Embers

The morning came, and with it, respite. News came through the night from the far ends of the north and the east. The majority of belligerents had been killed, a few escaped but their numbers were insignificant in comparison to the military gains won by the Reyans. The soldiers were returning in their groups, marginally diminished and weary, but eyes glowing with a victory hard won.

Dawud al-Hak's head, along with a handful of other Umayyads who had died in the fighting, were stuck on pikes to be put on display in a square close to the residence for all members of the western quarter to see. The munadis had been given messages by Sharan to announce to the people, "The Umayyad leader is dead! The rebels run in defeat! Long live al-Mahdi! Long live al-Mansur!"

Abu Musa was still at large, and Sharan figured spreading sketches of him among the masses would help root him out with the citizens' help. Those within the governor's residence did not have time to rest.

Yahya had scarcely left Rehan's side but to provide his input on Sharan's plans as he put them into motion, though even in that he was only half present. Rehan's breathing had remained erratic throughout the night. To Amina's credit she had not slept a wink, checking his pulse periodically and reapplying dressing to his wounds every few hours. Only at first light did she lay on the diwan for a moment's rest. It was a while after the dawn prayer that Rehan began to stir. He groaned, shifting over the bloodied sheets in discomfort, and his eyelids twitched against the morning light.

"Rehan," said Yahya, moving to this side. He gently touched his forearm to ease some of the pain, and it sent a shock through his body. He could feel every flaming nerve, the sensation of burned flesh as it shot up through his own arm. He swallowed the brief pain, and searched Rehan's half-lidded eyes. "You are safe."

"The boy?" he croaked.

"He is fine, the physician fixed him up. We sent him back to his family this morning with a soldier who was in your contingent."

Rehan closed his eyes. "We killed Dawud. I ordered the men to bring his head back."

"I know, Sharan is handling it. We've called for Tahir as well."

There was a singular knock on the door, and Yahya went to open it. He pulled it back a crack to see a tall, black-skinned stranger staring down at him.

"I must speak to the Prince at once."

Yahya's fingers were flexed to act. "And who are you?"

Rehan's hoarse voice sounded from behind. "He's trusted, let him in."

The man's expression didn't change as Yahya opened the door reluctantly. He glided across the room and bent down to Rehan's ear to whisper his message. "Your orders?"

Rehan was silent for a time, and for a moment Yahya doubted he had heard the man at all. "Wait outside," he finally said.

"What happened?" asked Yahya once the man had left the room.

Rehan's eyes prickled in discomfort. The pain was blinding even with Yahya's siphoning. He could hardly move. "I'm sorry, Yahya," he managed to say. "I should have let you both explain."

Yahya's eyes widened. "Is this about Khayzuran? Where is she?"

"She's fine, she's here. I kept her here to interrogate her and corroborate your story."

Yahya could not speak, he had no words to say.

"She will never forgive me," Rehan whispered suddenly. "I've hurt her irrevocably."

"She will," he said. Somehow he knew she was listening to every word Rehan said. It was a certainty he had no doubt of. "She would forgive you anything, I know it."

"Her eyes." He exhaled, and his eyes fluttered closed. A single round tear managed to claw its way out of the corner of his eye and wet the fabric of the pillow. But Yahya had seen Khaya's soul, he knew this was not the same, no matter what it was that Rehan had seen.

"Do you want me to bring her here?" he asked.

"No," he blinked and more tears fell. "She can't see me like this."

In that Yahya agreed, it would devastate her. Listening to them was one thing, but seeing with her own eyes the hideous, bleeding scar cutting across his shoulder and chest, and the hundred other cuts and bruises smattering his body—it was not a sight he wished anyone to witness, especially not her.

X

As the pair of them rested with their decision, high above in the upper chambers of the residence Khayzuran lay with her body flush against the door, slamming her fist into it without pause.

"Open the door! Let me out!" she cried, "Let me out!" She screamed louder and louder until it was the only sound in her ears, the only sound in the world.

The moment she awoke, after washing her sore face and praying, she searched through sound to see what the fate of the night had been. Soldiers were streaming in, some with strength and some with weakness in their veins. Yahya was there, Sharan was there—both tired but alive. After a moment she clenched her jaw, searched farther, harder. She could not find Rehan's heartbeat. No breath sounded like his, no fall of foot or sway of arm. Where was he?

She found Yahya again, beside him there was a stranger, a woman, older but strong. There was someone else with them, a heartbeat so faint, a breath so shallow they were scarcely alive.

"He will be alright, you should get some rest," Yahya said.

The woman shuffled around the room, fiddling with some kind of fabric, and was quiet again. Soon her breathing turned slow and regular, a fitful sleep. Khaya swallowed, still honed in on Yahya.

Her body knew it before she did, before she wanted to let herself know it.

"God willing, please Rehan, please wake up," said Yahya.

