​​Lasura had a feeling, watching the scene from the corner of the room, that the woman who'd entered and interrupted their conversation with Akai izr Imami was looking for a valid reason to kill Djari. Which implied, naturally, that she had been sleeping with the Sparrow. The Sparrow who wasn't here yet, but could be expected to walk in any minute and experience what might or might not turn out to be the shittiest day of his life.

This is going to be fun as fuck, Lasura concluded and decided it was worth the agony of having climbed up here, after all.

They arrived in the late afternoon. It had taken them two days of scaling a winding trail across three mountains to reached the foot of Al-Sana. From there, the ascend involved climbing steep trails that wrapped itself three times around the mountain. It should have taken only a few hours if he'd climbed its cliffs from the other side––not a difficult task according to his experience––but with Djari being there, climbing wasn't really an option. Her people had enough reasons to kill him without leading a bharavi to her death being added to the growing list of Shittiest Things Prince Lasura Had Done, which would settle the argument of whether he should be left alive, and he wasn't looking forward to dying anytime soon.

What he hadn't expected, however, was that Djari might still be in danger on Al-Sana. Then again, this catastrophe, should it happen, would be on someone else's tap, not his.

They had just finished introducing themselves to Akai izr Imami when the woman walked in; Djari as who she was, and him as some random goat herder she'd picked to escort her here called Azul. Azul, of course, was to go stand in the corner and try to blend in with the furniture, making sure his black Rashai hair was covered at all times while keeping his big mouth shut so his under-educated, tense-jumping, ill-mannered Shakshi with headache-inducing accent as she called it wouldn't blow his cover. The first wasn't a problem; being invisible was always going to be his best accomplishment in life. The keeping his mouth shut part, however, required a heroic effort of epic proportions he wouldn't bet money on. Why Djari was willing to bet so many things on him was beyond his comprehension. He figured it must have had something to do with his irresistible charms. Because, really, what else did he have to impress her as a useless halfblood heretic son of her worst enemy minus the looks and skills of her swornsword? But since she had placed that trust in him, he figured he might as well entertain himself with this quest and try his best to live up to Djari's expectations. It wasn't as if he had other things to do, mind you, besides sitting in a cave and have a verbal fight with his shit bird who refused to obey commands.

And so Lasura watched with great effort to keep his mouth shut as Akai izr Imami tried to decide the order of introduction for the two women. Not an easy task, that. The woman was obviously older than Djari and as per tradition should be the first one introduced. Djari, however, outranked her as a bharavi and sister to a kha'a which should take precedence over the matter of age. Then again, should one consider the fact that izr Imami was the sword master of Djari's father, and this woman seemed to be an important figure for him, it took the sword master a few breaths to decide. Etiquette, Lasura had learned, was as big a thing here as it was in the Black Tower, perhaps bigger if one considered how the Shakshis ranked even horses and had laws to punish you for speaking out of turn.

"This is my daughter, Saya." Izr Imami concluded after a thoughtful silence. The old warrior seemed kind, but it was a kindness that came from a man who had grown wise from having done unspeakable things. "Saya, this is––"

Djari rose to her feet and inclined her head in a show of respect, only when paired with the way she straightened her back and shoulders by habit, it came off more like a queen nodding to her new subjects when introduced. "I am Djari iza Zuri of Visarya, sister to the kha'a and daughter of Za'in izr Husari," she said, in the tone of someone who'd spent years intimidating horses into submission and gotten too used to it. "I've come to see H––izr Zaharran. Where is he?"

That could have been worded better, Lasura thought. But Djari was Djari. She didn't talk, she commanded, by habit more than anything else. One would have to spend some time with her to know she was simply direct and practical. He'd come to like that about her.

The woman, however, had no reason to like Djari and more reasons not to. Tall, streamlined, and imposing with her fiery red hair and intelligent brown eyes that weren't afraid to stare, Akai izr Imami's daughter painted a picture of someone Deo would have picked to train in a heartbeat. She had on a close-fitting riding breech that gave her legs an extra two-inch illusion of length, a vest of black leather to expose the tight muscles of her arms and her well-formed cleavage, a worn-out belt from where her sword hung next to a small dagger, and the look of someone who had the nerve to question Salar Muradi of Rasharwi. She was beautiful, shapely, enough to intimidate most women and knew it, judging from the way she sized up Djari and the superior smile that followed. "Amar is getting firewood," Saya said after a deliberate delay. "What do you want with him?"

The name drop was intentional, so was the display of ownership in that last question. He turned to Djari to see if she noticed it, and realized her attention was elsewhere. "I see." Djari sat back down and turned to the father. "I will wait, then. We will need a place to stay for the night, izr Imami, if you can accommodate."

Izr Imami nodded. "The one guest room we have is being used by your swornsword. You can share Saya's room tonight, and your escort can stay with izr Zaharran. If you don't mind."

