Djamal sighed as he sealed the letter to his father, bracing himself for the consequences of his actions that might come in a week, maybe sooner. He thought he would write a poem or a song about what had happened the day before when he finished the report, but his emotions were too much of a mess to form a verse worth ruining paper. He still trembled over what he had done, what he had said, the decision he had made for his entire Kha'gan, all without permission from his father.

'I stand with Nazir Kha'a.' Those words still rang in his ears like a bad tune he couldn't get rid of, or a horrid line from the first poem he wished he hadn't written. 'We will fight alongside the Visarya, bring the war to the Salasar, and take back the Vilarhiti.'

We, he'd said. Heroic words, spoken by someone with no authority to bring a Kha'gan to war, and yet his heart had been beating too fast, too loud, for there to be any room for hesitation that morning. The moment Nazir Kha'a had called for war, Djamal had been the first to swear his allegiance. The silence that followed made him realize the magnitude of his what he had done. The way everyone had turned to look made him want to run and hide under his zikh. But one by one, when the Kha'as and Khumars began to follow his lead, when the crowd erupted into a cheer that rumbled the ground underneath his feet, Djamal began to understand something about his own existence, and how much a single decision from one person could change the fate of the entire peninsula.

And there had been many decisions that changed the course of history that day. Nazir izr Za'in for having done what he had, Baaku izr Aza'ir for having fought a man he knew he couldn't defeat, and Rafa izr Zakai for having challenged his nephew in the first place. Djamal remembered looking up at the gallery when that realization came to him, feeling a cold, cold hand on his spine as he caught the sight of one woman who had allowed this to happen. The woman who had been watching it all, from beginning to end, with unreasonable calm beside her high oracle.

He wondered, shivering at his own thoughts, whether Nazir Kha'a had also seen something before everything happened that day, if he'd known what the future would bring when he'd stepped into the pit and brought this upon them all. If all all it had been the careful, deliberate works of oracles and Bharavis who knew something they didn't.

It didn't seem that way to Djamal, not, he felt, for anyone who had been present, not for Nazir Kha'a at least. The agony in that voice, the power it had generated, the emotional turmoil that had turned the momentum of the event into something much larger than all of them didn't feel planned, then or now.

'Are we done here?' Nazir Kha'a's voice had struck the crowd like thunder, like the crack of a whip. 'Are we all done? Or do you need to take another life? Another father? Another son?'

It silenced the Birkramsala, made every jaw clench tight enough to crack a tooth. Nazir Kha'a had stood above the blood-stained sand of the pit, a dead man at his feet, filling every corner of the amsala with enough fury to poison the air they breathed.

'The enemy is at our doorstep, burning our settlements, taking our women and children while we sit here and fight over Kha'gans, over territories, over who gets to hold power, over a fraction of the desert when the Salasar is coming to put us all in chains. Blood has been shed here, today. A great man is dead when he could have been fighting for your children, for your wives, for the home you live in. You can punish me for this, take me down for overstepping my boundaries, keep fighting, destroy each other's Kha'gan. Do it, and win the war for the Salasar!'

Nazir Kha'a flung the sword in his hand on the ground, managed to stare everyone down from the inferior position and make them all feel small. One man, challenging the pride and honor of thousands. 'I am done here. I've had enough of killing our own people, of spilling our own blood, on our own land.' He paused to breathe, to turn that anger into something else quieter, something that struck harder and more deadly. 'The Salasar is breaking. I have a message in the Ma'adevi's hand. Samarra is at war. The prince regent is moving an army to fight the uprising. Their army is moving south. I say this is our chance to take back what's ours. That this is the time to fight the real enemy, the right enemy.'

The words hadn't needed to be said. They had been on the lips of every man, woman, and child. The idea had been a dream, a wish, a burning desire held back by fear, by cowardice, by the unwillingness to sacrifice for the greater good no one had the courage to say out loud. And Nazir Kha'a, standing there over a corpse, over what he'd lost, had dragged it out of hiding for all to see.

'I will march an army to war, and with it we will take back the Vilarhiti,' Nazir Kha'a had said, had shamed them all with enough conviction to bleed everyone who'd called for blood that day. 'You can fight alongside the Visarya, or we will die fighting alone. Where do you stand, sons and daughters of Ravi?'

Djamal sank back in his chair and released the breath he'd been holding. It had been a day and his heart still ached from thinking of the event. He wondered what would happen now, if Nazir Kha'a would accomplish what he'd said, if the Ma'adevi would rally an army to march, or if someone would decide the Kha'a of Visarya had crossed the line and called for his execution. He had, after all, broken too many rules that morning.

***

It had happened too fast, too unexpected. He'd opened his eyes to find a figure blocking the light, the sun, his vision. He'd realized, too late and long after everything had been done, that he was staring at a silhouette he could identify at anytime, anywhere, in any light. He knew the outlines of that back, the fine strands of that hair, the way that zikh hung loosely off those shoulders as it tapered down to those arms.

Arm. Baaku squeezed his eyes shut as the memory came back to him. The sword had come down in a flash, caught the sunlight before it hit the flesh, blinding him for a moment. He could still hear the thud as Nazir's severed arm hit the sand, could still feel the scraping of his own shout that never made it past his throat. The shocked horror of it still lingered like a festering wound, left a bitter aftertaste that refused to leave his tongue and a lasting shiver he knew he couldn't stop.

'My sacrifice to make,' Nazir had said, had driven a sword through Rafa's chest with the other arm before he'd finished the sentence. There was a grunt, a gurgling noise of someone in a great deal of pain when he'd pulled out the blade. Baaku wasn't sure which one of them had made it. Wounds in combat didn't give you pain that fast. If there had been pain from either one of them, it was from another cut, another blade.

