Liyah's breath hitched in her throat. The sandy desert stretched for miles and miles, without end. She looked at the two in front of her with an exasperated expression etched on her face, "Tell me this gets easier."
Rayan smirked, "Careful, habibti...
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Chapter 1 | Almasahra the diamond of the desert
LIYAH TILTED HER HEAD TO THE SIDE, trying her utmost best to catch a glimpse of the trail that her guide was currently trying to clear. On both sides of Jamal, stood four brooding men in dark brown uniforms. It was quite a peculiar shade of brown– one that hid an undertone of maroon when the sun casted it's rays upon the material.
Each man stood with a hard gaze as Liyah's guide worked away. Their eyes remained trained on the buzzing city lying before them, not caring about the girl or her guide. The paved pathway, hidden amongst the golden grains of Almasahri sand came to view as the shriveled man swept the path with luscious palm leaves.
The girl brought her hand up to her forehead, desperately trying to block out the harsh rays of the sun. She surveyed her surroundings: the guards, the intricate, metal calligraphy on the gates, the sand-covered steps and the sky high doors. Her eyes zoomed in on the cursive letters engraved on the doors, "Are we in the right place, amu Jamal?"
The man rested a hand on his hunched back. As a drop of sweat rolling down his forehead, he spoke through his gruff voice, "Aywa, aanesa. You are here for Soraya– this is where she lives."
Liyah turned around to face the vast city behind her. All of Tarif City seemed to be energizing off of the golden rays, as if the midday heat hadn't bothered them as much as it bothered the American girl. Swarms of locals rushed in and out of the bazaars, children's laughter rang through the air and street vendors stood on the corner of the sandy trail that Jamal's camel had brought the both of them to. The desert country, situated on the easterly coast of the Arabian Sea, seemed more at beautiful than what her mother had muttered to her about it.
It didn't really make sense to her. Her mother told her that Soraya, her grandmother, lived in a wretched land with the most wretched of people. Oh, and above all, Soraya resided in undoubtably the most murderous, the most savage place of all Almasahra.
"You're certain that she lives here, amu Jamal?" She brushed her loose curls out of her face to get a better view of the engravings.
The al-Tarif Royal Courts
No. If her the memories of her childhood visitation were correct, then her grandmother lived in a cemented house next to a bazaar– not the palace.
She squeezed her eyes shut and opened them wide, deciding that maybe it was the horrid heat of the day that was causing her to misread the Arabic letters. She scanned each letter with great detail as Jamal hobbled back to fetch her bag. Each loop, each dot was carefully carved along the darkly stained grain– a site she had never seen back home in the States.