Fuck, Lasura swore, looked around the room and thanked Ravi he hadn't said it out loud. Putting Djari with Saya was interesting, putting him with the Sparrow was going to end with one of them dead by morning, most likely him. Fighting the Sparrow back then was a lost cause, fighting him now after being trained on Al-Sana for a month was probably suicide. And some kind of a fight was going to happen. He would be the one to pick it, he knew. There would always be a part of him that wanted to prove something with regards to the Sparrow. I'll sleep with the horses tonight, he decided.

"Thank you," Djari said, as cluelessly as Akai izr Imami who was supposed to be wise. "We'll be honored."

Lasura sighed. We meant she expected him to honor the offer. Contradicting her would be insubordination and an offense to the host. He turned to Saya, hoping the woman would interfere with some kind of objections, and found her standing with an expression of someone trying to figure out how to kill a bharavi and make it look like an accident. Great. Two epic fights tonight then.

The door clicked opened and all eyes turned to the entrance in anticipation of the man around whom the world seemed to rotate. A reaction Lasura had grown accustomed to with regards to the Silver Sparrow of Azalea who'd always entered the party decisively late, dressed to exceed expectations, and made sure the entrance was seen by as many as possible. Only back in Rasharwi, it was all done strategically. The Sparrow's decisions to attend parties usually got around weeks before the event to allow every reputable dressmaker and jeweler time to offer him their newest collection and the guest list to grow to its full potential. Deo had made sure it happened, strategically. 'Publicity is crucial to any business,' his mentor had explained one night when asked why he'd spent so much on the Sparrow. 'The boy is my masterpiece and one I will make a legend.'

The man had so far made it as the talk of Rasharwi, first as the highest paid escort in the Salasar, and later as the fugitive with the biggest bounty on his head. Now he was the swornsword of Ravi's chosen vessel to end the centuries-long war, a man treasured and protected by Sarasef of the Rishis, and an apprentice of one of the most legendary sword masters in the White Desert, if not the peninsula. But how much of it was Fate's or the Sparrow's doing, and how much was Deo di Amarra's?

My masterpiece, he'd said.

Did you, he remembered wanting to ask, have a hand in the death of his woman? Are you still trying to fulfill that promise? Even now? Those questions, to this day, gave him a shiver.

Not that it mattered. The Sparrow was rising in the world, gaining more reputations, winning the hearts of everyone who came into his path. While you fall deeper and deeper into worse shit.

It was what he had prepared for, coming here. He had expected that same Silver Sparrow of Azalea to walk in through the door, had imagined Djari being scooped up in those arms and hate himself for the stupidity of having brought her here to salt his own wounds. That, for once, didn't happen.

The man who walked through the door looked like he'd been through a war he didn't win. Dirt-stained tunic torn in places hung loosely over a body that seemed to have lost a substantial amount of weight. Unbraided web of hair gathered hurriedly into a half bun left no trace of the extravagant man Lasura remembered. Exhaustion simmered thickly over otherwise sharp, gray eyes, a severe lack of sleep underlined by dark shadows that added ten years to his age. Old and new bruises dotted his face, around his jawline, and the sides of his temple. He walked like he was dragging a weight, an anger. A dead body, Lasura thought, or several, for how foul, how abruptly the atmosphere had turned.

Something happened on Al-Sana in the past four weeks he'd been here. Something went horribly wrong. The tension that suddenly occupied Akai izr Imami and his daughter was an evidence. The look on Djari's face who noticed the change immediately confirmed it.

What should have been a happy reunion turned out to be a stalemate, the meeting of an unexpected old friend who arrived at the wrong place, the wrong time, and for the wrong reasons. The Sparrow looked up, saw Djari, and on his face, in his eyes, was dread, disappointment, and the word no rolled into one. He didn't voice it. He didn't have to. Djari also knew. People knew when they weren't welcome.

It was more than that though. Something wasn't right.

The Sparrow sucked in a breath, dropped the firewood he'd been carrying, and began searching the room with the nervousness of a man recently threatened by something he couldn't see. That search came to a halt when he saw Lasura, and something about his presence there threw him off the edge, ripped something apart in an instant.

"You brought her here," said the Sparrow. A rumbling rage there, riding above the syllables, impossible to miss even when said in almost a whisper. "Alone?"

The entire room turned to Lasura for an answer that had nothing to do with them, thanks to the Sparrow whose fury was about to go through the roof. Lasura realized all of the sudden that this man's priority was to protect Djari, not to see her, and that he'd done the most dangerous thing of bringing her here, of sneaking her out without permission. It needed no explanation. He knew Djari and how fiercely the khagan protected her. He would also remember what happened the last time she had gone missing. That wound was probably still raw and bleeding, if it had been tended to from the start.

A part of him said he ought to offer an explanation of some kind, if not also an apology, or for the very least an excuse. His pride, his ego, the part of him that had been cultivating a justified sense of jealousy toward this man who had just threatened him with that tone, and the fact that Djari was watching disagreed. "No," he said. "There's a whole fucking army outside, didn't you see them when you came in?"

