9| A Vision With Eyes And Ears

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A    V I S I O N    W I T H     E Y E S

A N D   E A R S

Tayyab held her while he strode onto the center stretch of tables on the dias and took his place. Hayat sat to his right, her mind a jumbled mass of thoughts. He still held her hand, and even though she had tried to free her hand of his grip, he only tightened it.

The royal hall of the Al Qasr was undoubtedly the largest room she had ever seen in her life. The floor was immense, alternating stones of black and white, patterned diagonally as far as the eye could see. Beautiful reliefs depicting human bulls charging into battle and winged women with long tresses flowing in the wind adorned the walls, which stretched high into the air. So high that Hayat had to lengthen her neck to see the very tops of the carved columns bearing the ponderous weight of the ceiling. Fashioned near the base of each of these columns were two-headed lions with iron torches protruding from their roaring mouths.

Beside them sat Umar, greeting everyone who came up to the dais to meet Tayyab and her. The king was seated on his throne and he carefully watched Tayyab and Hayat.

In the center of this vast space was a three-sided, raised dais with a series of low tables situated upon its surface. Sumptuous fabric and richly appointed cushions littered the dais with vibrant color and lush texture. Fresh rose petals and dried jessamine were strewn across the silk and fringed damask, perfuming the air with a sweetly intoxicating scent that beckoned to anyone who wandered by.

When Umar rose to his feet with a grumbled oath to greet the vizier, Altamash bin Zoravar, Hayat placed her palm on the dais to follow suit.

But Tayyab immediately tugged her back.

Hayat met his gaze, and he shook his head very slightly, his eyes narrowing at the edges. His thumb trailed along the underside of her forearm, and the knot in her stomach pulled tight. Then he let go, his features blank once more.

Hayat didn't get up. The vizier came to them.

The vizier of Hudaan began in a spuriously pleasant voice, putting his wolfish white teeth on full display. “My dear nephew, I regret assuming the worse about our future queen. Indeed she has beautiful features.”

Tayyab’s piercing gaze turned to Altamash. Then he smiled slowly, with such patent falseness that its chill blew back like an icy gale on a mountaintop.

Altamash regarded her with an eager friendliness that Hayat found disarming. He beamed at her with no small amount of charisma.

Hayat offered him a ready smile. She bowed her head and touched her fingertips to her brow, the one that was not held by Tayyab.

"She looks like a vision today." Though Altamash looked at her, he addressed Tayyab, treating Hayat as little more than a tapestry hanging on his nephew’s wall. It rankled her.

Hayat held firm to her smile. “A vision with eyes and ears, my dear uncle.”

Tayyab continued staring ahead, but the ice set around his features thawed at her retort.

Altamash’s eyes widened, and something flared for an instant in their pools of contrived warmth. He laughed, and the sound was just as charming as his voice. Just as overdone. “Stunning and sharp-tongued as well. What an interesting combination! I can see I judged you before knowing you. I guess I have time to know you better.”

“Quite a time,” Hayat agreed. “I look forward to it.”

Though his smile wavered for less than an instant, there was no mistaking it; she was irritating him.

“As do I,” he replied. Each word was like a spear soaked in sweet water.

Half an hour later, Hayat felt bored. Tayyab didn't talk to her, he just stared blankly ahead as if his mind had drifted away to some other place. A while later he was brooding but he still held on to her hand.

"Is this your way of torturing me? Because it's working." Hayat had whispered out of frustration, she tried to wriggle her hand but the attempt was futile. He hadn't replied.

Those watching very carefully saw the future Caliph of Hudaan lean back against the cushions and toy with the bangles on his wife’s arm.

The king being one of them. The few woman who looked at Hayat with distaste had given away their feelings for Tayyab. Hayat couldn't care less. She had no feelings for him.

A while later when the dais had been empty, the king strode toward them. "Tayyab you can now let go of her hand. It's enough." The king seethed.

"Is it father? I am only following your orders. Don't we look like a happy couple? Holding hands together? Playing the part? Isn't it how you and ammijaan did it?" His voice was laced with taunts that pushed the king on the edge of losing control.

Hayat had only watched in silence. Tayyab did however let go of her hand and she felt her wrist ache. Tayyab then got up and walked down the dais and after it Hayat couldn't see him. He vanished into the crowd. The linen of his off-white qamis disappearing from her line of vision.

Without another word the king walked back to his throne, his anger masked away. His stoic expression giving away nothing.

She was alone on the dais when Aziz walked in, he was an attractive man with a strong jaw, brownish hair, and a meticulous moustache. He was trim and appeared in good health, with a deceptively warm set of dark brown eyes. His charcoal-colored mantle was exquisitely embroidered at its collar and hem, and the scimitar at his hip had a burnished hilt of solid gold with an emerald the size of a child’s fist embedded in its base.

He strode onto the dais with the confidence of a man absent worry and took a seat in the empty space beside her, where Tayyab had been seated moments ago. "I hope my brother is taking good care of you?"

