I saw all the mirrors on earth and none of them reflected me.

- Jorge Luis Borges

February, 952
Gharnatah, Al Andalus
(Granada, Andalusia)

THE SNOW IS falling. The sky is embracing heavy gray clouds above them as far as the eye can see. Their horses trot through the white mountains against the strong winds and chilling weather towards the city. Before evening, they'll arrive at the palace of Granada.

The caliph rides at the front with his general to his right. Furat rides close behind them. The rest of the men surround them as the group moves together. They're not many in number but he's aware that what appears to the eye is just a ploy and the caliph is prepared for whatever Kanan has planned for them.

This is a seemingly clear opportunity for Kanan to strike and try to get rid of Aswad bin Motassem. If he doesn't act, Furat will have to devise more such opportunities for him and he really doesn't want to waste anymore time to this. He has other matters to scheme about, like the Amira who is his key to the throne.

That exasperatingly stubborn woman is testing him to the best of his abilities. He's not a rake nor is he a charmer like Rouzbeh, but it isn't that he lacks experience in the field absolutely. Though he might be rusty and never had any serious relationships in the past, he has been with women before. Yet Rahaf is proving more difficult to him than his expectations.

He curses under his breath as they arrive at the palace of Granada without any trouble, where the governor and all the officials are waiting to welcome them. Foolish Kanan, he thinks, hoping he has a plan to kill Aswad that will lead to his own demise or they'd have traveled all the way from Cordoba to Granada for nothing. He could rather have used this time trying to woo that iron-willed sister of the caliph and availed that chance of rising in ranks for the throne.

"Marhaba!"

They're greeted and a man dressed in lavish clothes comes forward to take the horse of Aswad bin Motassem who dismounts it, followed by the rest of the men including Furat.

"Zurarah," The caliph greets the man who smiles warmly at him.

"Welcome to Gharnatah, my Ameer."

"Thank you."

Another man steps forward, this time an elderly one with gray beard and a turban on his head, dressed as lavishly as the other one if not more.

"Ameer Hirash."

Aswad bin Motassem tips his head both in greeting and respect, and Furat gathers that his status or relationship might be of special importance to the caliph.

"Ameer Aswad." The man gives him the same warm smile as the younger one gave him before.

Aswad bin Motassem turns to his men.

"The governor of Gharnatah and the grand advisor of my father, Ameer Hirash," he introduces, and this time Furat looks more closely at face of the man who probably is the worst advisor mankind has ever seen, to have served the worst of kings, Motassem bin Hazim, and who probably never advised him to make the right choices, for every action Motassem bin Hazim ever took was outright insane.

"And Zurarah bin Hirash, my first general and dear friend who fought beside me in every battle I've ever taken part in," Aswad introduces the younger man too.

He then gestures for Marrar to come forward and the general does so.

"You may already know my general, Marrar bin Muammar. He's my best fighter and most loyal confident."

"Of course, who wouldn't know the general of all generals." Zurarah extends his hand for a handshake and Marrar takes it. "An honor to host you, general Marrar."

Aswad then gestures for him to come forward and introduces him next, "Furat bin Kiyan, my fleet admiral, who has defended Al Andalus through the sea for many years and brought us great victories."

"Marhaba, Ameer Furat," he's greeted both by the governor and his son.

"Thank you."

"A pleasure to make your acquaintance." Zurarah smiles at him, extending a hand to him as well which Furat shakes.

The man stares at him a moment too long. Even with the smile on his lips Furat sees something else in his eyes- a puzzlement as if trying to figure out something about him. But he doesn't get to linger on it as Zurarah retracts his hand and looks away from him.

Aswad bin Motassem introduces the rest of his men briefly after which they're led inside and shown to their rooms to rest and freshen up before the feast. When the time for the feast comes, a servant takes him to the dining area where the rest of the men are gathered.

Aswad bin Motassem sits at the head of the table with the governor and his son to his right and general Marrar to his left. Furat takes a seat beside the general.

In a while, servants file in one by one to fill the table with all kind of dishes. Amidst this, the caliph's personal guard, Tabrez, comes in and makes his way towards him. He leans down to whisper something into the caliph's ear. Aswad bin Motassem instantly looks at Furat upon hearing whatever news is brought to him. He then nods and dismisses Tabrez.

