Look at her. Tell me that girl is not a song of burning. Look at her and tell me her eyes are not a housefire waiting to happen.

—

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"Baba?"

"Yes, habibi?"

"Can I be a Khalifa someday?"

His father turns his attention from the papers on his table to him. "What makes you ask this, son?"

"Noura asked if I can be a king one day. I told her I'll ask my baba."

His father smiles and motions him over. He goes to him and he picks him up, putting him on his thigh and tilting up his chin. "Do you want to be?"

"Yes."

"Then you can be."

"But you're not the Khalifa," he reasons. "He said I can't be either if you aren't."

"Says who?"

"Sulaiman."

His father gazes at him intensely, meaningfully, lowering his voice slightly. "You're my brave son, namer (tiger). Whether I'm the caliph or not, doesn't matter. If you've the will and wit for it, you'll claim the title one day. Remember, the one who is born with a privilege isn't the same as the one who climbs his way to the top, because it's always the latter making a difference by bringing a change. With the former one, this is a mundane expectation anyway. So don't allow anyone to dictate you to limit your dreams and determination." He puts him down on his feet again, holding his shoulders. "Now go, tiger, and if Noura asks you again, tell her that yes, you can be a Khalifa one day."

What is life but a beautiful deception. What is death but a door to immortality. Then why is it that the former is a prison dearer than an everlasting freedom? Or maybe priorities differ. Maybe the reasons we create differ, depending upon the path we walk along. Maybe endings differ. But death remains to be lived through-- swift or painful, it remains.

She hasn't been terrified of her lifeline cutting short many times. She hasn't really faced many situations when challenged with death. The last time she can recall was at the dusk of the theft when an unknown man put a dagger to her throat. Afterwards the many times Adam did the same, it didn't shake her, somewhere knowing within her he wouldn't hurt her. But now again, with an unknown man with his sword at her neck, she doesn't know what to make of it when all she can see is only his shadow, and a voice that promises familiarity.

She has heard it before. But when?

"I mean no harm," he speaks, making the numerous thoughts buzzing through her head to settle, the memories of her life stopping to fade as the fear of death fades in itself once more, but her fingers keep clutching her dagger. "I only wish to speak to you, Malika."

"I'm not the queen," she says back.

"But someday, I believe, you might be."

Someday. She calculates his words. If he talks about her future, he might really not be here intending to kill her.

"You've a peculiar way of approaching me if you wished to speak, sayidi," she retorts sarcastically.

His sword slides down her neck slowly. "Don't turn around, please," he requests. "I'm shouldn't be here, and no one is supposed to see me."

"What do you want from me?"

"Only a few minutes."

He cautiously removes his sword from her neck. Her eyes nimbly follow every movement of his shadow. He keeps holding his sword, not sheathing it, as he takes a step closer towards her.

"I've risked my life coming here for you."

She wants to scoff and tell him how he has honored her, but holds back her tongue, knowing now isn't the time to be running her mouth insolently.

"Pardon me, but you made sure I feel like I'm the one with my life at risk."

His shadow moves closer some more, until his reflection starts to form on water. She squints at it and he stops. He's covered in a cloak, face hidden by a cloth, maintaining still enough distance so as to keep his identity hidden.

"Apologies, my lady."

He throws away the sword from his hand. She breathes in relief. That's less threatening now.

"Why am I not allowed to see you?" She subtly adjusts her weight, ready to get to her feet anytime. "Who are you?"

"Is the palace treating you well?" he asks instead.

"It's terrible."

"I thought so."

"You didn't answer my questions."

"I don't recall making any commitment that I will."

She hears the smile in his words, studying the timbre of his tone-- heavy, authoritative, and deep. The familiarity of it once more hits her. Only if she wasn't focused on watching out for herself, she would be looking in her mind for him.

A few more steps closer, and he's right behind her, his reflection in the water becoming full now. The fish swim away, forming ripples on the surface, and as they still, his image becomes clearer. Their eyes connect through the reflection, and her heart drops dead in her chest.

"You remember this place, Noura?" He pulls down the cloth covering his face. "This is the same spot you'd play swords with me. The pond wasn't here back then."

Her sanity spirals out of its boundaries into insanity. She doesn't know what is happening. She doesn't know how he is here, or what he's talking about. She doesn't know if she's alive or her breathing has stopped for good.

"This is the same place you told me you wanted to be a queen when you grow up." He smiles at her, and she reads the irony in it. "The palace fascinated you back then."

Her fingers dig into the grass. The sun rays are becoming feeble now, the shades of sky turning darker. She shouldn't be here. She should never have been around him from the beginning.

"But we were children back then. We were innocent," he adds.

Unable to take it anymore, her head snaps back to him. He blatantly shifts his eyes from their reflection in the pond to her stunned gaze and clicks his tongue.

"So disobedient. I told you not to look."