Khayzuran's eyes snapped open and she whimpered in pain, as if an arrow had pierced her stomach. She listened again, listened to the faint pumping, the slow blood of the third person in that room. It could not be him, it was nothing like him. It was all wrong, it was weak. It was embers where there should have been flame, stillness where there should have been a storm.

Another sound came out of her, a crack in her chest that splintered. Her mouth hung open and she brayed like a dying animal, collapsing to the floor. After a time she managed to still her breathing, close her mouth and cry in silence. There was not a single second her senses left that room. She did not have to concentrate so hard now, what she thought was a blessing was now a curse.

His heartbeat was so faint. So faint even to her.

She did not know how much time passed, a dozen minutes, an hour, before a new sound emerged from that room. A human sound. An alive sound.

She sat up and wiped away her tears as she heard his voice, strained and tired, but his, say "The boy?"

She listened to them converse, heard the knock, the shadow enter the room. Every whisper he uttered in Rehan's ear which Yahya himself was not privy to.

"She says she came of her own accord to protect you, that the Vizier conscripted her to spy on someone, but it was not you... Your orders?"

Every word from Rehan after that was a solace and a knife.

She will never forgive me.

She can't see me like this.

Khayzuran ran to the locked door, slammed herself against it, beat at it until her fists were bruised and bleeding. And she screamed.

"Let me out! Please! Someone!" She wished Yahya could sense her somehow with his power the way she had learned to sense others. There had to be a way.

As if God himself had heard her, the door latch clicked. "Move back," came the shadow's deep voice. She scrambled back as he opened the door, then lunged for him. But he was far stronger than her, he simply threw his weight forward and quickly shut the door before she could slip past his legs.

"Move! I need to see him!" she yelled, thrashing and trying in vain to move past him to the now unlatched door. He held her arms down by her sides with just enough strength to hold her still.

"Please remain calm sahiba," he said, "I do not want to hurt you."

"Please, please, I'm begging you," she whimpered, unwillingly relaxing against his grip as the strength seeped from her bones. "Please," she whispered again. When all was still, the shadow relaxed his grip by a margin, leaving her limply sitting on the floor. The door opened again, and Yahya stepped inside.

"Unhand her this instant."

The shadow stood. "She was going to run—"

"And I would have stopped her," he said, glaring at the man. Despite their difference in stature, Yahya was the dangerous one here.

Khayzuran looked up at both of them, confusion clouding her vision. Her headscarf was barely hanging on, she quickly adjusted it before standing.

Her throat was sore and ashen when she spoke. "Yahya, I need to see—"

"You will, just not now," he said, meeting her bloodshot eyes. "Trust me Khayzuran, the state he is in right now, you do not wish to see it."

"I don't care, I have to."

"If you try, I will stop you. I don't want you locked in here but I know him, I know what he wants."

Khaya's breathing came out short and stuttered. She needed to gather herself, pick up all the shattered pieces she had littered around the room in her agony. Rehan was alive, he would remain alive until Tahir came.

"Okay," she breathed. "What do we do now?"

"I don't know, Sharan is resting now but we can speak to the soldiers and see what transpired during the night. Abu Musais still on the loose. Zala," he looked at the shadow, "We could use your help in this too."

The shadow's eyes narrowed. "What would you have me do?"

"What it is you do best, I suppose," Yahya smirked. He himself had been shocked that someone was able to track his movements and follow him so closely all this time. It was only by luck that they were not true enemies.

His disdainful expression remained unchanged. "Very well," he said, and joined the two at the door.

"I do not enjoy violence, but we will do what must be done to free the city."

X

The light in the eyes of the people of Rey had changed since that momentous night. Where there was fear, uncertainty, and a grim acceptance of a new reality, there was now burgeoning hope and a renewed sense of confidence. No longer were people locking themselves in their homes for fear of another fire or barbaric attack, when the munadis announced their victory in the morning, hundreds of people were out in the streets, telling anyone who would listen of what they had heard, until the news took on a life of its own.

"Deliverance! Freedom! Justice!" were the chants echoing down every street that day. And many days hence.

Despite the exuberance weaving through Rey, the Barmakis remained vigilant. To them, this war was not over until every last man had been driven out of Rey. There was still a ways to go. Each day moved with the slowness of a month to Khayzuran. She sat outside the war council in Firaz's hall of private audience as the men discussed the next steps, and she listened to all they said listlessly, giving Yahya her own opinions afterwards.

As soon as she had been allowed to leave the confines of her prison room, her awareness encapsulated only where Rehan lay. She knew where his room was, which stairs she would have to take, which halls she would have to walk through to get there. But she did not go. Even when he demanded to moved the war council to his room, she did not visit him after it was finished, nor when it was only he and Amina in the room together.

On the ninth day after the Ember Night, as people had begun to call it, an armed contingent arrived at the western gates of Rey. A man with tan skinned rode at the helm, armored in gleaming black steel.

Khayzuran knew before the rest. She heard his voice from beyond the gate. Commander Tahir al-Barmaki had arrived.