The voice of your eyes is deeper than all roses.

— E. E. Cummings

"SO MY HUSBAND has decided to visit Gharnatah?"

Hamama is chasing after the kitten Rahaf has adopted and Qailah is chasing after her. The caretaker has Humran in her arms and he worries about the children not to get hurt. His attention is split between them and the queen speaking to him.

"What is with this sudden plan of his?" she inquires.

"The Ameer merely wishes to visit the palace of Gharnatah, Malika," Marrar lies smoothly, not allowed by the caliph to reveal his true intentions to anyone neither willing to worry the queen about it.

"Nothing is ever without a reason with Aswad, that I know," she refuses to believe him. "Do you think I do not notice what has become of him? I've been married to him for seven years. The man I married and the man he is now are two different people."

Marrar lowers his gaze before her. No matter his ability to lie or deceive, he has served Adara bint Nurahan as dedicatedly as he has served her husband, or sometimes even more. And his reasons for it has been rather personal that the queen is unaware of. Yet he feels an obligation towards her and thus remains dutiful towards her.

"I worry my husband is drifting apart from me, Marrar," she expresses her concern, a level of trust she has in him that makes him feel guilty of himself sometimes. "I dread what if he takes a wife besides me."

This is a fear she has expressed many times before to him. And each time he has assured her that Aswad bin Motassem only belongs to her. This is the truth Marrar holds no doubt in.

No matter if he cannot look into the caliph's heart, and no matter the change of feelings the queen speaks about, he's well aware that even if Aswad bin Motassem was to take a hundred more women besides Adara bint Nurahan, yet still none will ever close to her in comparison. And that isn't merely because of her beauty or because she's the caliph's first love, but because if it wasn't for her, Aswad bin Motassem would long have been dust and bones in his grave. He owes her his life and Marrar knows she has a special place in his heart even if she questions it sometimes. A place even Bareera couldn't take.

"Why do you stress over it, Malika, when I promise you nothing such is the reason for his visit to Gharnatah?" Marrar tries to assure her. "You know I wouldn't have kept it hidden from you if so was the case."

"His calling for a meeting and this sudden announcement bothers me," she says with her expressions passive but her grayish hazel eyes both icy and burning. "I've heard that the governor of Gharnatah invited him for a feast and that he has a young daughter he wishes to marry to my husband."

Marrar smiles. Only if she knew her husband's true intentions weren't to meet a woman for himself but that he has set up a trap for his grand advisor and has planned his execution. Only if Marrar was allowed to speak of it.

"My Malika, trust me, it isn't what you think it is so rest your heart about it. I'll be with the Ameer all the time. I'll inform you about anything worth knowing."

This makes the fire in her eyes calm. She smiles back at him. "I trust you, Marrar."

"You honor me, Malika."

Hamama laughs and Adara looks in her direction. Suddenly there's a longing in her eyes full of melancholy and broken dreams. Her usually composed self is revealed into someone heart-wrecked and helpless.

Such beautiful women, Marrar remembers, that young price Aswad was ready to abandon the world for her. She has lost none of that beauty. This face can still turn saints into sinners. He lowers his gaze.

Adara bint Nurahan truly is exceptional. All his years of serving the royal family, he has known her to be many things. The kind, compassionate woman ready to sacrifice her wealth and resources for her public, compensating for the harsh nature of her husband. And the savage, ruthless queen ready to destroy whoever is to mean any harm to her beloved ones, complimenting her king's personality.

He knows this longing he sees in her eyes is one for a child— this desire to be able to give a family to the caliph. But years have passed to the incident that took her child from her when it was still in her womb. He knows she might never be able to give a child to Aswad bin Motassem again. He wishes he could tell her that her husband has long stopped praying for one. He wishes to console her but he's too guilty of the lies he has told her— of the trust she has in him that he has broken many times. Of being involved in bluffing her.

"She's beautiful," The queen says. "God bless her."

Marrar looks at her, slightly puzzled.

"Your daughter." Adara smiles. "If Aswad and I had a daughter, I think she would've looked like her."

He feels his throat constrict. Marrar swallow thickly. Unable to look her in the eyes, he steals away his gaze from her. Yet he finds himself asking a question which he's sure can be declared forbidden to ask, not knowing where he got the courage from and for some reason already knowing the answer to.

"What would you have named her, Malika?"

He hears Adara exhale a shaky breath. She takes a long moment where he thinks she might not reply to his question, but when eventually she does it goes through his heart like an arrow as he had expected.

"I don't know. But when I was with a child, I once mentioned to Aswad how I wanted to raise our child pure like a dove, away from the evil of our lives and this palace. I said to him perhaps we should name our child Hamama (dove) if it was a girl. But he said we should rather name her Azeena— the righteous one. Unlike me, he wanted to raise a righteous and aware child than a sheltered and unaware one. Perhaps we would've named our daughter Azeena if we had one, for I liked his suggestion better."