It goaded the man, made him take a step in Lasura's direction, got his hands clenched into fists by his sides, both looking ready to draw blood. "This is no laughing matter. It's not a game for you to play out of boredom, no matter how unaware you are of what is happening on this peninsula."

"I wasn't laughing." Lasura manufactured a smile. "But perhaps you should learn to do that sometimes. Get that stick out of your ass for once."

The way those fists tightened gave Lasura the need to check for his sword. "You have no idea, do you?" the Sparrow growled, though it sounded more like a shout held back by a tight, tight leash. "What you've done..." He paused to breathe, to blink back his focus, as if something was distracting him, interfering with his vision. "She could have been attacked, kidnapped, taken."

From the corner of his eye, he saw Djari stiffen. She said nothing, didn't even slip a single sound of protest he'd expected her to. This was, after all, the only man who had the power to hurt Djari.

One day, I'm going to kill this son of a bitch.

"Nothing happened," he said. One day, Lasura. Not today. "How about you mind your own business and take your shit somewhere else? Get out of my face, why don't you?"

"Nothing happened," said the Sparrow. "There are three rival khagans on the way to Al-Sana. All of them wouldn't think twice before taking her hostage. You've risked her life and the safety of the entire khagan bringing her here, and you will risk it again on the way back."

Assuming, of course, that I didn't know the risks, that Djari didn't. "Are you suggesting that I'm ignorant or incompetent, or that she is?"

Another step forward by the Sparrow brought them up face to face, no more than a hand's width away. A convenient distance for them to break each other's neck, Lasura realized.

"It takes an ignorant, incompetent man to do what you've done," hissed the Sparrow.

"The last time I checked," he said, aware that he was crossing the line and finding it too late in the game to care. "I didn't lose her to some bandits, you did."

The fist came down harder and faster than Lasura anticipated. The sound of his back crashing against the wall startled Djari out of her seat. Saya's hand gripped the hilt of her sword as she placed a foot forward and her stance into attack position. Akai izr Imami watched in silence, as if he had everything under control, only his hand never strayed far from the blade left leaning against the table.

Lasura straightened, spat out the blood seeping from the cut inside his mouth, and decided suicide was going to be necessary. "Outside, Sparrow."

The loud rasp of steel being drawn from the scabbard screeched across the room. "Amar!" Djari's voice cut through the air, froze the man on the spot, and caught the blade on its way out. He turned to her, gray eyes flashing a murderous silver, the gold ring on right ear catching the last light of the sun coming through the window.

And then the sword pulled through.

Lasura drew his own blade, didn't have time to clear it before the Sparrow's sword came down. Thought he was going to die in earnest before the clang of metal rang in front of him, looked up and saw Saya standing between them, straining to block the blow with her sword.

The Sparrow dropped low to the ground, slipped to the side to clear the path of Saya's blade, and came up jutting an elbow at her jaw. Missed by a hair as she jumped back to clear the path, gave him back the needed clearance to wheel back at Lasura. A hand came up in a blur of motion, knocked the sword out of Lasura's grip, and shot out again to snatch him by the throat, slamming him back against the wood.

The impact forced the air out of his lungs just before the grip closed down around his windpipe, squeezing as it hefted him clear off the ground. Somewhere in the room that tilted and spun, Djari screamed her swornsword's name, commanding him to stop. He didn't hear it. His eyes had gone blank, his face a stranger's Lasura no longer recognized, his mind seemed occupied with something else, somewhere else. He doesn't even know who I am. Who he's strangling.

Saya came back with a sword in hand, grinding her teeth as she made the decision to strike him from behind, was stopped by her father whose blade now glistened at Djari's throat.

"Drop him," Akai izr Imami snarled. It froze the Sparrow like a stunned gazelle in the face of a hunter. "Put him down or she dies. You know who she is. You recognize her."

The hand around Lasura's throat loosened for a second, before a blow to the head threw the Sparrow off his feet and knocked him unconscious. Above Hasheem's crumpled form, Saya stood panting, sword raised with the hilt end pointing down, ready to deliver another blow should the beast rise back up.

"I'm sorry." Akai izr Imami removed the blade from Djari's throat, placed it down with a touch of sadness in his eyes that didn't reach his tone. "I had to see if you were someone who could bring him back."

Djari stood still, staring at her swornsword at Saya's feet and trembled in a mixture of shock and rage that wouldn't go away anytime soon. "Bring him back from what?"

Father and daughter looked at each other for a moment, before izr Imami turned to Djari and nodded. "That man you just saw was not your swornsword, iza Zuri," he said. "You have brought into my home a monster bigger than your father, one that must be tamed or killed before he is allowed to leave this mountain."

***

A/N: So, you thought nothing happened on Al-Sana?  Okay, me too, actually. I'm not sure yet, but I think Hasheem has yet another name.