Meanwhile, let us abolish the ticking of time’s clock with one blow. Come closer.

— Virginia Woolf

IT ISN'T A gloomy day. The sky is clear, the sun bright, and there's no sign of rain or storm for as far as his eyes can take him. Yet for some reason he wishes the sky would've wailed and wrecked the world with the strongest of its storm. The way it did when his village was burnt and his people killed. The way the morning after came with screams of revenge. That way, the madness of fury and pangs of desolation would've felt less painful. For that way, the sky would've shared what her heart is going through.

Furat watches Rahaf sit under the fig tree and cry. He watches her without a word of comfort or knowing how to offer her one. The only feeling he can tell apart from the turmoil of the hundred he's feeling is regret. He shouldn't have brought her here. He wouldn't have if he knew she'd react this way and he would be forced to watch her helplessly. He thought her stronger than this. Maybe he forgot he didn't know her that well after all, and that now when he's seeing more of her, he doesn't know if he likes it.

“Leave,” he quietly tells Maymun.

“Furat—”

“Leave,” he hisses, impatient and restless, not wanting the man with him to witness what he's witnessing.

“We need to talk when you're done here,” Maymun says before leaving him alone with his wife.

Furat closes his eyes and turns away from Rahaf. She can shed all the tears she wants for Tahman bin Motassem, but he'll be damned if he feels any remorse for the man buried underground. Yet for Rahaf… Rahaf. He feels upsettingly bothered. She shouldn't cry before him. He has this strong urge to tell her not to. As if he could tell her her brother was a scoundrel who deserved this. 

He lifts his face to the sky and gazes at it through the branches of the tree that sway up above them. The forest is silent except for the soft sobs of the princess crying over the grave of her brother. But her voice is enough to drown out everything for him. He had thought if he was to bring her suffering and doom, he'd gladly watch her burn in the flames that once burnt him. Oddly now, he doesn't take pleasure in the sight before him as he had once thought.

Giving up against his better judgment, Furat walks over to where she's sitting under the tree and kneels down beside her. He doesn't take her in his arms to comfort her, nor does he dare to wipe her tears. He's afraid of crossing any more boundaries than he already has with her.

“Enough, Rahaf,” he gently shushes her. “I didn't bring you here so you'd cry your heart out like a child that I don't know how to calm down.”

She doesn't acknowledge him and continues to cry. Her hands are folded in her lap and she keeps staring at the ground. Sighing, Furat reaches out to hold her hand, something he knows she likes doing.

“I thought you to be stronger than this, my rose.”

This makes her look up at him. “You thought wrong,” she mumbles.

“No.” Furat squeezes her hand. “I know you're stronger than this, Rahaf.”

Rahaf smiles against her tears. “I'm meeting my brother after a year and a half, Furat. Let me tell him that I missed him. That I still do.”

He lets go of her hand. She resumes mourning him, though now not crying as before. The rustling of the leaves every once in a while muffles her voice, and he's grateful for it. He would've liked being somewhere else, anywhere else, than being here like this. Yet he stays beside her, he doesn't know for how long, and eventually she takes mercy on her eyes as they dry and her sobs die. There's a peaceful silence between them, until Rahaf decides to interrupt it.

“I was very young when my mother died,” she says, her voice wavering and hushed. “I don't remember much of her, although I miss her. I wish she hadn't left me so soon. I was very lonely without her.”

He doesn't know what to say. He doesn't know what she expects. He only wordlessly looks at her.

“My father, I don't know how to describe him, but unfortunately he couldn't be enough for me. Or for Aswad or Tahman. He was a caliph after all. He had many other things to do besides looking after his children.”

She picks at the grass mindlessly. Again, Furat can only offer her his silence between her pauses. But only if he could reach out to hold her hand again. He resists doing so.

“Very early in his life Aswad was forced into fulfilling the responsibilities that were expected of him. But he was a good brother. If it wasn't for him, I wouldn't have made it so far, nor would've Tahman, for as much as was destined for him. For my father wasn't the kindest or most considerate king. He was unforgiving and harsh, for the lack of the better words, and so he had enemies, a lot of them, many from among his own viziers and officials. But Aswad, he did everything he could for Tahman and I. To guard our lives against the hatred directed against our father, so it wouldn't harm us. But I suppose in the end, Tahman still had to pay the price.”