"Ameer Hirash, your servants indeed have outdone themselves preparing and serving such a feast for us. I and my men are truly grateful for the hospitality." Aswad looks around the room before his gaze comes to fall on the governor again. "I would like to personally thank each person who has taken part in preparing this feast for us and who has served it to us."

Without a question, the governor nods and directs to one of his men. "Bring in everyone here."

Within seconds, the room is filled with everyone who prepared and served the feast to them while none of them has yet touched it.

Aswad directs to the first person on his right, "Which dish did you prepare and served?"

The caliph goes on from the first person to the very last, asking the same question from each person, and when he's done, he calls for his guards.

"Serve each of them the dish they've prepared and served. They will eat before me or my men."

The guards carry his orders at once, and now all the servants stand with a plate each in their hands with whatever they prepared for the feast, some with confusion in their eyes and others with horror. Aswad bin Motassem doesn't even miss those who brought in fruits and water, serving them to those who served it to him. It doesn't take Furat long to realize what is going on in the dining room. He bites on his lip to not chuckle. Kanan is dead this time.

"Eat," the caliph orders.

Everyone remains unmoving- lost and fearful. Oblivious to what hell is about to break lose. The hell that will burn its way to paradise for him.

"You heard your Khalifa," Zurarah speaks up. "Eat!"

Except for a few, everyone follows the command. Those who don't are instantly taken hold of by the guards. And among those who followed, some of them fall to the ground. Aswad bin Motassem watches everyone with cold, emotionless eyes.

The next order doesn't even need to come. The guards behead those who are found guilty right there and then. If anyone has screamed or protested, it was so shortlived that Furat forgets it before he can remember it. Much of their food was poisoned. Except for a few servants, everyone is killed. The dining room now smells of blood and flesh.

Aswad bin Motassem looks up at a servant, a young girl, holding a plate of grapes in her hands with her eyes wide and her mouth open.

"Come here," he orders.

She takes a minute to process his words and make her body move with staggered steps, clearly shaken by the horror of what has just unfolded and flipped the air of the dining room within seconds.

The caliph extends a hand to take a grape from her plate and her hands begin to tremble. For a fleeting moment, Furat almost pities the girl.

Aswad eats the grape. Then his attention shifts back to the men on the table.

"Praise be to Allah, the Lord of the heavens and the earth, in Whose hand is life and death. In His name, I free every man and woman from slavery in this room who didn't participate in the scheme of killing me or who were saved from being misguided by the Mercy of their Lord. And for each of them is a reward in gold and silver from me."

He then asks for all the poisoned food to be removed and for a glass of water.

"Bismillah."

Aswad gestures for everyone to start the meal and the rest of the dinner passes in silence.

IT'S PAST MIDNIGHT. His chamber is cold but he doesn't really mind it. If his wife was with him, she would definitely have insisted on burning the fire to warm it up. But he declined Tabrez when he offered him. He's a man who has grown up on the battlefields than in palace and its luxuries to be bothered by it.

Aswad walks out onto his balcony where the air is only more cold and cruel. He's reminded of his days spent with Zurarah and others when he was a young boy and free from the weight caliphate on his shoulder. Though even then, he was never entirely free.

Sometimes he wonders if he would've preferred it if his father had declared Tahman rather than him as his heir. His younger brother was always more inclined towards the throne and rulership, and perhaps more suited for the role too.

But then maybe Tahman was more greedy. Heartless even. Yet he was always more beloved to everyone than him, believed to be kinder, lenient, and forgiving. Something his father never was. Something Aswad isn't believed to be either. But only he knows that at the end of the day, they were their father's sons. And Tahman was no different.

A knock at the door interrupts his thoughts. He turns around to see his general coming in.

"You called for me, my Ameer?"

Aswad hums and tilts his head, silently asking him to join him on the balcony. Marrar comes to stand with him.

"My advisor betrays me, Marrar, but I need a few advices. So I ask you hoping you can give me sincere advices and help my dilemmas."

"Of course, my Ameer."

"Tell me then." Aswad ties his hands behind his back and looks into his eyes, the usual green of which appears dark under the night sky. "What punishment would you have given Kanan if you were in my place?"

Marrar doesn't hesitate as he answers him, "I would've executed him to serve as an example for those who would dare to follow in his footsteps. For sparing his life only because of his status would be unjust and open doors of disobedience and betrayal for others. And because I believe justice, my Ameer, isn't served according to one's status but rather according to God's law of punishment for one's crimes."

