A Tale Of Queens

The Feast

On the day before the feast, Sa-Alti was still feeling a bit lost.

When Jyaret told her early that morning that the swords were gone, even she was surprised by her under reaction. Of course, they were gone. Of course, her mother had found out about them.

Dimtu was not as careful as he had promised to be, it seemed. But that was no longer the problem.

She wondered when her mother came to know. She wondered what she had even done with them. She wondered if this was connected to the fight they'd had at the garden. And most importantly, she had unanswered questions about the attempt on her life.

Even if Sa-Alti wanted to, she could not confront her. Her mother had been expertly avoiding her. The palace was a huge place and to disappear was not very difficult.

For the things she said, she had no chance to apologize. For the swords that were seized, she had no chance to inquire. For the answers she desperately needed, she had no chance to find.

She spent the whole day anxious and exhausted at the same time.

However, by nightfall as she was getting ready for bed, Sa-Alti found strength in her mother's own words.

“Sa-Alti, you must also remember this; do not rely on the actions of others around you. That way, you are merely a pawn. You must be proactive. You must take control. In this life, fate takes no prisoners and you must learn to be just as ruthless.”

She made up her mind then and there to refuse to let anybody toy with her psyche. She had priorities and everything else could come later on.

For now, she was playing a game of wills.

And she was determined to win.

+*+*+*+*+

Her hair would not give way.

Sa-Alti stared at herself in the mirror.

Her face was perfect. Eyelids lined, lips dyed, skin freshly bronzed.

Her dress for tonight was laying on the bed, made of fine golden linen. A favorite of Vileytna's. She'd tried it on before. It was a perfect fit. And she had to admit that it brought out her eyes.

All that was left to take care of was her thick hair. She'd always loathed this part of dressing up ever since she was a young girl. Since she would let no one else touch it, her mother would take it upon herself to use heated combs to pull through the hair, straighten it, until it relaxed perfectly against her scalp. She was always very gentle but this did not make her hate it any less. For years, Sa-Alti vehemently rejected any attempts to teach her how to do it for herself, assuming that her mother would always be there to do it for her.

Now, here she was alone in her room; a twenty three year old Queen. With no idea of how to stretch her own hair.

I am pathetic.

She was surprised by the sudden blurriness of her vision.

What is wrong with me?

She guessed that it was only just sinking in how much she needed her mother, how much she missed her, how much she hated that things were this way. Her will that she had managed to muster up was slowly dissipating.

Sniffling, she attempted to try again when a knock on the door stopped her.  Foolishly, she hoped that her mother was there, had sensed her need for her.

She felt slight disappointment as she opened the door.

Jyaret was looking back at her, already dressed up.

The navy blue figure hugging kaftan looked tailor made for him as well as his matching trousers. His dreadlocks were devoid of the beads that usually adorned them but were held away from his face in a ponytail, bringing focus to his features. On his left ear hung a single golden ear ring.

Sa-Alti looked him up and down, wondering how he always managed to look so put together.

“You look –” Perfect? Handsome? Breathtaking?

His eyes glowed humorously.

“Have I left you speechless, my Queen?”

He was not wrong. But that did not stop her from smacking his arm.

“Shut up,” she said, smiling. Her mood was slowly lifting. Or maybe it was just him around. Just him existing.

Get it together ...

He took her face in his hands and studied her. Under his intense gaze, Sa-Alti was suddenly aware of how she looked. Hair unkempt and in total disarray. She was more than sure that her kohl was running down her face.

She was mortified and tried to look away but he wouldn't let her.

“Why does my Queen look upset?”

She knew he was only teasing. But her heart never failed to skip a beat whenever he called her ‘my Queen'.

She did not answer him but slipped out of his grasp to sit once again in front of the mirror. Picking up the comb, she realised that it had lost its heat. She gave a cry of frustration and flung it to the other side of the room.

She was mortified by her own actions. Why was she acting like this? On today of all days? She would not turn to look at Jyaret. He must be disgusted with her for throwing a tantrum. She was ashamed of herself. To her complete horror, she found herself sobbing.

“I feel very stupid. Why do I end up crying in front of you these days?”

“It's nothing to be ashamed of. It happens to the best of us. Ask Mahlon.”

His comparison to her nephew should have annoyed her yet Sa-Alti found herself giving him a tearful laugh.

Jyaret smiled at her. “There we are. Now, what is the problem?”

“It's my hair.”

His brows raised.

She looked away. “I know, I know. Very childish... It's just that my mother... she usually does it for me...and I hate to stretch it myself...”

“That's no reason to be ashamed. Let me help you.”

Sa-Alti chuckled.

“Don't laugh. I don't know how to stretch hair. And to be honest, it looks like a painful process. But I am an expert at weaving hair. Ask my grandmother.”

“What?”

Jyaret looked a little embarrassed. Sa-Alti thought it was endearing.

“She taught me.” His eyes were averted. He sounded defensive.

“I just think that it's endearing, Jyaret,” she reassured him quietly.

He remained silent.

Is...Is he pouting?

“Please, Jyaret? Forgive me? I wasn't laughing at you.” She was worried that she'd really offended him.

All of a sudden, he was laughing.

“You should see your face,” he choked out.

Sa-Alti was almost at the point of throttling him but she found herself slowly smiling, feeling more relieved than annoyed.

In a matter of minutes, he was standing behind her, weaving her hair into cornrows and singing gently as he went.

When their eyes met in the mirror, he smiled at her and she smiled back. Sa-Alti knew then that something between them was changing.

She realised for the first time that if Jyaret was by her side in this situation, then maybe she needed nobody else.

Including her mother.