But perhaps in the end, Marrar thinks, Aswad bin Motassem liked his wife's suggestion better.

RAHAF HOLDS THE small perfume bottle in her hands which Masruq has brought to her. It's different than the one which Furat had and which fell from his hand and broke when she startled him. She brings it to her nose and inhales deeply. It smells similar to it but not exactly. Something is missing and she's not content with it.

"This is the closest I could find, sayyidati," Masruq says as if reading her mind.

"It's not the one."

"I know, my Amira. I searched everywhere for the original one but I couldn't find it," he excuses.

Rahaf picks the handkerchief from the table which she had used to wrap the broken perfume bottle in and sniffs it. It's heaven. She closes her eyes and sniffs again.

"I wonder where Ameer Furat got it."

It reminds her of clear skies and dancing fields. Of singing birds and departing fall. Of musk and paradise. What does she even think of this fragrance to be? The perfume probably is made of wild flowers she has not seen or smelled before. Or maybe she has but their smell is altered by mixing them with something else. Whatever is this fragrance, she absolutely loves it.

"Do you want me to ask Ameer Furat about it?" Masruq asks for permission. "I'll get it from there."

She shakes her head. "Leave it. I'll ask him myself the next time I see him."

"He leaves with Ameer Aswad for Gharnatah in two days, my Amira. The Ameer has given him some duties and I haven't seen him around the palace the whole day," her guard informs her.

"Is it so?"

Rahaf stands up from the chair and walks towards the window seat of her chamber. She lifts apart the curtains slightly. Outside, the sun has created a chaos in the sky— a brilliant orange and deep blue as it leaves for the day.

"Will he be coming back to Qurtuba or will he leave for the sea?"

"That I don't know, my Amira."

She let go of the curtains and they fall back into place. Rahaf turns to Masruq.

"It's important that I meet him at least once before he leaves. I think he's the only person who can help me find Tahman's grave."

Masruq gives her a hesitant look. "But what if Ameer Aswad finds out about it?"

"Tabrez is a menace." She sits down on the window seat. "I'm sure he tells Aswad how many breaths everyone takes in the palace every day."

Masruq smiles at her remark. "Let's hope the Ameer takes him to Gharnatah with him."

"Let us." She looks down at the handkerchief she's still holding in her hand that smells of Furat's perfume. "Who else is accompanying my brother to Gharnatah, Masruq?"

"General Marrar and only a few of his other trusted men. There aren't many people going, sayyidati."

"Who is he leaving in charge here?"

"Ameer Kanan as his regent and Ameer Rouzbeh as second in command of the army."

"Kanan?" She arches a quzzical eyebrow. "What is my brother thinking?"

Her brother certainly is thinking something, Rahaf is sure. This sudden decision to go to Gharnatah with only a few of his men when only recently he was attacked, and leaving Kanan in his place when Rahaf has exposed him to him doesn't all fit together.

"I've heard that he received an invitation from the governor, Amira," Masruq tells her. "And it's been a while that the Ameer visited the city."

But Rahaf cannot be satisfied with the information. There's probably something more which everyone including her are ignorant to except for the men joining her brother.

A knock comes at the door. She grants permission to the person on the other side and her handmaiden, Dimah, walks in with something in her hand. She presents it to her and Rahaf finds it to be something wrapped in a handkerchief.

"What is this?" she asks.

"I don't know, my Amira. Someone sent it for you."

She takes the handkerchief from Dimah and unwraps it. To her surprise, she finds a half bloomed red rose and a note inside. Rahaf picks up the note to read it.

Found you in the garden.

She stares at the message in utter disbelief and bewilderment. The audacity. The complete lack of fear of the outcome for such reckless actions. Rahaf cannot make herself accept it. She hasn't come across anyone this outrageous and daring in her life.

She crumples the note and bites her tongue so as not to curse. When she looks up, she finds a knowing look in Masruq's eyes. Even her guard is aware of who can be this defiant and bold.

She picks up the rose and finds that it's stalk is completely smooth— the thorns have been neatly cut off of it.

Taking the rose with her, she leaves her chamber, knowing well where she can find her cheeky guest.

The sun is close to setting. The chaos in the sky has only turned more beautiful. She swans through the garden until she comes across the archways with roses vining over them that line the pathway deeper into the garden. Rahaf arrives at the fountain surrounded by rose bushes. As expected, she finds him there, waiting as if he too is expecting her. He straightens when he sees her approaching.

"The next time you send me flowers, Ameer Furat, I'll come to stick them in your grave."

He grins, so shamelessly, yet so handsomely as the setting sun kisses his cheeks that she cannot even bring herself to murderously glare at him.

He ties his hands before him respectfully and tips his head, both in greeting and in an apology.

"A thousand apologies."

"I'm sure you don't mean any one of them," she retorts.

His grin turns into a sheepish smile. "Forgive me, please, for it was never my intention to offend you."