Satisfied with his reply, Aswad smiles at him. "Tell me, who would you have chosen your next advisor as?"

This time, Marrar takes his time to think through his answer before giving it to him, "Perhaps not only someone who I would've known to be wise and loyal, but also someone's whose position of being a grand advisor wouldn't spoil him by giving him any hopes of surpassing his caliph. For greed, indeed, can even spoil blood relationships."

Aswad agrees in a hum, but couldn't bring himself to keep his smile. His words nick at a tender spot on his heart.

"Who would you've seen as the best match for Rahaf?"

Marrar swallows and lowers his eyes. Aswad doesn't know whether he feels shy to answer such a question or he has made him uncomfortable. Surely if Tahman was to consider him for their sister in the past, Marrar wouldn't be unaware of those intentions of him, for they were more close as friends than Aswad and Tahman were as brothers.

"Someone who not only I would believe to be a good man, but who she too would be happy to marry."

This time his reply is brief, but it's enough for him. Aswad nods and turns his back to him. He moves nearer to the handrail and puts his hands on its cold surface, sighing. His breath mists before him.

"Ameer Hirash offers me the hand of his daughter in marriage, and he ask for Rahaf's hand in marriage for Zurarah."

There is a long silence. He doesn't know if Marrar once more is calculating his reply or if he has chosen not to comment on it.

But then his general asks him, "What did you say to it, my Ameer?"

"He only hopes his daughter might give me an heir to the throne which will raise their family in ranks. He's not the first one to wish so. But I don't want to weaken our ties over matters they've no knowledge of. As for Zurarah, he certainly would've been a worthy match to consider. But," he runs a finger over the handrail, "he's a man who has always avoided the life of royalty and its people. I wouldn't want to put him into a position where in order not to upset me, he's forced to live a life he doesn't want."

"Then what do you intend to do, sayyidi?"

"I'll speak to Zurarah about it myself first. If he wishes what his father wishes, I'll mention it to Rahaf. Although there's someone else who asked for her hand in marriage before him," Aswad reveals. Someone he believes Rahaf might be more willing to consider.

"Who?" Marrar asks.

He faces his general again.

"Furat."

FURAT LIES AWAKE on his bed staring into the darkness of his room. The morning prayer call is being called and he listens to it. He doesn't get to listen to it on the ocean as often. Sometimes, someone from his crew call it to gather to pray. But he's not really a man who practices his faith despite him believing in it.

His mother was a fairly practicing woman though. He wonders if she had lived and he had grown under her guidance rather than as an orphan in the streets, would he be any different? Sometimes he also wonders what his father was like. If he didn't have his father's name with his, he probably wouldn't have known anything about him at all. But a name is all he has. Or maybe a glimpse of his face too sometimes in a dream. He doesn't remember him too well.

Dragging the blanket off his body, he sits up on the bed. The prayer call has now stopped. He gets up and freshens up before leaving the palace for the city.

The dawn has begun to break. The sky is slowly wearing new colors for the day. He likes early mornings when the world is quiet and late nights when it's asleep. He likes it when he has some peace to himself. And he likes Granada, probably more than Cordoba. His home long stopped being a home to him but here he feels free.

He finds the perfume shop he gets his favorite perfume from. The one that soothes his mind when the corpses of his memories try to claw their way out from their graves. The memories he likes buried and not think of. The fragrance that reminds him of his mother's hair and Farya's innocence.

Furat buys himself two bottles of the perfume. Then a thought occurs to him and he buys a third one too. He leaves the shop and decides to take a walk through the city.

He has only covered a short distance when he comes across a man sitting on the sideway with a torn out blanket wrapped around him. A passerby gives him a few coins. He's suddenly reminded of Rahaf- of a day when he took a walk with her through the city and she gave a loaf of bread to a poor man. And how she had reminded him of his childhood- how whenever someone would give him food or money, he would wish if the world had more people like them.

Furat adjusts the hood of his cloak and makes his way towards him. But as he nears him, he notices someone familiar going in the same direction and he halts in his way. Though he doesn't see Furat and is covered in a cloak of his own, Furat recognizes him right away.

The visitor sits before the poor man and places a pouch of coin and a bag of bread before him. Furat subtly tries to get closer, right in time when the poor man makes a prayer for him and the visitor adds with a smile,

"Pray that I may be reunited with my beloved."

So Zurarah bin Hirash has a beloved? How sweet. Furat smirks.

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