"You," it's only a hiss of betrayal and disbelief as she stares at him. "You can speak."

"You always knew that I can, didn't you?"

"Then why put up the facade?" She pushes herself up, hurrying to put distance between them, suddenly alarmed by the man she had thought to be just a poor beggar in the bazar. "You're a con-man. You deceive people."

"What did I do to deceive you?" The blue and brown of his orbs gleam brilliantly, as if curious to hear her theories, staying soft and gentle towards her. "I never even spoke to you before, but only wrote to you. And what I told you, none of it was a lie: I'm from Dimashq, but we met in Baghdad, long time ago. That's all I ever said, and it's true."

"Hadi," Noura says his name, as if to remind herself of the past he speaks so surely of, but nothing comes to her mind except for the blurred memories of those eyes. She doesn't even know if his name is actually Hadi. "What do you want from me? Why are you here? You're endangering both of us. Please leave."

He walks towards her and she stumbles away. "Noura--"

"Don't come near me," she warns him, once more clutching her dagger, glaring heatedly at him now when the shock is wearing off. "You might not mean any harm, but I won't hesitate slitting your throat."

Amusement dances in those unalike eyes. He raises his palms in surrender. "You've always been this fierce. You still are." He grins at her, the naivety of it confusing her more. "That's what I've always liked about you, you know? These ardent orbs, they can burn down kingdoms with their zeal, Malika."

Few more steps and all at once he's in her face. She's trapped between him and the pond. He's blocking her escape, and she doesn't know how wise it is to attack him. After all, he isn't just a harmless beggar, but definitely something more.

"Don't." She pulls out her dagger at him. "I'll kill you!"

"You want to kill me?" He grasps her wrist and brings the tip of the dagger to his heart. "Kill me then," he dares.

Noura remains frozen in shock, the reality of the situation too terrifying to sink in so effortlessly. She doesn't move a muscle to hurt him and he let's go of her.

"I've nothing on me." He spreads his arms for her to see. "No sword. No dagger. I've only these hands," he extends his empty palms towards her, "and these hands can never hurt you."

Dumbfounded, she can only stare up at him, the sunlight swallowed by those pupils, the riddles written in his scars, and the still unnamed familiarity of his voice, all of it leaves her helpless against him. She knows him, yet she doesn't. The absurdity of this actuality might kill her.

"Sayidati!"

She hears Hafez call her and looks behind Hadi to him. He's rushing towards them, sword unsheated, ready to attack the intruder. But Hadi remains calm, unaffected, as if nothing in the world can bring him doom. And then he adds more to her perplexity as he turns towards Hafez, and Hafez stops dead in his track.

"S-sayidi," he stutters, the same fear in his tone and eyes which she has witnessed before only around Eskander. Noura gingerly moves away from Hadi. Whoever he is, it's apparent to her he's a man of high rank to unsettle Hafez like this.

"Hafez, it's been a while." Hadi greets him with a smile, but unlike how he smiled at her, there's something sinister about it now.

"My Ameer." Hafez lowers his gaze respectfully. "Are you here to meet the governor? Should I inform him of your arrival?"

And that's when it hits her. She has seen him at the palace before, shortly after Eskander left, when she stumbled upon Fereydun in the stables speaking to a cloaked man; he was demanding for Eskander to be brought back to Baghdad. Hadi. It was him, and he left as soon as Fereydun spotted her there, mounting his horse and disappearing.

Noura clenches her fists. So Annas lied to her. Abd al Hadi and Al Hadi are the same, the man Eskander claimed to be a merchant, his friend from Dimashq, looted on his way to Baghdad so he's aiding him, and in return he helps them with the army, as Annas had stated too. But what is this facade? Why does he go around the bazar playing poor and dumb? Something in the picture doesn't fit, and she's curious to find about it.

"No need," Hadi replies. "I was here to see the lady. I must leave now." He glances at her over his shoulder, speaking lowly so only she can hear him. "Don't ignore my notes again, Malika, or I'm afraid I'll be convinced at making an appearance here again. And as you said, it might be cause us trouble, now wouldn't it?"

She can only speechlessly stare at him, lost and scared, wondering what she has gotten herself into. He's Eskander's friend, and any misimpression might ruin her reputation in his eyes. She cannot afford it.

Hadi walks away from her towards Hafez, picking up his sword from the ground along the way. "Don't let her be on her own like this again, Hafez. You and me both know the place is unholy, and that Eskander can be pitiless." He squeezes his shoulder, the threat in the gesture almost suffocating Hafez as he swallows thickly. "Don't repeat the mistake."

Hafez can only nod, and Hadi gives her one last look, one fleeting smile, before pulling the hood of his cloak over his head, covering his face, and disappearing. It gives her another shock as she thinks about the security of the palace, and then a man waltzing his way inside so deftly.

"Who is he?" she finds herself asking Hafez before she can lose her mind. Noura strides towards him. "Who is Hadi, tell me? And don't you dare lie to me."

