PROXIMITY ONLY INCREASES Zakkai's awe and appreciation of the grand capital city. As the scope of his vision shrinks, he only makes out more beauty in the details impossible to see from afar. The very lattices on the windows of homes are pieces of art, geometric designs and symmetrical patterns instead of mere criss-crossed patchwork of wood. Finally, the exiled prince has found a place truly worthy of his consideration.

The very lack of walls around the city seems to convey an unspoken boast. Zakkai approaches the eastern edge of the capital unhassled by guardsmen, no gatekeepers to contend with. He simply steps onto a paved road and follows it into the metropolis's maze, nodding his head at a young man his age sharpening a knife as he makes his entry.

As much as Zakkai finds himself appreciating the new environment, passersby largely avoid eye contact with him and keep their distance as he passes them on the road. After all, with his ragged coat and skinny frame, he must be nothing in their eyes but a beggar. In turn, he finds their embroidered vests and squarish hats peculiar, but at least their clothes are clean.

Nonetheless, his nose leads him into a grand bazaar, a bustling paradise of earthly delights. His stomach growls with a vengeance as the savory aroma of roasted meat hits him, mingling with the fresh notes of an assortment of herbs. Rounding a corner, his eyes alight on a colorful array of fruits, vegetables, and spices, some familiar, and some utterly unknown.

A jolt shocks Zakkai out of his trance. He has not been mindful of the crowd, and he had stumbled into a youth, the same man he had seen sharpening the knife just outside the city minutes ago. Offering his profuse apologies, he continues on his way, mouth watering at the spread of delicacies before him.

One particular fragrance calls Zakkai to a stall where a heavyset woman steps up to a massive hunk of meat hoisted over a crackling fire. With a brush, she lathers it generously with an amber glaze, topping that with a sprinkle of vibrant red spices. On a nearby table are portioned out several cuts from a previous batch, the piquant juices dribbling down onto crispy flatbread. The exiled prince's already ravenous appetite flares up all the greater now, and he must have some.

When the woman turns from tending to the meat, he steps up and points at the portions of flatbread and glazed meat on her other table. "I would like two of those, please."

Her eyes flit between Zakkai's face and his slight form. "Two, you say?"

"Two, yes. It looks delightful."

"And hopefully, it tastes better than it looks."

"Somehow, I doubt that is a possibility." While rummaging through the coins in his travel bag, Zakkai watches the woman grab two portions and amble closer with them. "How much do you charge for those?"

"Twelve."

"I fear I am unfamiliar with your currency," Zakkai says, producing a handful of koi, leaving only three coins left in the bag. "Will this suffice?"

She eyes the currency in his hand with disinterest. "I have no use for those."

"Ah, but they are pure gold. Surely—"

"Do you have any holi, strange man? That, I will accept."

"I have never heard of it. However, as I was saying, you may just as well melt these down and have them minted in—"

"I roast meat for a living," she says, "not melt coins. If you have no holi for me, I have no food for you."

Zakkai's stomach lets out a groan. He drops the koi back into his bag, a pleading look twisting his features.

"Please, for months on end, I have wandered across jungle and wilderness, endured rainstorm and heat wave alike, limped along until my legs could hold me up no longer. If you may simply show me kindness and allow one portion—"

"Kindness will not feed my children, and neither will your tears. Find yourself some work, earn a few holi, and you can buy yourself a portion. I apologize for your hardship."

Zakkai furrows his brow. He lunges forward, snatching a portion from the woman's hand and bolting down the road. The twisting of his empty stomach had finally overwhelmed his sense. He sprints away from the scene of his crime, folding the flatbread around the glazed meat and chomping down on both in a massive bite that overwhelms his palate with ecstasy.

Supremely savory, juicy meat—not lamb, but something similar—pairs amazingly with the spiced honey marinade, a heavenly mingling of flavors the flatbread only highlights with its nutty undertones. The delight is so great he almost forgets to keep running, but Zakkai continues his desperate escape.

Footsteps pound behind Zakkai, and he glances back to see he is being pursued by none other than the youth who he had bumped into earlier. Dread courses through his body as the impossibility of escaping his crime becomes apparent. Even at his healthiest, he would be unable to outrun this athletic young man, let alone in his weary, half-starved state.

The youth tackles Zakkai with a mighty cry, and the two topple onto cobblestone together. His stolen meal flops down into a gap between two stones, a fate more tragic than the prince himself being caught. He attempts to wrestle his pursuer off, but it is a useless endeavor.

"I knew you were trouble from the moment I saw you," the youth growls through gritted teeth. "You shall come with me."

"Who do you think you are?" Zakkai protests. He considers reaching for his dagger, but his arms are pinned down, and his strength to free them is insufficient. "Unhand me!"

"Who do you think you are, stealing from that poor old woman? A beggar, I can pity, but a thief is simply a disgrace."

"You have no idea the hardship I have faced in crossing the vast expanse—"

"Save your breath, thief," the youth says, yanking Zakkai to his feet and binding his hands with a rope he produces out of nowhere. "I have no authority to prosecute you, but I can take you to someone who does."

Zakkai helplessly proceeds through the streets of the capital city, shoved along by his new captor. They weave through the intricate network of alleyways until they reach the trio of central buildings he had been admiring from afar. His captor leads the way to the spired structure and hurries their steps once inside.

