Perhaps she was glass. But glass is only brittle until it breaks. Then it's sharp.

— V. E. Schwab

“I'M GOING TO the town.”

Maymun peels open his eyes and looks at him from his bed. Frowning, clearly annoyed at Furat for waking him up so early, he rolls on his side and turns his back to him.

“Go then. What do you want of me?”

“You're joining me,” Furat demands, leaving the doorway and walking over to his bed. “Get up.”

“I don't feel well,” he whines, making Furat look heavenward in annoyance. “Go without me.”

Furat grabs him from the back of his shirt and jerks him up into a sitting position. Maymun tries to swat away at his hand but he doesn't let go.

“My patience is wearing thin with you, my friend. You're joining me for my trip to the town and telling me what you promised to tell me while we get supplies for our journey ahead.”

“I really don't feel well—”

“Stop being a whining child for once.”

“My abdomen hurts. I think it's the food I ate last night.” He tries to fall back on the bed but Furat tugs him up. Maymun sighs and looks at him with weary eyes. “Listen, Furat, we've only crossed borders into Gharnatah. I'll tell you everything once we're somewhere safer.”

“Do you not trust me, or do you think you can bribe me with the secrets for a greater favor?”

“What more can you do for me?”

Furat tightens his grip on his shirt. “You tell me, what more do you want?”

Maymun smirks, holding his forearm to remove his hand from his shirt. “Nothing. You've done enough for me. Now it's upon me to repay your debt. But I really don't feel well so I can't go to town with you.”

“I'm not leaving you alone with Rahaf here.”

“If you see me as a threat to you, then take her with you.”

Maymun leans back against the wall beside his bed, wincing. Though he does look a little sick to him, it's not enough for Furat to take pity on him.

“But can I tell you who's the real threat to you, my friend?” Maymun says, suddenly serious, making Furat arch an intrigued eyebrow.

“Surprise me with your theories.”

“General Marrar.” Maymun chuckles, sounding tired but grim, and somewhat mischievous. “He's a threat to you, Furat. He'll never let any harm come to Aswad bin Motassem. He's very loyal to him, and very sly. Maybe greedy too. He'll not think twice if he has to kill to protect the throne. So if the throne is what you want, you must kill him first.”

Furat doesn't give him a response. He doesn't give him a reaction, if that's something he wants. For it's nothing new to him. But he doesn't know why Maymun is emphasizing it to him.

“This doesn't surprise you, I know,” Maymun continues, as if reading through his thoughts. “But that isn't only why he's a threat to you. Did you know the woman you've married was promised to him by the late prince? If Ameer Tahman had lived, she would be General Marrar’s wife, not yours.”

This blazes a fire in his heart. So fierce, so consuming, that suddenly all rational thoughts leave him. And he worries if he moves, or opens his mouth to say a word, his fury will leave only ruins and regrets in its wake.

“He's the real threat to you.” Maymun presses a hand to his abdomen, wincing again. “He's closer to the crown than you. And he has dreamt of your woman longer than you—”

In a blink Furat has his hand around his jaw and gets into his face. “Do you have a death wish?” He grits.

“I only wish to benefit you.”

“Choose your words wisely, Maymun. For I know unless it's for your own benefit, you won't tell me anything.” Furat pushes him away. “I don't think anything is wrong with your abdomen but your head. So rest and recover. When I return from the town, you'll tell me who killed Tahman bin Motassem. When we reach Al Mariyya, you'll tell me who asked you to poison Motassem bin Hazim. This is the price you'll pay me for saving your life— one of it now for half the journey, another for the other half. Do you understand?”

“Fair enough,” Maymun readily agrees.

Furat glares at him. Such a weasel this man is. If it wasn't for his interest in what information Maymun might hold, he wouldn't have helped him.

He leaves his room and returns to his own. His eyes fall on Rahaf sitting on the bed combing her hair. She looks at him and smiles. Furat returns it fleetingly but doesn't dare to go near her.

“Do you need anything from the town?” He asks her.

She shakes her head. “Don't be late.”

“Of course.”

His gaze lingers on her. She looks beautiful with her hair down, he has noticed, and there's this odd desire to run his fingers through her dark waves. It must feel like the ocean to him. He might drown.

“Take care while I'm gone,” he instructs her, blinking out of his thoughts. “I'm leaving Masruq and Bassam behind. Unfortunately Maymun isn't able to leave with me. But I want you to be careful.”

Understanding him, Rahaf nods.

Sharing one last glance at her, Furat leaves.

THERE'S A KNOCK at the door. Rahaf is done folding Furat’s clothes and she places them on the chair. The sun is shining in through the small window on the opposite wall, its rays faint and battling with the clouds. When her husband returns from the town, they'll have to set off on their journey to Al Mariyya— the city they first met in and have chosen to settle in. She cannot wait to revisit it and hurries to repack their things.

