The Serpent's Veil

Light of Midnight

After a while Khaya grew tired and leaned back against the man's chest. His arms were on either side of her, so there was no risk of her falling. At this point any reprimand from him was of no interest to her.

It had been a long day.

Despite the clamour and din of the souq

Gradually the sounds grew quieter, and Khaya could tell they had left the souq far behind. The gentle swaying of the horse lulled her into a doze, her body relaxed and she let her eyes flutter closed. The man's chest made a comfortable pillow.

A period of time passed – it could have been minutes or hours, Khaya didn't know – and they finally stopped. Khaya felt a hand gently squeezing her arm, and her eyes peeled open. Blinking the sleep from her eyes, she peered down at an oddly dressed man in flowing green robes and a little cap on his bald head. He pulled up a stool for Khaya to dismount, and gave her a hand for support.

"Give her to Afsa, and make sure she is kept hidden from Rehan."

The bald man nodded solemnly and bowed. Khaya watched the giant white horse ride off into a crowd of carts, horses, and people. Khaya's head turned every which way, drinking in the activity and commotion. They appeared to be in some sort of camp. The bald man guided her in the opposite direction, to a large tent surrounded by girls dressed in shades of blue. The sight of other girls was a relief to Khaya's iron hard spirit, and she let out a sudden sigh. The man led her into the tent, where even more girls were sitting and chatting. They looked at her with mild interest, but none approached.

Finally they reached a woman who was sitting on a stool, braiding another girl's hair. She was dressed in a deep indigo qamis and had her hair pulled back in a braid. She looked young, but radiated authority. On seeing the bald man she immediately stopped and took him to one side. They whispered for a moment, and the woman nodded in understanding. She approached Khaya with a smile on her face as the bald man took his leave.

"Hello. I am Afsa." She took Khaya's hand gently and guided her to a set of cushions to sit. Then she waved at another girl and asked for some comfortable clothes for Khaya to change into.

"I am Khayzuran," Khaya said, unsure of how to address the woman.

"You must feel quite disoriented with all this hubbub." Afsa motioned around her. "Our caravan is preparing to leave Mecca, so there is much to be done."

Khaya nodded and let her eyes wander around the tent. She was astounded by the sheer number of girls. Did that man on the horse own all of them? Now that Khaya thought about it, she really had no idea who he actually was. Or what his intentions with her would be...

"Um... I'm sorry if this is an odd question, but what is our master's name?"

Afsa frowned. "Our master?"

"The man on the white horse."

Afsa's expression softened. "That is Yahya al-Barmaki, though I would not say he is a man yet. He's hardly eighteen years old."

Khaya's face was blank. "Who?"

"Yahya al-Barmaki," Afsa repeated, "The son of the Vizier."

Khaya's brow furrowed in thought. Then her eyes widened in horror and realisation. There was only one vizier.

The Caliph's Vizier.

She knew about the Caliph, of course. He was the supreme ruler of their kingdom and the guardian of their lands, the Amir al-Mu'minin. And the vizier was his trusted deputy and most highly ranked advisor. If the man on the white horse, this 'Yahya', was the son of that man, that could only mean one thing.