed you've done, only results, or life will always be disappointing.' He remembered the speaker for that one. The former Salar of Rasharwi was not a man to be forgotten even if you wanted to.

Neither was Djari iza Zuri. Not for the way that lightning had struck out of nowhere when they met. Not for how she'd made him come to the White Desert only to be dragged out here for no benefits of his. Not for how she'd jolted awake from a nightmare tonight and was trying not to cry in front of him. Or to cry without waking him up. He wondered if she knew he was awake, and for how long.

The nightmare was something Lasura thought he understood. Sarasef had told him how he found her, and she had cried out words that led him to believe the dream had much to do with it. A tragedy, to be sure. A common enough misfortune, if you knew the world for what it was. Rape in the Black Tower happened. Maids and handmaidens flinched around powerful men for a reason. His own woman had been dragged to the other princes' rooms before to make a point.

Women, Lasura corrected himself. They had many points to make, apparently.

Such had been his life in the Tower, and by then he had come to know the reactions attached to these things, could identify it, here, with some certainty, in the way Djari was trembling. Bad experience had its uses. It helped you see things many couldn't, trained you to survive all kinds of shit in the future, taught you that throwing a tantrum only worked when someone was listening. He had a feeling Djari knew that last part better than most, if not also a decade too soon. He wondered if she'd ever thrown one in her life, and realized he couldn't imagine it if he tried.

He stared quietly at the ceiling, waiting to see if she could go back to sleep. The cavern they'd picked as shelter for the night on their way to Al Sana offered little insulation from the cold, and the fire had died some time ago. She wouldn't get up to build a new fire if she needed one, of course. It would ruin the pretense that both of them were asleep. Pathetic, his father would have said. Perhaps also his mother. They agreed with each other more often than they thought they did, actually.

"Would you like me to build a new fire, iza Zuri?" he decided to ask. It bounced off the rocks around them, made an echo that ended up sounding twice as loud as he'd intended.

Djari stiffened. A short moment passed, before she decided to sniff back her tears. He could hear it, of course. The desert at night allowed you to hear things you wished you couldn't. "No," she said. "You can. If you want to."

He found himself smiling at those words. Dear thought about other people. Not everyone did. He liked that about her. There were boundaries to be observed with Djari, however, and he should tread carefully. "It's all right," he said, and decided careful had never been one of his virtues. "Want to talk about it?"

Silence wedged itself between them like an unwelcome guest at an intimate dinner. The wind outside grew louder, and with it came the howling of wolves that gave him the chills he could do without. The moon was high, and a surprising amount of light filtered through the translucent white rocks above. It allowed him to see many things he shouldn't––the charred remains of the fire they'd built, the patterns of the rock on the wall and ceiling, the outline of Djari's back that moved as she breathed, how uncomfortably tight she'd wrapped the blanket around her.

Her hair, he realized, was glowing almost white in the dark.

"No," Djari replied. It had taken her a long time to decide. "I do want to talk," she added, "about other things. If you will not go back to sleep soon."

He could use some sleep, and wanted to, but it wasn't in his nature to turn down a woman who needed a distraction, not, especially, when he'd been saved by women so many times. Djari, in a way, had also saved him––was still saving him––intentionally or not. "We can talk, Dj––iza Zuri," he corrected her name just in time. He'd done that thrice today. "It's not a problem."

She sniffed again, less discreetly this time. "Ask me something, then," she said. "Anything."

An opening to take, surely, to ask so many questions that needed answers. What does your brother want with me? What happens to me if Citara doesn't approve this alliance? What do you want to do when you have that army? Will you burn down my city, my home, my people? They were, however, questions that catered to his peace of mind. He said, "What do you like? What makes you happy?"

The screeching wind outside calmed to a whistle, a sound that reminded him of someone humming out of tune. Not too different, he thought, from the awkwardness of the conversation he'd carelessly tossed between them. Awkward, because he remembered right after having said it that the question had been asked of him in bed, after sex, by a visiting lord's daughter he shouldn't have been sleeping with. Not the kind of memory to have around Djari, or a woman you were alone with, in the dark. 'I won't sleep with you,' she had said, had made it very clear.

Too late to do anything about it now, however. The memory was already there, stirring him in places it shouldn't. She had been young, too, the girl, the woman (she'd moved like a woman), and forceful with her words, and her hands.

"Horses." Djari replied, pulling him back to the present, though not too successfully.

"Of course," he said. He half expected her to say Hasheem and was pleased she hadn't. "What do you love about them?"

A small pause. He wondered if she was smiling. She hadn't turned around for him to see. "The smell of leather, of the saddle," she said. "The wind on my face when I ride. The way they listen to me...and pay attention." Silence again, for a time. The wind outside whistled, once, twice. "I like it when I can control them. Is that bad? To desire control?"