Furat doesn't know how to respond to her. Whether to correct her or argue with her. For he himself doesn't know the truth. Motassem bin Hazim certainly had enemies, but who turned out to be so powerful to kill him and his son when Furat has always taken pride in himself and had rather taken it as a challenge for himself to complete? The thought has often worried him. There's a lot more to the death of the late prince than Rahaf is seeing.

“He was the closest to me.” She caresses the ground, as if she could feel what's beneath it. “How does one go to sleep in peace one night, and then wake up in the morning to learn that their world has collapsed?”

He gives into his desire and pulls her against his chest. Despite his reasoning. Despite every warning his mind can conjure. He puts his arms around her and she lifts her hands from the ground to him. She doesn't cry, but in this one moment Furat takes pity on her.

“I promise I'll find whoever killed Ameer Tahman.”

That's a promise he doesn't only make for her but for himself too. Even if he wasn't to make it to her, he still intended to find the truth behind the murder. Rahaf doesn't say anything and Furat pulls away from her.

“Maymun wishes to speak to me. I'll go to him.”

She nods and lets go of him.

“Don't cry anymore, alright?”

She smiles sadly and nods again.

Furat pats her cheek and stands up. “I'll be back with you in a while. Say your goodbye to your brother and we'll return to the palace then.”

He goes to find Maymun and doesn't take long to do so. He's leaning against a tree at a distance and straightens upon seeing Furat approaching.

“I didn't know you were a romantic, my friend.”

“Shut up,” Furat snaps, making him smirk. “Speak. What was it you wanted to talk about?”

Maymun slings his arm around him, his smirk turning into a deceptively sweet smile. Furat tries to push him off but he doesn't budge.

“I've found you the grave you wanted me to find you, Furat. I've kept my end of the deal.”

“And I've kept mine,” Furat reminds him, sensing that Maymun probably is going to ask for more than he bargained for. “I've compensated you with more than what we agreed upon. Don't you dare think of asking me for more gold—”

“No, no.” Maymun removes his arm from him, giving him an innocent and hurt look. “You've proven to be a good friend—”

A laugh escapes him at the declaration. Now he's more than sure Maymun needs something from him. Grinning, Furat tilts his head at him.

“I thought we agreed that we didn't qualify to be friends?”

Maymun frowns, and Furat matches his expression, all the humor leaving him.

“What do you need from me, Maymun?”

Maymun doesn't waste a second laying before him his request. “Listen, Furat, I gambled upon my life coming here every time to follow Marrar bin Muammar and find you this grave. If he had found me, he would've buried me beside Tahman bin Motassem. But now the man knows that I'm in Qurtuba and he's looking for me. If he finds me, I'm dead. And I cannot leave the city when the caliph's men are searching for me like bloodthirsty hounds. I've nowhere to go, nowhere to hide.”

“What do you want me to do?” Furat asks passively. “Hide you with myself when I myself am living under the roof of your executioner?”

“No, ya Rabbi, you're a bastard, Furat.” Maymun runs his fingers through his hair. Where Furat has known him to be reckless and carefree, today he really appears troubled and tired to him. “I need a favor from you. In return, I'm willing to tell you everything I know about the prince and the caliph's death.”

Intrigued, Furat arches an eyebrow. “Didn't you say the information you had was priceless and you weren't willing to tell me about it?”

“I've changed my mind. I don't have all the answers yet, thus I kept what I knew to myself. But if you help me, I'll tell you what I know, and if possible, help you find what we don't know yet.”

“What if you're lying?”

“You'll have every right to kill me or turn me to the caliph's men.”

“Tempting.” Furat smirks. “State your condition, I'm listening.”

Maymun licks his lips, his eyes wide with hope. “I know you're leaving Qurtuba in a few days. I want you to take me with you.”

Furat looks at him, studying him, the desperation on his face and the plea in his voice. It's a strange pleasure, he thinks, to suddenly have someone's fate in your hands. Maymun bin Yamaan is anything but a man to humble himself before someone else. He's an arrogant rogue, and suddenly he's humbled before him. Furat chuckles, and a look of displeasure crosses Maymun’s features.

“I can certainly do that,” Furat wonders out loud. “But I don't need to be generous and help you. Whatever information you have, I can have someone else find it for me.”

