Alara

My heart is filled with an ache that feels like it is slowly draining me.

I should have never gotten myself involved with royalty. Even if the situation hadn't ended up as insane as it is, lying to the most powerful man in power could have endangered my mother.

My fist tightens around the small bag hanging from strings at my back. I should have known.

If the Hakeem is honest, then my mother will be safer here for the time being. As long as we get back in time. But I don't like her life being based on a conditional.

Life doesn't work on wishes or hopes, so I will do exactly what the Hakeem wants and make sure we are back in time.

I know it is easier said than done when I do not know what I am walking into.

"Yalla!" Akilah calls out to me from the entrance to the palace.

I walk around the indoor garden that I had previously gawked over, feeling a lack of admiration. Nothing so beautiful should exist in a place like this.

Each step feels filled with lead, until I reach Akilah and step out into the cold evening breeze. It brushes my hair back and I take a deep breath. The first I have taken since seeing my mother tied and being dragged by the hands of a guard.

Akilah is in the same clothing as me—a woven brown coat that feels uncomfortable, like the rough and grainy material of a potato sack. It contrasts the darker brown of her skin, and the scars that are revealed on her arms. This may not be the first time she has been tortured.

Both Zayen and Nawaz are waiting outside already, strapped with an assortment of weapons. They look every bit the warriors that they have been forced to be.

The differences in their status is evident in the small details. The fine stitching of Nawaz's deep blue shalwar kameez, lined with silver thread, compared to Zayen's sirwal and plain cloth shirt; the styling of Nawaz's hair, compared to Zayen, whose hair is shorter and disheveled.

There is a piece of his hair that has curled against his forehead, and it makes me want to brush it back into place. But I will not, because he hates me.

I don't like the way he looks at me, like he want to bury me alive. This situation is not my fault.

There are a group of guards standing outside in a structured line. At first, I think it is to make sure that we leave, but the expressions on their faces say otherwise. Admiration, directed towards Nawaz.

As I ascend the steps, I come to stand in front of Zayen. "Who are those kids?" I ask, tilting my head up to watch him. He didn't even go to say goodbye to them.

I barely got time to hug my mother goodbye. She isn't the same. Of course she wouldn't be, because she was unwillingly removed from her home. She just kept telling me the same thing. You're going home now.

He doesn't bother responding, turning his back to me in ignorance. His posture is rigid, as if he is holding back from saying or doing something.

He probably wants to choke me, or put a weapon to my throat the way he did in the library. Well, I want to do the same to him. He can't completely ignore me for the entirety of the journey.

I don't know what to do. I have never had to deal with a man's anger before. It has always been me and my mother.

Maybe the best way to go about this is to react gently. I place my hand against the muscles of his back, causing them to tense further. "Zayen, I know you blame me for this. I'm sorry." I'll get it out the way, to let there be peace between us. The the only way we're going to succeed with getting what we need, is if we're a team.

He turns. The expression on his face, the rage in his eyes, has not dulled at all. "You're not sorry, sariq, but you will be."

Did he just threaten and insult me? "I am." I reach out to touch him again, hoping that the touch will calm him, but he takes a hold of my wrist to stop me. "I am telling you I am sorry. Why won't you accept it?"

His grip on me tightens. It tugs me closer. I nearly stumble on the tan stone floor. His voice low and threatening, he says, "Because sorry doesn't change anything. Sorry doesn't protect those kids. Your apologies are worthless."

My eyes go to Nawaz and Akilah, who are both watching us. I pull back, feeling like he slapped me. "Why are you—?"

"Stop talking," he demands. "Just stop talking."

A feeling bubbles in my chest that makes me want to shove him to the hard ground. How dare he talk to me like that? Like I'm nothing?

I told him that I hate him, after the meeting with the Hakeem, but it wasn't true. It wasn't true, because I'd like to believe I don't harbour feelings of hate. Now, the words are starting to hold more truth.

"What, are you going to cry?" He barely looks at me. His eyes are already scanning the dark horizon, deciding on our direction.

But I won't give him that power. I won't let him lead, or decide for me. So I push past him and head towards the direction of the mountain, that I know will be a shortcut into Wadi.

I don't cry.

~~*~~

Alara: 1
Zayen: 0

I cross my arms, a satisfied smile on my lips as we reach the cave of the mountain. Zayen looks surprised, and confused. "How did you know about this place?"

"I always used it when I came to . . ." Steal. "Visit Qadura."

Zayen raises his eyebrow. Don't lie, his expression says, without him saying a word.

I glare. Shut up.

He smirks. I didn't say anything.