My sacrifice to make. The wound on his side throbbed as he breathed, and he felt the need to breathe more often and deeper than ever at the memory. Losing an arm was one thing––it happened often enough in the world they lived in––stepping into the pit to interfere with the fight, killing Rafa before the entire city of Citara was another. It was against the rule, could be viewed as treason, forced the Ma'adevi to call for Nazir's execution if someone were to demand it, and he was the only one left of his bloodline to lead the Visarya.

'I am Nazir izr Za'in,' Nazir's words, spoken like a smith hammer's strike on red, burning steel, 'Kha'a of Visarya and the only son of Za'in izr Husari. I stand with Baaku izr Aza'ir as a friend and an ally of Kamara Kha'gan. I swear to fight his enemies, kill anyone who wishes him dead, and I will accept all consequences. Come forward and take my life if more blood is needed.' Nazir's voice had turned sharp, like steel, like obsidian, and loud enough to send a tremor across the Birkramsala. 'Or have you had enough? Are we done here? Are we all done?'

The crowd had cheered after the speech, after the revelation of the message from the Ma'adevi. Kha'gans had stepped forward to honor the cause, but crowds could be trusted to voice an agreement when it suited their conscience, not to back their words with actions. Baaku knew, as well as Nazir did, the true consequences of his action, should someone wish to exercise it.

He sighed, turned to Nazir who was lying on a bed nearby in the infirmary, and saw him grinning. The agony must have shown on his face, and that seemed to please the oracle.

"You hate it, don't you?" Nazir said. "What I did?"

The fuck he did. Would have said exactly that had he been in the mood to swear. Now, even that had become difficult. "They could kill you for this, Nazir."

"Good." The grin grew wider. "Now you know how it feels."

Is it okay to punch an oracle? Baaku wondered. "This is no laughing matter, Nazir. It isn't funny."

Nazir chuckled. He seemed relaxed and content, despite the loss of his arm, or how pale he was, or the shitstorm that was about to happen. "Maybe that's just what we need right now. Some humor, a good laugh, a jest."

Baaku frowned. "At a time like this? At war?" Something had changed in Nazir. Something had gone missing. There was a lightness to his presence now, a sense of calm he hadn't seen before.

"If not now, when?" Nazir's playful grin faded behind a more subtle smile. "There may not be tomorrow, for you, for me, or for any of us. When will you laugh, smile, throw a jest, add these moments to your life if not while we still can? I understand that now. I didn't," Nazir said, shifting his weight and let out a soft groan from the pain, "not before."

Baaku stared at the ceiling, been doing it for some time to avoid having to face the damage that had been done. He would have to face it at some point, however. He turned to Nazir, caught those tired yellow eyes that seemed to have been studying him for a while, realized it was time to say what hadn't been said. "I hurt you, didn't I?"

Nazir kept the smile, held it long after. It didn't waver, never changed. "So did I," he said.

Baaku tried to put on a smile in return. It didn't fit, but at least he'd tried. "We're even, then?"

A wince, or the beginning of one. "I still owe you, I think," Nazir replied, thoughtfully. "For many things."

"That's not like you."

Nazir chuckled. "Have I been that much of a prick?"

Baaku thought for a while and decided it was a rhetorical question, had to answer it in any case. "Yes."

They shared a laugh, a half-hearted one, a poor one given the wounds they had. Nazir turned to the window when silence wedged itself between them again, keeping his face out of sight. The birds were singing to the first light of dawn. Sunlight caught the gleaming white marbles of the Tower, turned the facade into a soft shade of gold in the distance. There was an undeniable ache in that moment, a beauty that came with a sense of loss, of sacrifice. Citara, after all, was a city that survived on the blood of thousands.

"Maybe I've changed," Nazir said, a softness to his voice to contrast the one Baaku had heard the day before, a vulnerability one couldn't miss. "Maybe there's no more room for the old me. Maybe I should have done this a long time ago."

"What? Make shit decisions?" Baaku asked, wanted it to sound like jest, and failed that too on top of everything else he'd failed so far.

Nazir made a sound that might have been another chuckle or a struggle to breathe. It was hard to tell without seeing his expression. "Live a little more," he said. "Hate my gift a little less. Make shit decision more often when it feels right. Before I lose everything that's important to me."

For a moment, Baaku wondered if Nazir was crying, and decided even if he did, there was a reason he wasn't allowed to see. There were things a man needed to deal with on his own. He wasn't here to interfere with such need. He was here to make sure it could be dealt with, offer a strength to draw from when needed, an understanding when silence was required.

Baaku lay there as he waited, thinking about everything that had happened, what the consequences of their actions would be, and if they would see the Vilarhiti liberated in their lifetime. It was clear to Baaku what the Ma'adevi wanted to have sent Nazir the message, but laws and traditions had been broken, and she could be brought down from the seat of power for refusing to pass a fair punishment. Someone would benefit from her loss of status, someone would want to use this to climb the ladder. They would have to be identified and dealt with quickly for things to keep moving. Politics, Baaku thought, is always going to require blood to get something done.

"Did you know about Samarra?" Nazir asked after some time.

"I knew pirates have come close to shore and been attacking some ports. Saracen's men have been causing problems since they've located to the city." Baaku shook his head, trying to think what he'd missed. "Nothing about an uprising, but it's been two weeks since the last report. I can't think of anyone who might be leading the rebellion though." No one benefitted from liberating Samarra from the Salasar, no one with enough power to catch so much attention from the Salar's army, not that he could think of. "Either way, this is good for us, I think."

Nazir, from the looks of it, disagreed. "I have a feeling I know who it is," he said. "But if I'm right..." Nazir drew a breath, made a painful expression as if it bothered a wound. "We may need to attack Samarra, not the Vilarhiti."

***