WINNER OF READERS CHOICE AWARDS 2020 (Historical Fiction)
Stone hearts.
Silver to gold.
And the fierce need to prove oneself.
Highest ranks: #1 in Arabia || #3 in History || #51 in Assassin || #90 in Spiritual
A/N: In my previous chapter I think I didn't make it clear enough that the brothers are not blood related to each other OR Falaq. They all left Tridari with Hussain. Though a 'family' they are aware that all Islamic rules apply to Falaq and to themselves in their dealings. That is why Zain covered himself when Falaq approached. Just making that clear :) Enjoy this chapter! Things are getting more interesting! Also Amaan is NOT who he was in the previous version of this book.
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A hooded stranger approached the busy Taghrid street. The sun was rising behind him, it's blinding beams casting him in golden hue. He welcomed the heat on his back. Inhaling a breath of fresh air, he pushed back his hood to reveal his proud crown to the heavens. His shoulders rolled him to his full height, strong under the weight of the burdens they carried. He strode into the crowd peacefully, wearing their surprised stares with grace.
He had known no disguise would work in these parts. He knew what the stares were taking in. His gleaming ebony skin, his long black locks, his physique that dwarfed all of these eastern men. They had probably never seen an African in their lives. But that gave him some leaverage too. He was a warrior in his own right and that gave him his modest confidence.
He could hear their whispering. He caught familiar words here and there but could not deduce much. It did not matter. He was here to do them a service and be on his way back home. People who had lived in peace their whole lives usually wanted any form of trouble to be on its way as quickly as possible. They knew no danger, or at least nothing like he had seen. The only thing any of these onlookers had in common with him was their faith and that was the only reason he had come to warn them.
He observed his surroundings as he walked. Taghrid was an untouched town. The roads were well kept and shops decorated with brightly coloured flowers and wall hangings. They were made of dirt - wood was not sturdy in these sandy parts. For the most part there were small, tidy homes. But rising above them were the homes of the rich- designed much more artistically and standing with sophistication. Further on he could make out what seemed to be the largest structure made not of dirt but of blue, white and pink marble. That would be his destination.
***
"Ya Ishtar, why must you drag me to this waste of time?"
"It is not a waste of time! You get to observe suitable young men without being told off- isn't that reason enough?"
Falaq shook her head in exasperation. The two girls were readying themselves for the weekly accords held in the Emir's estate. The five council members gathered there the day preceding Jum'ah to hear grievances or settle disputes. The respectable women were permitted to sit in the balconies above the Accords Hall and watch the proceedings. Falaq had a thing or two to say about that arrangement, but refrained from doing so since Ishtar's father was one of these council members.