“Come in,” she allows whoever is at the other side of the door, assuming it to be Bassam or Masruq. But the knock comes again. Abandoning whatever she's doing, she turns towards the door. “Who is it?” She calls out.

“Maymun, Amira.”

Rahaf hesitates. Her guards are supposed to be at her door and any messenger could only send a message through them. How can Masruq and Bassam leave their posts without informing her, especially in Furat’s absence. She's sure her husband must have left strict instructions for them that they wouldn't dare to breach.

“What do you want?” she asks, her hand flying towards her dagger strapped to her waist as she moves towards the door. The man didn't try to break in when she allowed him the first time, mistaking him for her guard. But Rahaf doesn't waste a second locking the door.

“I wish to speak to you,” comes his reply.

“What about?” she inquires. “And where are my guards?”

“Safe, I promise. I might’ve lied to them to get them away from the door. But only because I've something very important to tell you.”

There's a moment of silence in which her mind orbits around a hundred thoughts. She doesn't know what's outside the door waiting for her. She doesn't trust the man, as Furat advised her not to. And so she doesn't incline an inch into his invitation.

“Speak. I can hear you,” Rahaf says.

“This is something I can only tell you. But your guards will return any minute and they won't let me speak to you.”

Rahaf doesn't respond, doesn't move a muscle. There's noise on the other side as Maymun shifts.

“Bassam will deliver whatever I tell you to Furat,” he utters urgently. “He's a spy to your husband, Amira.”

“I don't think I'm interested in whatever you've to tell me if you've to fear my husband for it, sayyidi. You may leave.”

“You may tell Furat yourself if you wish to. But you'll regret it all your life if you don't hear me out, Amira Rahaf. It concerns Ameer Tahman.” This gets her attention. There's shuffling again, rushed this time. “Your guards are coming. I've to leave. This is your last chance to see me. I'll be waiting for you at the back of the inn.”

Silence again. Seconds slip into minutes. She can hear her guards talking outside now. Her hand slips off her dagger. Rahaf momentarily feels lost and confused, as if having woken up from an absurd dream. Except that it isn't one.

Gathering herself, she hurries to wear her cloak and strap a second dagger to her waist before unlocking her door and stepping out of the room. Her guards come to attention upon seeing her.

“I want to step outside for a moment. Bassam, I need you to stay behind and inform your raees if he returns. Masruq will come with me.”

“But Amira, raees asked me to be with you—”

Rahaf gives Bassam a look that cuts off his protest. “Do as I say. I don't want Furat to worry about not finding me in my room.”

She leaves the inn with Masruq closely following behind her. As promised, she finds Maymun at the back of the small building. The area is quiet and deserted. There are no passerbys. She adjusts the hood on her head and nods for Masruq to stay behind. Maymun tips his head at her when she approaches him.

“Thank you for coming.”

“Speak,” Rahaf demands. “This better be worth my time.”

“It will be,” he assures and offers her a letter case and something wrapped in a handkerchief. “I don't know if it'll help ease the pain of your brother's loss or if it'll add more to it. But I felt it my duty to guide you towards the truth if possible.”

Rahaf frowns and takes the letter case and handkerchief from him. She feels right away the dagger wrapped in it. But before she can unwrap it, Maymun stops her.

“It's better that you see it only when you're alone,” he says. She looks at him. There's nothing in his eyes. “Don't let Furat know, Amira. Don't let anyone know. They'll mislead you. Don't trust the men around you.”

“And here I'm before you, sayyidi. While you've no duty towards me except for the one you've already fulfilled. And while I thought you're a friend of Furat, yet you make me doubt it.”

His expressions change. Rahaf cannot quite decipher it, but there's something underneath the passive mask that's compelling her to stay and listen to him. There's desperation, guilt, and perhaps exhaustion. Maymun appears rather restless to her.

“You've only assumed, Amira. Furat doesn't consider me a friend.”

Rahaf waves her hand. “What about my brother you had to tell me? What truth do you know?”

“The one you're holding in your hand.” He gestures towards the things he has given her. “You'll know it when you see it. But I've an apology to make for it. Two, actually.” Now there's little guilt and more remorse on his face, yet no regret. He's speaking hurriedly, as if there's a lot to say and too little time or too few words to convey his message. “Amira Rahaf, I used to serve your brother. He was happy with my work and rewarded me fairly for it. But the nature of my work would often put me in trouble. That wasn't a problem until Ameer Tahman was alive, but after his death it became difficult for me, to the point that I had to flee Qurtuba.”