“I'm the only witness to Ameer Tahman’s death.”

“I don't think I care so much, my dear friend.”

Maymun tightens his jaw. He can probably see that he's taking pleasure in torturing him. Furat chuckles at him again.

“Want me to go tell your wife that she has married a snake, Furat?”

This kicks the smile off his face.

“Only if you're really desperate to step into the grave you've found us.”

Maymun once more runs his fingers through his hair, tugging at the roots, and steps closer to him.

“It costs you nothing if you help me, Furat. No one will ask you a question if you take me with you. No one will doubt you.”

“Fine, if you're begging me so much, I'll help you.”

“Bas—”

“If you curse at me one more time, I'll leave you to rot in Qurtuba.”

“My friend!” Maymun grins widely. “I knew I could count on you. You may pretend to be heartless, but you're actually a very good man.”

Furat grabs him by the collar and jerks him forward. “Spare me the nonsense and listen to me. If the information you claim to have is useless or of no benefit to me, or if you even think of deceiving me or lying to me, I'll give you a death worse than Aswad bin Motassem can ever think of for you.”

Maymun nods briskly and raises his palms in surrender. “I understand.”

Furat releases him and pushes him away. “Good. Then wait for a message from me. I'll take you out of Qurtuba with me.”

THE LAST RAYS of sun slip in through the crack in the curtains and fall on the qaleen before the window. He sits on a chair in Rouzbeh’s chamber as his friend takes a candle and lights the others with it. His gaze remains fixated on what little daylight remains seeping inside, lazily drawing the pattern on the qaleen. But his thoughts wander far away.

Rouzbeh leaves the candle in a candelabra and comes to sit on his bed. Furat can feel his eyes on him, pointed and awaiting, as if he owes him an explanation for whatever he does in his life.

“You shouldn't trust Maymun, akhi. I warned you before,” Rouzbeh says after a few minutes of buzzing quiet between them.

“He has proven useful to me.”

“How can you be sure the grave he has found belongs to Tahman bin Motassem?”

“Why else will Marrar bin Muammar go to that forest and spend time under the fig tree?”

“How would I know?” Rouzbeh scoffs. “How would you know anything with certainty either? You should've dug open the grave to confirm.”

Furat scoffs back. “Why? Were the prince’s bones branded with his name that if I were to see them I'd be sure?”

“If you had to go so far as to find the grave, it's a waste if you don't dig it open for a clue.”

“It's a waste either way, Rouzbeh. Besides, Rahaf didn't want me to open the grave. She was content with believing it was his.”

“What does it matter what Rahaf bint Motassem wants?”

There's a bitterness in Rouzbeh’s tone. Furat finally tears his eyes from the rays on the qaleen to him. He's right. What does it matter what Rahaf wants? What does he tell Rouzbeh?

“I was content too with what Maymun told me. I didn't find it necessary to open the grave. Besides, it's only reasonable to think the grave belongs to the late prince given he had a cabin in that forest and his general still goes to visit the grave. It's under the same fig tree Tahman bin Motassem planted,” Furat explains. “Ironically, the grave is quite far from where the prince's cabin once stood. It seems to me whoever buried him didn't want anyone to find his grave. It's deeper into the forest and very well hidden. But if the general knows where it lies, then Ameer Aswad must know it too. I wonder why it's kept a secret from the rest of the world. Why not bury Ameer Tahman in the royal cemetery rather than leaving him amidst nowhere?”

Rouzbeh frowns, clearly not pleased with their discussion, but doesn't argue with him. “You wanted to be assured that Tahman bin Motassem is dead, I hope now you can be at peace. Who killed him and why they did it doesn't matter. The royal family has many enemies besides us. They killed the caliph, then attempted to kill Aswad bin Motassem many times. Unfortunately he survived each of those attacks. But fortunately the younger prince wasn't as fortunate. What I don't understand is when your deal with Maymun is closed, why is there a need to help him any further?”

Furat rubs a hand down his face. He has favors to ask Rouzbeh and he knows it's going to take him some convincing.

“Because I need answers. Do you not worry who's so capable besides us to have committed the murders?” he asks Rouzbeh who huffs out a short, dismissive laugh.

“Why should I worry when our problems are taken care of by someone else?”

“Because they can pose a threat to us too. That's why it's so important to me to find out who was behind the murders.”