An honesty there one could appreciate. An observation that made sense, actually. "You have been raised to lead but never been given power. I think it's only fair that you desire these things." Another revelation came to him, and he voiced it too quickly, without thinking. "He obeys you, doesn't he? The Sparrow? He's the only one who doesn't push you around?"

It must have hit a sensitive spot, judging from how long she paused, how lightly she breathed. A crossing of boundaries on his part, he admitted. A product of that ugly, deep-rooted jealousy he had been carrying around like a rash he couldn't get rid of. Deo had always preferred the Sparrow. The Sparrow had been competition. The competition had won––was still winning. It stung. She might judge him for that, and it would be fair.

"He doesn't," she replied. She turned to look at him, to stare. "Neither do you."

It brought something to life in his stomach he hadn't anticipated. He sucked in a breath and tried to crush those things out of existence. Neither worked, not to his satisfaction. "I have no reason nor power to push you." Not yet anyway.

"You also listened," she added. "Why?"

Why? He'd never thought about it, but was surprised to find the answer on the tip of his tongue, and that it had been there the whole time. "For the same reason you do, I suppose." The same reason why he was here. "Those who don't have a voice listen."

She breathed. It sounded like an effort. "You think I don't have a voice."

It was a statement, not a question, and he didn't want to fix it, or lie. It was difficult to lie to Djari. "I think you're always screaming inside because you can't do it out loud." He knew the feeling, had lived with it all his life. You needed a mother for that. He didn't have one willing, and she had lost hers a long time ago. "You were screaming just now, or weren't you?"

The wind outside seemed to have come to a complete stop, so was every noise except the long, painful breath she drew, so was the world around him when he realized what was happening.

"I didn't think," she said, her words a series of sounds broken by something about to close around her windpipe, "anyone noticed.... I didn't think anybody would."

And there, alone, in the dark, a little over two arm's length away, Djari placed a hand over her eyes, and began to cry.

There were things in life you didn't walk away from, things you couldn't turn a blind eye to or pretended you didn't see. There were also times when boundaries must be crossed, when etiquette and manners or whatever happened afterward was less irrelevant than what must be done now, at this moment. That night, somewhere near the Djamahari on their way to Al Sana, Lasura, the lost Prince of the Black Tower, made a decision that would forever change the fate of the peninsula.

A decision he would also regret for the rest of his life.

"I am not your Sparrow," he said, "and I may never come close to giving you the comfort you need, Djari." A blatant slip of her name, only this time he didn't care to turn it around. "But my shoulder is free, and it would ease my conscience if you were to use it. I am," he paused to breathe; he needed a breath, "aware of your boundaries. It will not be crossed, if you can bring yourself to believe the words of a Rashai."

It occurred to him then, that he did see himself as one, and had been for a long time. My city, my home, my people. How many times had he said it? Those words had always come to him naturally, in his thoughts, in conversations, perhaps, even, in his dreams of the future. It was important that she did too, that she saw him as one, before they moved on from here.

He understood then, that this was where it had to start, with two people, one Shakshi and one Rashai, two lives on the opposite sides of the desert, learning to trust one another, to work together toward a common goal. This was where it should have started eighteen years ago, one night amongst the snow-capped peaks of the Vilarhiti, between another Rashai and a bharavi. An offer had been made then, and cast aside. Another offer was being made tonight, for another bharavi to take it.

Time wrapped around him like a noose around his neck, and for every passing second it tightened harder around his throat. But under the same white rock that sheltered them, under the same moon, the same sky, Djari continued to lay there, holding silence, keeping distance, leaving boundaries. Lasura knew then, and knew it with the same reliability of her hand that shielded her eyes, that it would not happen tonight, and not anytime soon. I am, Lasura thought, making a fool of myself again.

"It's all right," he said. There would be other times, more opportunities, as long as they were still alive, wouldn't there? "The offer is open anytime you want to take it. Good night, iza Zuri." He had her name right, at least. Wars were not won in a day, but at the very least he now knew where he stood, perhaps, also, why he came into this world after all.

You wanted to see what would happen, didn't you, father? If it was possible? That's why I'm here?

They said nothing to each other afterward. That night, Djari cried quietly for a long time, curled up in a blanket that had been wrapped around her too tight, across the distance that was still too far.

Sometime later, when silence filled the space around them once more, and with her back turned to him, she said, "It's all right." The words were light, yet steady, "You can call me Djari. You already do anyway."

Lasura made no reply to that. He tucked himself in, found himself smiling to the fact that she gave him her name, and imagined how much it would piss off the Sparrow.

***

A/N: I'm so sorry for the lateness of this update and how short this is, also how nothing really happened here. My life is a bit hectic at the moment with my girl about to head off to the States for college in August. I hope this is not too boring a read. I feel like I need to slow down a bit, and I do want to write these scenes that are important to me. Thank you again for waiting and for still reading this story. T_T