Glass Petals

Rose petals clung to Khaya's body as she stepped out of the tub. The cool, soothing water was now murky with dirt and dust leeched from her skin. She squeezed the water out of her hair and wrapped it in a towel before peeling the petals off her skin and pulling on her clothes. The essential oils, hair balms, and other ampoules on the dressing table remained untouched – she doubted the Prince would be able to tell the difference.

Approaching footsteps sounded in her ears as she picked up Ibn Fakrid's envelope. The door swung open to reveal the same girl – now clothed – who had been staring at Khaya earlier. She was taller than Khaya thought, towering over her like a horse.

"You must be the Prince's new plaything." Her lips pulled into a sneer as she looked Khaya up and down.

She slowly moved the envelope behind her back. "Who are you, sahiba?"

"I am Nina al-Riyaz, cousin to our dear Prince."

Nina... Khaya recalled the name from her first meeting with Princess Rayta.

"Hm," Nina cocked her head to the side, one hand on her pudgy hip, "You're always wearing a veil, I hear. Why hide such a beautiful face?"

She reached out to pull the veil off, and Khaya stepped back.

Nina's eye caught the envelope in her hand. "What are you hiding from me, little whore?"

The blatant insult shocked Khaya to silence.

"Let me see." She grabbed at the envelope and Khaya stepped back again. Soon she would be pressed up against the table.

"Don't touch me," she said, voice level despite her growing panic.

Nina smirked. "Your very purpose is to be touched, what was it... al-Khayzuran... sahiba." The title was like spoiled milk in her mouth. "Hm... I wonder if the Prince is as much of an animal in bed as I've heard."

Khaya's grip on the envelope tightened, mind scrambling for something clever to say as her cheeks bloomed scarlet beneath her veil.

Nina leered and flipped her hair over her shoulder. "How lucky that you get to experience it first hand." She almost sounded dismayed as she turned to leave. "Let me know how it is..." she said over her shoulder. The door slam jolted Khaya's bones.

Her embarrassment and shock were the only sounds in the room.

X

Prince Rehan al-Mahdi pushed open the doors to his concubine's chamber. There was a spring in his step and a gleam in his eye. Khaya was sitting at the edge of her bed, nose buried in a book. Unsurprisingly, her face and hair were veiled. She tilted her chin up and closed the book, then remembered herself and bowed.

"Good evening, Prince Rehan," she said, gaze falling to the bundle of papers in his hand.

"I have a gift for you." He sat down beside her and spread the papers out on the bed.

Khaya buried her hands in her lap, stiff as bone.

"My cartographers have found your home," he said, and pointed at one of the pages. "Here."

Her heart jumped. "How could they have done it so quickly?!" Blood rushed to her head as she leaned in for a closer look. A simple black dot marked the town of Jorash in small, neat handwriting.

Rehan watched her eyes, shining with mirth instead of tears this time. "They found it in the archives," he finally said. "It saves us a lot of trouble if some other cartographer has already mapped the place we are interested in."

"Thank you, Prince Rehan." she beamed.

Rehan looked taken aback when she didn't continue. Usually there was a "I do not deserve such kindness," or a "Your royal blood should not have gone through so much trouble for me." thrown in for good measure, but her lips remained mummed.

"...Is something wrong?" she said, seeing his affronted air.

He couldn't stop looking at her eyes, wide and expressive. "No, it's nothing." He was about to stand, but suddenly stiffened. "Why don't you call me Sayyidi?"

Khaya took a moment before answering, "Because there is no one else here."

His eyebrows knitted. "What does that have to do with anything?"

She shrugged. "I have a feeling you don't care much for formality. You just put up with it because you are a Prince."

Her way of speaking was pleasantly simple, completely devoid of the adulation and flowery language that he was so used to.

"You are incredibly perceptive for someone from some tiny faraway village."

She smiled wide, like she was hiding a delicious secret. "And you are incredibly kind for someone who doesn't need to be."