He pauses, and so many dots connect at once. He can probably see the questions and conclusions in his eyes. A small smile forms on his lips, somewhat wicked. The earlier emotions are as swiftly replaced as they had emerged.

“What was the nature of your work?” she inquires, and he chuckles dismissively.

“It's not necessary that you know it. What you should know, however, is that Furat already knew this when he hired me to find Ameer Tahman’s grave. And it wasn't only for the sake of finding it for you but for himself too. He's very keen on discovering the secrets of the deaths of your father and your brother. But unfortunately Ameer Aswad learnt of my return to the capital and released my death sentence.”

“Now I'm more curious than ever to know what crimes you've committed to make you an outlaw,” Rahaf interrupts, a hint of fury and insistence in her voice. “Not to mention you implying you did it for Tahman and you've not once wasted a chance to smear Furat’s name in it.”

“God forbid.” He gives her a deceptively innocent look, as if she has accused and wounded him. “Furat helped me escape Qurtuba. Can I ever be so ungrateful to him?”

Rahaf feels blood rush to her hands and she clenches them. The blade of the dagger digs into her palm through the handkerchief. Maymun drops his pretense. His eyes appear empty and his speech becomes rushed again.

“My apologies, sincerely. This is what I had to tell you, never mind if you hate me for telling you the truth. As I said, I was a servant to your brother so long as he lived and I was loyal to him. When he was dying, I was there, but I couldn't do anything to save him. When he was murdered, I saw it with my own eyes. But I chose my own life over him. You may believe me to be cowardly and treacherous, but I would be dead too had I tried to be noble. Though what's more important, Amira Rahaf, is that you don't believe whoever tells you otherwise— your brother was murdered and that's the truth. And I want you to forgive me for not being able to do anything for him.”

Rahaf can only stare at Maymun with utter shock and numbing pain, lips parted, eyes wide, and her heart thundering so loud that the next of Maymun’s words feel distant to her ears.

“That's why I risked my life and agreed when Furat asked me to find the grave. Not out of any compulsion, but for the favors bestowed upon me by the late prince beyond what I deserved. I found his grave and I took you to him so his soul can find some peace.”

There's another pause, longer this time. Rahaf doesn't know if he's giving her a chance to absorb all the information or it's the end of it. He avoids looking into her eyes and stares at the ground between them.

“Who killed him? And what did you do for Aswad to give you a death sentence?” she asks at last, her voice steady though strained. His gaze flicks up to her. “Why would Furat help you if you're wanted by law?”

“This is where I owe you another apology. Although I'm afraid you may not be able to forgive me easily for this one. But all I've to say for myself is that a poor man in the court of the king is nothing more than a puppet. You either entertain or you perish. And it may differ for everyone whether to prefer to entertain the evil or perish preserving their goodness. Many people choose the former. I did so too. There's temporary pleasure there, but it's instant. Man is impatient, now isn't he?” He lets out a dry laugh. “We desire to be masters rather than slaves. But we forget puppets don't become masters. I hope you can forgive me for forgetting this and indulging in anything that may have brought you suffering when you didn't deserve this, Amira Rahaf.”

“What are you talking about?” Rahaf demands impatiently. “Be clear.”

He leans forward and says in a soft whisper, “I killed your father. I thought it was for a greater good. He may have deserved it, but you don't. I'm sorry.”

The sky collapses before her eyes. Rage and anguish makes her vision go white. The letter case falls to the floor and she fists the dagger he has given her. She doesn't know who moves first. Maymun’s eyes go round. She's at him with the dagger. Everything happens in a blink. There's the sound of a sword unsheathing. Her guard cries. A pain shoots through her arm as Maymun catches it midair and twists it. The next few seconds blur and crash into each other. Maymun snatches the dagger from her hand and spins her around to press it to her throat. Masruq, who was running towards them, stops midway.

“Amira!”

Rahaf breathes heavily, her mind suddenly abuzz and alarmed. Masruq takes a step forward and a hiss escapes her as Maymun presses the dagger deeper into her skin. Her guard stops abruptly. She cannot see her assailant’s face, but she knows it's enough to hold Masruq back.

“You asked me why Furat helped me,” Maymun says into her ear. “It's only so I'll tell him all the secrets I know. Since he saved my life, I'll repay his debt and keep his secrets. Tell him I've already paid the price he set for assisting me in half of my journey. Tell him it's beyond me to pay him any more than this.”

He drops the dagger and pushes her forward. The second she's free, her guard runs towards her. But another dagger flies past her and hits Masruq in the shoulder.

“Masruq!”

She turns towards their offender and the moment she does, he blows something into her face. Rahaf covers her face and staggers backwards. But no sooner does she inhale it that darkness surrounds her and she falls to the ground.

━━━━━━━━━━━━

What comes next?