Somehow his half-smile manages to irritate me more than when he was being rude directly to my face. Now I simply want him to trip off the edge of the mountain.

Nawaz squints at the roof of the cave. "What does that say?" He pulls the sword that was strapped across his back and pushes the moss and vines out the way. "I don't understand."

It's in Arabic lettering, but it's not words that make sense. It's not anything that we could decipher.

Akilah walks forward. "We don't have time for this. Let's go, unless you want your ruler to make true on his promises to your family." Our ruler? Is she not ruled by the Hakeem?

We continue through the passage until darkness surrounds us, and the only thing we can hear is the shuffle of our shoes against the rocky ground.

When we reach the other side, I look over the view of my home. It's different at night. The air is not as hot, but the usual strange, sour smells float through the air. Many of the houses are dark, not lit up with lamps like they would be in the other towns.

I'm not sure if my mother left something in the house for me to find. You're going home now. I don't know what that means. Maybe she needs me to go home, to find something that might help. It was too cryptic, and she wouldn't say more.

We find our way down the rocky mountain. It is clear, from the way Nawaz occasionally loses his balance, that he is not used to having to be sly footed. He has probably never needed to do anything he didn't want to.

"So, Akilah, could you be more specific with where the stone is? You said west of Diyar, but there is nothing west of Diyar. There's only the ocean."

Akilah looks back at him, glowering like a lioness that wants to devour a mouse. Not because it will be a satisfying meal, but because it wants the mouse to die a gruesome death. "Exactly."

She must dislike him for not standing up to his father. For all the torturing she went through that he knew about.

Wait, did she say exactly? I come to walk beside her as we make our way through the dirt paths between houses. "We're going into the ocean? How are we going to do that?"

"A boat," she clarifies. "Obviously."

That shuts us all up, even Nawaz. Her tone is enough to tell us she does not want to speak to us or answer any questions.

The streets are mostly empty, and I keep my eyes down on my shoes. One foot in front of another, because I do not know how many steps I will need to take but all I need to focus on is the next one.

In the silence, I try to brainstorm how I am going to tell them that I need to go home. There is no good reason, other than the random, unspecific sentence that my mama kept repeating. My mama, who has been so stuck in her own mind that she has barely spoken two words to me in the past year.

It must be important if it was all she would say to me, over and over.

My eyes lift from the dry, sandy ground when I hear the sound of people speaking. There is the gently melody of a woman singing somewhere far away. We somehow reached one of the souks here in Wadi.

Here in Wadi, we can't afford fancy things, but we still use what we have. The items being sold here are vastly different, compared to any of the surrounding towns. Instead of crispy samoosas or sweet kanafa, there are roasted nuts and dates. Instead of silver watches and jewelled sandals there are thin sleeping mats and cracked pottery.

It's different; it's home.

The expressions on my three companions faces are not what I had expected. Nawaz looks curious, having never been to this side of the mountain. Even when I would sneak into the port market, the Hakeem would be there but not the prince. He was most likely busy courting women.

Zayen looks sad, like being here is affecting him in a way that I don't understand. Maybe it's related to those kids, or his past which I know nothing about. It makes me wonder who those kids are, and what his childhood was like.

Akilah, however, looks like she wants to avoid these people and sprint all the way to Diyar to avoid wasting time. Maybe she doesn't like being around people.

There is a soft cry beside me. In Zayen's hand is the wrist of a child whose eyes are filled with horror. His eyes shine with tears in the dim light of the torches set along the walls. "I'm sorry, my mama. She needs help. I thought—"

"What's going on?" Akilah asks, irritated.

In this moment, Zayen looks like a bear grasping onto a baby deer. The boys broken cries are the only thing that pierce the hushed silence. "M-Mama asked me to bring her bread. She's sick. I don't have money."

"He . . ." Zayen seems hesitant to answer. "He was trying to steal my dagger." Sheathed to Zayen's thigh is the same dagger he held to my throat. The handle is bedazzled with an incredible array of jewels.

All I can see is this child sitting at his mother's bed side, promising to bring her something to eat. I wonder if she calls him her 'quwwa'—her strength, the same way my mama used to.

"He should be punished for stealing." Akilah steps towards the child.

"Laa! Samehni!" !سامحني !‎لأ No! Forgive me!

~~*~~

I'm getting so hyped up for what is coming. I've been doing a lot of planning *jumps up and down*

T w i t t e r : xPineappleGirlx
I n s t a g r a m : laylaawrites
Y o u t u b e : xThePineappleGirlx

Lots of love and jelly tots - xThePineappleGirlx