There was the deference missing from earlier.

Khaya adjusted her veil and cleared her throat in the silence that followed. "Is the map the only reason you came?"

"Yes, more or less," he stood up and cracked his knuckles. "I would stay longer but the garden is being lit soon and I don't want to miss it." He looked at her for a moment. "Have you seen it?"

"Seen what?"

"The glass garden."

She recalled the Calipha mentioning such a place. "No, I have not, what is it?"

His lips pulled into a sly smile as he offered her a hand.

X

The walls began to open up into airy hallways as Rehan and Khaya reached the southern gate of the harem. The guards' eyes briefly flicked to their conjoined hands, then let them through in silence. The sky was dim and gloomy, but Rehan guided them with a spring in his step.

After a while they entered an archway decorated with grey and black stucco, gently reflecting the last rays of sunlight. Khaya's head turned in search of the so-called garden, she jumped when Rehan clamped a hand around her arm.

"Close your eyes," he said, pulling her along another winding path.

Her pulse throbbed in her ears, but she obeyed. A few minutes later they came to a halt. A gentle breeze made Khaya's veil flutter.

"You can look now."

She opened her eyes to complete darkness. There wasn't a torch or even a candle in sight. Something unseen pressed the air into stillness.

It came with a crackle of fire, a gush of wind.

Colour and heat rose from the ground, and all at once the darkness melted away into a garden of glowing, pure crystal. Each rose shone with the brilliance of a ruby, each leaf an emerald.

Khaya squeezed her eyes shut and opened them. It was real. She reached out a hand, frightened and in awe as her finger grazed the cool, smooth glass. Yellow, lilac, indigo, and vermillion hues burst from every corner; it was like standing inside a rainbow.

She let out a sigh and looked up at Rehan. "This is..."

The colours shone in his bright eyes, bounced off his smiling teeth. "Paradise," he ran his fingers over the sculptures, "or at least a good imitation."

They walked deeper into the intricate glass foliage until all they could see was colour and light and each other.

Khaya admired the garden, and Rehan admired her.

"Come," he took her hand, and they found their way out of the maze. He led her to a staircase tucked away in the corridor that opened into an empty balcony. The air was cold but still, dust danced in the light of the glass garden. The view from above stunned Khaya even more, flowers swirled into mandalas that changed colour at the slightest turn of the eye. It took her breath away.

The glow from the garden illuminated Rehan's face when he looked down. They stood in silence for a long while.

"My father built this garden for my mother after they were wed," he finally said.

Khaya recalled the story from her meeting with the Calipha. "Yes, she said she liked the lanterns."

His eyes turned softer than she ever imagined they could. "Yes," he paused for a long breath, "Rayta hates it."

Khaya looked at him askance. "Why?"

It was impossible for her to think of a person who wouldn't appreciate such a marvellous, ethereal thing.

Rehan shrugged and leaned back. "She says it's wasteful... that we should feed and clothe our people instead of wasting valuable manpower and gold." He rolled his eyes so far back they disappeared for a moment. "She is always spouting some self-righteous bullshit like that."

Khaya was starting to see where the love was lost between them. Rayta was noble to a fault, while Rehan was selfish and worldly; true to his upbringing as a Prince.

"Well," she said, "I don't think it's a waste. You paid the craftsmen who built it so they could feed and clothe their families, right?"

Rehan laughed softly. "I don't think anyone has ever looked at it that way."

"The craftsmen certainly did," she stated, and his smile broadened.

"You are as humorous as you are beautiful, Khayzuran," he quipped.

Blood rushed to her cheeks. "Thank you."

Above them, the star twinkled gently as a chilling breeze swept through the folds of their clothes. Rehan reached out and soflty touched Khaya's veil. "Can I see your face?"

Yes.

She looked him in the eye. "...No."

He laughed and pulled his hand away. "Maybe next time, then."

"Yes," she giggled, "maybe next time."