Hafez still looks so distraught as if he has seen a ghost. Noura clamps her mouth shut, suddenly feeling bad for him, and covers her face with both hands.

"My Lord."

"Sayidati?"

She looks back at him.

"Are you alright?"

She nods, smiling reassuringly in response. "Are you?"

He nods back. "I just... I got really worried when I couldn't find you. And then..." He licks his lips, glancing away. "I apologize for my negligence. I really shouldn't have left you alone."

"You've nothing to apologize for. I left without informing you." She sighs, giving herself a moment to gather her thoughts. "Hafez, please tell me who was the man? You seemed really unnerved by him."

He shakes his head. "How do you him, sayidati?" he asks instead. "Do you know if the general finds out about this, he won't waste a second beheading me?"

Noura once more reads the turbulence in his eyes, as if she has thrown him into a blazing fire to die. "But why? Who is he? Why am I not to know him?"

"No one is to know him, not just you."

"Is he a spy?" she concludes. "What is he up to?"

"I can't answer any of your queries, sayidati. Please try to understand, it's for your own sake, and for the sake of my life too," Hafez nearly begs her, and whatever protests she has dies on her tongue as he presents a scroll to her. "This came for you, from your mother."

The world and it's affairs fall behind into an abyss as soon as she hears the news. Nothing means anything anymore. Noura quickly takes the letter from him, her hands shaking as she takes it out from the scroll and unfolds it to reads it. Fereydun has kept his word, she'll be forever grateful to him.

Her gaze quickly goes through the contents until her eyes water-- until her sight glitches and she hangs onto each word. Noura helps herself from crying, especially with Hafez around who has decided to stand a few feet away to give her some privacy. Her breath hitches. She exhales heavily and presses the letter to her chest, one particular statement from her mother stabbing her like a dagger in the chest.

My days are not bright since I've lost my Nour (light).

"Hafez?"

"Yes, sayidati?"

"I want to meet Adam."

Hafez goes panic-stricken again, as if she has asked him for another impossible promise to keep.

"But what for, sayidati?"

"To take me home. Only he can convince the Khalifa. The man is more persuasive than Satan himself."

"But sayidati--"

She doesn't stop to listen to his protests, already marching towards Adam's room. If she has to shake mountains to reunite with her mother, she'll find a way to do so too. And she's certain Adam has tricks up his sleeves. After all, he did offer her to take her home once before. She'll hold him onto that.

"Stay outside," she orders Hafez as she approaches the room. To her convenience, there are no guards in the area. There never are. But then again, who would dare messing with someone like Adam? They'd only be bargaining their life and losing it.

His door is ajar, and in her frenzy, Noura doesn't even stop to knock it as she barges inside.

Adam looks up at her from where he's sitting on a chair only in his trousers. She halts in her tracks. There's blood on his hands, and she has walked in on him in the middle of him probably wiping a sinful deed. Her pupils dilate and fixate him.

"You got yourself in trouble again, I see," she states lightly, trying to ease both the awkwardness and her crazy heartbeat.

"You welcome yourself in my room so casually," he remarks back. "Getting accustomed to our relationship, I see."

"You can only dream, azizi."

"Time will tell." He stands up, turning around to pick up a bandage and starts wrapping it around his hand. "What brings you to me?" he asks without formalities-- without looking at her. "What is it that I can do for you? Surely you wouldn't be paying your husband a visit without a personal motive."

She fails to answer him, too occupied staring at his back to do so, her eyes round in shock at all the scars etched there, too many to count-- too many to leave a patch of his skin flawless. There are marks he certainly got from battles, of swords and daggers, including the one she gave him, a swollen reminder of their hostile encounter, now seared by the look of it. It sends a shiver through her, of what she made him endure.

But then there are marks multiple in numbers, long, parallel and intersecting, healed and aged now, all over his back. She can only assume one reason for them: repeated lashing.

Adam tilts back his head towards her and catches her watching. He frowns and turns around, interrupting her view.

"You don't have to stare at me with such horror."

"No, I... didn't mean to," Noura fumbles for words, mortified, realizing she has made him self-conscious. "I'm sorry."

He walks to where his shirt is lying on the bed. But before he could wear it to cover his scars, she catches sight of another one-- another long mark over his upper arm, not too old, seemingly made by a dagger.

A memory flashes through her mind. It's only a second, and maybe she misses the intricate details, but still remembers enough of it to not be mistaken. The same site on the same arm probably dating back to the same time. All of it is too much of a coincidence.

"Wait," Noura stops him before he can slip on his shirt. She's by his side in an instant, her fingers tracing down the scar on his arm, mindless of her actions, looking at it with a baffled gaze, before boring her eyes into his grimly. "How did you get this scar, Adam?"

The dusk of the theft, her dagger had left its mark on the man. What if she has found the culprit?

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You've got theories? Share them with me.

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