"How does it concern you?" Hayat had wanted to stay out of trouble, look naive but these people got on her nerves, they forced her to speak her mind, test her limits.

"I’d ask where he found you, but I already know about your fiance, how he murdered him and your family as well.”

Hayat held back the desire to stab Aziz in the eye with his very blade. When she didn't speak Aziz further added, "Such a painful death." He huffed and Hayat felt the pain that serrated through her chest.

"Excuse me." She got up and left the dais in that moment. She didn't just leave the dais, she walked away from the throne room as well.

All she could do was push back the memories. She went out to find the corridor absolutely empty. She walked straight towards the end of the corridor, there was absolutely no one in there.

The entire royal family had been in the hall. She found this as a perfect opportunity to go down the unknown path, to explore the palace. She kept on walking until she came across a double door. She looked around before pushing it open, she was amazed to see it was a library and it was huge. She could already guess that their were about thousands of books. She looked around to see if there was anyone in there but all she received was silence.

Do not disappoint us.

She could maybe find the map of al Qasr in there. Her heart had thumped with excitement, at the mere idea of doing something that put her at risk.

She walked carefully, trying not to make any noise at all and looked at the first rack of shelves. The books were in arabic and she wanted to pull her hair out in frustration. She wished she knew how to read and write arabi.

She looked through the books, through the pictures specifically hoping she would find some map in there but she didn't. All she saw were weird symbols scribbled across it.

She opened another book and it gave her no hope either.

She was alarmed when she heard the creaking of a door, scared to death, she hid herself behind the shelf. When she peaked again she realised that the front door to the library was closed and nobody had walked in from there.

It meant that the library had other doors too.

"Remember two arrows only." She heard footsteps and soft murmurs. She tried to calm her breath and listen to them attentively.

"Yes! Yes! I'll be on the left top and you can be on the right."

"Do not miss the arrow. He has to die tonight if we need that gold."

"Hm!" She heard their footsteps nearing and within seconds she saw two men walk out of the library door. All she could see was their bow and arrow, and the back of their mascular form.

Hayat had stilled, almost out of breath.

They were going to kill someone.

She pushed back the book on the shelf. She wiped away the sweat that trickled down her forehead and scurried out of the library as fast as possible while being careful that she didn't bump into the assassins.

There was no one in the corridor. She breathed a sigh of relief and walked hurriedly back towards the throne room.

As she went past another corridor and took her left, she bumped into someone. The blood from her body had seemed to drain off when she came face to face with Tayyab.

His eyes were puffy and red. He had been crying. "What are you doing here?" His eyes narrowed.

"Shukar ya Rab! you found me. I was completely lost. I didn't know which way to go." Her reply made her think whether she was a pathological liar. The ease with which she had lied was astonishing even to herself.

Tayyab However didn't believe, he was suspicious so Hayat asked him something that would surely seize his attention, "Were you crying?"

He immediately looked away, "it's none of your business and do not for once think that I would believe the innocence that you fake. You can fool everyone but me. Now go back to the throne room." He ordered. Hayat wanted to defy just because he had asked her to but she was scared of coming accross the assassins that were somewhere lurking in the palace.

She walked back to the throne room. And then towards the dais. She went back but didn't sit. She was restless. She couldn't care less about these people but still she found herself distressed.

A while later Tayyab walked in, his expressions gave away nothing. He stood beside her silently.

An assemblage of musicians gathered in the corner by the raised dais. A heavily bearded man slid the hair of his bow across his instrument, checking to see if it was in tune by tightening its ivory pegs, while a young woman adjusted the reed of her ney one last time. An elderly man settled the base of his instrument against his left hip and struck the drum’s taut surface . . . slow, then quick, quick. He began pounding out a driving rhythm, and the dulcimer melody of the santur joined in before all four musicians were lost to their music. Lost to the beat.

The crowd enjoyed it, but Hayat looked around perplexed, her eyes desperately searching for something, something she didn't know, her hands were sweating so much, she had to rub it against her dress.

Her eyes caught movement to the right wall, there she saw a man holding a bow and an arrow that pointed at her. He was hidden perfectly and Hayat doubted if anybody noticed it. A second later she realised his target was not her, it was Tayyab. She tried to not stare at the assassin.

Her decision was brief. She either had to let it happen or she had to push Tayyab away because his death belonged to her. Nobody else could take that away.

She chose the latter.

The moment he let go off the arrow, it became a reality, "Nooooo." She shrieked as she pushed Tayyab with all the force that she could muster. Tayyab stumbled back holding her hand and falling back along with her. She saw the arrow flying past his shoulder. Shock was etched on his face. Screams had filled the throne room as people began to run for their lives. The general, Umar had shouted orders.

A moment later, Hayat felt sharp pain escalate through her right shoulder, it was as if twenty knives had struck her at once.

The second arrow had hit her on her shoulder. Hayat had felt her vision blur as her eyelids became heavy, her entire weight had been on Tayyab as they fell. She couldn't brace herself for the fall, her body had almost stopped functioning, black dots forming a pattern before her eyes. The next second she fainted.

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