Rahaf searches his eyes, as if looking for a hint of honesty in them, but those impenetrable orbs don't allow her a glimpse into his soul.

She walks up to him until there are only a few feet between them and stops before him. "I think you've never considered the fact that I'm betrothed to your friend, sayyidi."

"I didn't know who you were when I met you at the brothel the first time."

"Don't tell me you fell for me that very first time," she mocks. "When you didn't know my name neither saw my face."

"I saw your eyes. And I heard your voice. And your eyes that night bounded me. And when you spoke, you spoke like a woman I would want beside me."

His reply is unexpected, unpredictable just like him, yet strangely sweet, sweeter than the eyes he's looking her with. She's surprised at her own thoughts and tries to hide them behind a frown.

"What do you mean by that?"

Furat pauses, and dares to hold her eyes as he reads them, as if thinking through his response before giving it to her.

"Someone, my Amira, who do not fear the ocean in my soul when tides rise in it, for everyone only loves it under clear sky."

Rahaf doesn't know what to say to him. Too often lately, Furat has been leaving her speechless. He clears his throat and glances away from her, as if suddenly embarrassed, before looking at the rose in her hand he sent her.

"When the moon in full, the ocean is restless. Many do not always stay to understand. They run away." Their eyes meet again, and this time his eyes suck her into somewhere otherworldly and intangible— unhumanly, dark yet riveting. "Why didn't you punish me that night at the brothel? No matter my intentions, I was there."

"I would've had you dared to touch me," she replies without hesitation, for she left no one that night but him. Had he not stood out from the rest, Furat too would've been among the criminals.

"I could've touched someone else," he suggests the possibility so nonchalantly, Rahaf could've believed he actually wanted to be punished. "Did I not tell you that I wasn't a noble man? Why did you choose to believe that I was?"

She smiles as she remembers the night— remembers him. She had indeed thought him to be a noble man despite him challenging her opinion of him.

"Your eyes that night didn't scare me, Ameer Furat. They weren't greedy. They weren't beastly. They were just tired— tired of life."

"So you think of me to be a good man, but refuse to give me a chance when I approach you?"

She doesn't answer him. All their conversations recently have been coming to circle around this— his confessions and her confusion. She hasn't known the man long enough, and she's not ready to give anyone a chance when she's still betrothed to Kanan. Yet Furat leaves her restless, surprisingly not in a way that bothers her but rather intrigues. He's handsome and he has a way with words, Rahaf admits, and encounters with him have been rather fascinating, yet she cannot allow herself to be drawn to him when he's still a charming shadow than clear as daylight.

"You leave with my brother to Gharnatah, Ameer Furat?" Rahaf changes the subject.

She notices the quirking of his lips but otherwise he remains serious. "Why, I do."

"Will you return to the palace?"

"Will you miss me, Amira?"

She glares at him. His expression remains unchanged as if he hasn't said what he just did. "I'm merely wondering if you'll help me find Tahman's grave or not?"

"If this is the only way I can prove myself to you, then I will."

"So you'll return to Qurtuba?"

He nods. "But I won't be staying long. I'll introduce you to someone who has lived in Qurtuba longer than me and knows the forest better than me. He'll help you find what you're looking for."

"Is that person trustworthy?" Rahaf asks skeptically and he gives her a crooked smile.

"As trustworthy as you considered me to be when you asked me for help."

His reply is a little ironic, a little prideful. Rahaf can see it in his smile, the way it always has something devilish about it— roguish and with a meaning disguised. It makes him appear both attractive and formidable.

"Very well then. I look forward to meeting that person."

She turns around to leave but Furat stops her.

"Amira Rahaf?"

She looks back at him.

"May you think of me when it rains, and when you see roses, and when you smell my perfume on your handkerchief. May the thought of me not leave you as yours doesn't leave me, and you miss me as I already miss you."

Rahaf stares into his eyes with a look that could melt frozen snow into warm water. This man sure is determined, but she doesn't know if he's really this foolhardy and undaunted or if his feelings that he claims he has for her are compelling him to let a sword dangle at his neck.

Furat smiles, and whatever reply she could've given him to turn him down dies on her lips. There has never been anyone in her life for whom she felt anything so strongly, neither has anyone confessed to her to be drawn towards her romantically. Love has always been fragile and scary, whether between her parents or between her and Kanan. She has never expected too much.

But now suddenly there's Furat. And he's starting to scare her with his confessions. Rahaf worries if he remains persistent, her heart might turn weak before him. And as strong as she tries to be, she worries he might learn her heart is more fragile than the love she has witnessed and craved so dearly that she might accept it from him.

She faces away from him and looks up at the sky. Twilight is ready to blend into the night. She doesn't think it'll rain tonight. Heaving a sigh, she walks up to one of the bushes and leaves the rose he has given her at the bottom of it.

The admiral of Al Andalus will have to do more than giving her sweet words and lovely roses to steal her heart.

━━━━━━━━━━━━

May you think of me often.