Despite the heat outside, the interior of this building remains cool, even drafty. Sunlight trickles in through window lattices, forming speckled patterns on the walls and tiled flooring. The people Zakkai and his captor pass in the courtyard wear similar garb to those outside, white, tan, and brown tunics paired with matching trousers. In the way of contrast, the men inside this building lack the outer vests and most wear a weapon of some sort strapped to their hip.

After ascending some stairs, traversing a hallway, climbing more stairs, and passing through a courtyard, Zakkai's captor stops at a closed doorway. He turns to throw one last glare at the unfortunate prince before closing his fist to rap on the door. Voices within quiet, and then a singular baritone bellows out a command to enter.

Zakkai's captor swings the door open and pushes him inside. He enters with a hung head, lifting it up to take in the new sights. An echoey circular chamber stretches out around him, mounted lanterns lining the walls. A ring of eleven chairs take up much of the space, and in them are seated a group of men whose beards range from graying to gray and whose raiment is as colorful as Zakkai's own coat once was. Each of the flowing garments catches the eye with a vibrant primary color and then intrigues with swirling patterns of a darker hue. These must be the rulers of this realm, and that realization causes Zakkai to swallow hard.

Pushed into the middle of the ring, Zakkai senses the examining gazes surrounding him on every side. He cannot view the entire tribunal at once, but they can all see him. He squirms in place while his captor opens his mouth to speak.

"I apprehended this thief in the marketplace, my elders," the youth declares, his voice bouncing off the walls. "He stole food from some helpless woman and attempted to run off with it, but I stopped him. Now I bring him before you to face justice."

A moment of heavy silence follows. The quiet is so great Zakkai swears he can hear the elders' shifting gazes.

One elder sits in a seat higher than the others, adorned in a yellow garment with dark stripes running down. He leans forward in his seat and peers not at Zakkai, but at the youth beside him. His thick fingers knead through his lengthy beard.

"You disturb a meeting of the council of elders over the apprehension of a petty thief? This is a matter for the magistrate, is it not?"

"I suppose so, Great Elder, but I had thought since he claimed to be a foreigner, he may be a spy."

"He is a foreigner?"

"So he says. He told the woman that he had traveled for months to get here."

The old man focuses his attention on Zakkai now. He shudders from the weight of his gaze. Stifling silence returns for a moment.

"Are these things true? Where have you come from, and what is your purpose here?"

"I am Prince Zakkai, son of King Dahudi and rightful heir to the throne of Esraya. I have been exiled, banished from my homeland, and long have I wandered in search of a new place to call home. I perceive you to be the leader of these people, so I entreat you to forgive my indiscretion and grant me a chance to prove useful to your realm. You are a civilized people, from what I have seen, and I should be glad to serve in any capacity required, as long as I may find this place to be a home."

"I have never heard of any land called Esraya ... what services could you offer to make yourself useful?"

"You would find me a most useful ally, I assure you. As rightful heir to the throne, I am well educated in all facets of maintaining a powerful nation, so I may comfortably assist you as a military advisor, economic strategist, or political negotiator for instance. I am also skilled in horse riding, swordsmanship, writing ... truly, my skill set is broad, and you would be blessed to have me as an ally."

"If you are so talented," speaks one of the other elders, pudgy in face and keen of eye, "then why do you dress as a beggar and steal like an ordinary thief? Why have you really come here?"

"I have told no lie. The journey here was long and I departed in haste, hence I was not prepared for the hardships I came to endure. No chieftain, king, or overlord I have come across thus far has found kindness in his heart for an exiled prince unjustly banished, but I already perceive you to be a man of greater wit than they."

The first elder shakes his head. "I am no ruler, so on that, you are mistaken. But with the authority I do have, I am under obligation to prosecute you as a thief and examine you on suspicion of espionage. In the interest—"

"If you are not this nation's ruler, then I demand an audience with him. I must speak with—"

"You would speak with our queen to justify thievery?" another elder scoffs. "Your story has more holes than a leopard has spots. You must be a spy."

"If you were not a criminal, I may have considered your request, but alas, you have left me no choice. You shall be held in confinement until your true purpose here can be determined." The first elder subtly nods at the youth still standing at Zakkai's side. "Take him away."

Before the youth can grasp Zakkai's arm again, and before Zakkai himself can raise his voice in protest, a clear tenor voice rings out in the chamber. Everyone halts, and the two young men in the middle of the circle turn to face him.

"Leave him to me," says a particularly swarthy elder in red attire. "I may have use for him."

The pudgy elder chuckles. "What use could you possibly have for a spy and a thief, Okafor?"

"I will see if he is worth anything. Release him to my custody. I will bring him with me to Mejanno and see if his talents are what he says they are."

The first elder leans forward. "Are you sure his presence would not over encumber you on your mission?"

"If he proves a hindrance, I will kill him. You know my temperament."

"Very well, Okafor. The boy's life is in your hands, and his freedom or captivity now hinge on your determination. I would advise you take him to get a proper meal."

Okafor rises from his seat, revealing that he had been slouched the whole time and now stands at a truly impressive stature. He steps up to Zakkai with a grave expression, undoes the rope holding his wrists together, and points to the door. Heart hammering in his chest, Zakkai strides out of the chamber alongside his new warden.

His mind now brims with questions as to the nature of this mission he has been dragged into, not to mention his bewilderment with the enigma walking alongside him. At least he now has a promise of a proper meal ahead, so that at least relieves some fears, but much mystery still remains. So far, this capital city has proven more than the exiled prince could have bargained for.