“Furat—”

“Listen to me, Rouzbeh.” Furat rests his elbows on his knees and leans forward. Rouzbeh already feels ready to refuse him whatever he's about to ask him next. “I know you want to keep moving forward instead of peeking into the past. Ignorance may be a bliss, akhi, but so is it a weakness. You cannot outrun the truth. Some day it'll be before us and that day I want to be prepared to face it rather than be defeated by it.”

Rouzbeh groans and looks up at the ceiling. Furat smiles at his frustration. A moment later, his friend looks back at him.

“You want me to find you the answers now when Maymun will be leaving the city?”

Furat nods. “Maymun will tell me what he knows. I only want you to fill the missing pieces. It would've been easier if he were to stay in Qurtuba, but I don't think he can find much outside of it. You, however, can do it easily with your resources, can you not?”

Rouzbeh’s lips pull up at one side. “Thank you for your faith in me. I may have connections, Furat, but I'm a soldier. Speaking about the deaths of the caliph and the prince is considered a forbidden subject. People will question me if I bring it up.”

“I'm sorry for overestimating you then.”

“Oh, for God's sake.” Rouzbeh shakes his head at him. “I'll help you in any way I can.”

Furat smirks, pleased. “I knew I could count on you.”

“You can thank me by avenging our dead.”

The underlying meaning to his words makes him sober up. “Of course,” he says, getting up.

“Where are you going?” Rouzbeh asks, standing as well.

“To my chamber.”

“Stay. Join me and our men for a meal outside.”

Furat considers his offer, but knowing how those outings often go, he chooses to decline. “You'll find yourself a woman and leave me to deal with a dozen drunken fools. So respectfully, no.”

“I'll find you a woman too.”

Furat laughs. “That's very considerate of you, but no, thank you.”

He walks towards the door. Rouzbeh calls out to him, “It'll help erase any fondness you might’ve developed for bint Motassem.”

“I've got no fondness for her.”

“Is that why you're so eagerly running back to her?”

The remark makes him stop before he can reach the door. Furat takes a deep breath and lets go of any rising rage or resentment his heart could muster towards Rouzbeh. He turns back to him.

“Don't mind me, Furat, but I fear you may incline towards the daughter of our enemy,” Rouzbeh says, the emotions in his eyes conflicted but his care for him showing. “I fear you may forget why your men support you.”

“Why do you support me, Rouzbeh?”

“You're my brother.”

“Remind this yourself the next time you question me.”

Rouzbeh drops his shoulder in resignation.

Furat leaves his chamber. But instead of going to his chamber, he ends up at the rose garden. The sky has darkened now as his feet take him to the fountain he has come to like. But as if destiny loves to trick and test him, he finds Rahaf there before him. She looks in his direction when she hears him approaching.

“You're here,” he says.

She smiles. With slow but deliberate steps, he goes to join her on the fountain seat.

“I'll miss this garden, Furat. Will you?”

“I will, too.”

Rahaf looks up at the sky. “I wish it was raining. But then again, I'm glad the sky is clear. We might see the stars if it remains so.”

Furat hums. “The starlit sky is really a sight to behold above the sea.”

“I'll love to see it some day.”

Their eyes find each other. Furat gazes at her. The smile is still kissing her lips. These eyes that were flooded with her tears earlier are now sparkling like the stars to come. The only way she can step on his ship is if he's dead. His men will riot if he's ever to bring the daughter of their enemy before them. But will he ever allow it?

Rahaf doesn't let him think of it as she leans closer and kisses his cheek. Softly. Like a rose. Close to his mouth. And he feels the ground beneath his feet tremble.

“Thank you for what you've done for me, habibi.”

She puts her head on his chest and wraps her arms around his torso. And oh, his heart. Something feels to be holding it in a fist. His chest feels so tight he suddenly finds breathing impossible. And the world around them spins faster than anything. Oh, heavens and everything that is holy, he wishes his logic and reason wouldn't leave him in a time so critical. He wishes he could push her away somehow. He wishes his body wouldn't feel so stiff.

He wishes… He wishes… He wishes…

Furat rests his chin on her head and returns her embrace. He wishes she was only Rahaf and not Rahaf bint Motassem. Maybe then, it would've been easier to love her.

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A long and nice chapter for 100k on TLV. Thank you.