I have buried you in every place I've been.
You keep ending up in my shaking hands.

— Bon Iver

Qurtuba, Al Andalus
(Cordoba, Andalusia)

THIS IS LIFE. Sometimes fair. Sometimes unfair. Such is the fate of mankind. To be both happy and unhappy. To know both bitter and sweet. For any wise man will accept this reality— the reality of this world is that it's no heaven. And that a man no matter how wise will never fully understand the wisdom of God— that that which brings us pain perhaps have some goodness in it for us.

Such is life after all. Things. People. Time changes them all. Only to slowly bury them all. The world around us and within us too. Some dreams we dream are fulfilled. Some dreams, we learn, are only meant to be dreamt but never to come true. The story of life is unfolded bit by bit, thus never understood until time reveals what the future conceals.

Marrar looks down the balcony at the archway underneath which Rahaf stands. She's smiling. She's happy. He can tell it by the way her smile is wide and her eyes are alive. Sometimes her teeth show as her smile turns into a grin. Sometimes she covers her mouth with her hand as she laughs. He cannot hear it. But he knows it's soft. Gentle like her. Everything about Rahaf has always been so lovely. So loveable. Perhaps why he feels what he feels towards her. He feels his heart contract agonizingly. But he cannot look away from her.

If Tahman bin Motassem was alive, she would be his bride. Not ibn Kiyan's. Not anyone else's. But then if he was alive, would she ever be happy?

And who is he to envy anyone? She has known him longer than she knows Furat. Yet it's Furat she chose. It's Furat she loves. And God, how he hates Furat. Marrar cannot help this unjustified resentment he feels towards him. As if he has taken away something which belonged to him. As if she was ever his to begin with.

"Aswad didn't allow you to leave?"

He blinks out of his thoughts and turns around to find Adara bint Nurahan standing behind him.

"Malika?"

She smiles, stepping near the handrail of the balcony as her own eyes find Rahaf.

"You don't want to attend her wedding, do you?"

Marrar presses his lips together and lowers his gaze. He doesn't need to answer her. He doesn't have one for her.

"Aswad should've allowed you to leave Qurtuba when you asked for his permission. My husband can be cruel sometimes. But then again," she tilts her head, contemplative, "I don't know of his reasons. He's a complicated man. If he knows of your feelings towards his sister, he's very lenient in his punishment towards you, if this is a punishment at all. If not, if he's unaware, which I highly doubt, then you're very fortunate."

"Is it really a sin to be ashamed of, Malika, when it's not in one's hand what one's heart feels?"

"No. Not in my eyes." Adara faces him. "But Aswad might not agree with me in your case. For a man whom he doesn't wish to marry his sister to, he might not like it. I don't know why, but I'm sure you must already know what I don't."

Once more, Marrar is forced to lower his gaze— steal away his eyes. Adara doesn't question him. But she doesn't let him get off the hook either.

"The walls of this palace, they hide many secrets. And I know you guard them, general. Many of them, if not all. But at what cost?" He looks at her and a sardonic curl forms on her lips. "At the cost of your own happiness. I must say, that is a noble sacrifice. Perhaps that's the reason why Aswad is lenient towards you." Her voice drops. "Perhaps that's the reason why he refused to marry the Amira to you."

Her expressions are unreadable, but her eyes appear sympathetic towards him.

"Be good to yourself," she advises, as if advising a child. "Some matters, we learn, are the result of our own hands. For we're our own enemies more than anyone else."

She glances at Rahaf. Her gaze lingers on her, thinking, before finding him again and offering him another smile, apologetic this time.

"Never hold any grievance in your heart against Aswad for denying you what you desired. She may be who you want, Marrar, but perhaps not who you need. Rahaf always wished for a peaceful life away from all of this. Pray that the life she wished for she finds with Ameer Furat. And may you find someone who can bring you peace too."

He releases a breath, carefully, as if the breath is painfully dragged out him, and nods slowly.

"Ameen, Malika."

Adara casts another look at Rahaf, then him, before she leaves.

Marrar looks at Rahaf. She's speaking to someone about something, the smile still adorned upon her lips.

"May you always be smiling, Rahaf, saved from the cursed fate of your family," he prays. "Perhaps the Malika is right. Perhaps with me your fate would've been wrecked, while you certainly deserve better than to endure more than what you already have."

He decides to meet Dhiraar to discuss some affairs with him and leaves the balcony. He has only walked a short distance when finds Hamama running towards him in the corridor.

"Baba!"

He quickly leans down to balance her as she rushes and stumbles towards him.

"Careful, Hamama."

She's out of breath and clearly excited, grinning from ear to ear. Marrar smiles against her joyous expression.

"What is the matter, habibti?"

"I gave your gift to Marajil, baba. She wants to thank you."

His smile is instantly replaced by a frown. "What gift?"

"This bracelet," someone says.

Marrar turns to the voice only to find Marajil bint Hirash before him. She holds her bracelet in her hand. The one she lost. The one he found. The one he decided not to return it to her out of his vexation and unreasonable irritation towards her.

"I found it in your drawer. I was playing with it but Marajil said it belonged to her so I gave it to her," Hamama innocently explains.

Shame. Embarrassment. He feels a lot of it. He drowns in it. His face heats up and he cannot bring himself to meet Marajil's eyes. Though he can feel her piercing gaze on him.

"You shouldn't be rummaging through my things, Hamama. That's not a good habit," he reprimands, and Hamama seems to deflate at his remark.

"But I wasn't rummaging! I was looking for my... my jewelry for Rahaf's wedding," she defends, a lie too sweet to believe.

"Do not scold a child, sayyidi," Marajil intervenes, and he's forced to look at her. Marrar only feels more flustered at the look in them.

"Go find Qailah," he says to Hamama and she goes away running, leaving him alone with the lady who seems ready to confront him about her bracelet.

Marrar awkwardly clears his throat, not sure where to begin.

"It was broken so I got it fixed."

She waits for him to say more, as if anything can save his shame after this.

"I was going to return it to you but then you left for your home and I completely forgot about it," he adds. Now he feels the heat spread from his face to his ears and neck as well.

She studies her bracelet, as if making sure he's telling the truth and it's fixed. She then hooks it around her wrist and caresses it as if having found something precious to her and grateful for it.

"It belonged to my mother," she softly utters.

He isn't sure if she meant for him to hear it or not. He isn't sure what to feel or how to respond.

"Thank you."

Those are simple words. But for some reason they make him extremely guilty. Marrar swallows uneasily and only nods in acknowledgement at her.

"Forgive me for not returning it to you sooner," he excuses. "And for my attitude that night too."

"It's long forgotten."

They stand before each other, none of them apparently knowing what to say to the other. How to proceed the conversation or how to close it.

She's a young woman, very delicate to the eyes as if made of glass, her movements graceful but restrained, as if afraid of revealing too much. Her eyes are fiery but tempered, a mixture of earthly brown and hot fire, almost like Zurarah bin Hirash's, except for the wisdom and mystery in his eyes and the purity and sincerity in hers.

She resembles her brother a lot, Marrar thinks. From those eyes to the arch of her cheeks. From the sharp angle of her nose to the curves of her mouth. The only difference would be the masculine touch to Zurarah's features and the maturity of his age.

He notices the tinting of her cheeks. She's blushing. Realizing he has been staring at her too long, Marrar blinks and quickly looks down. Silly girl, what she must be thinking. What impression he must have given her. Instant regret comes over him at his his forgetfulness and he steps out of her way.

"Enjoy your stay at the palace, sayyidati."

She tips her head at him and hurries away. Without casting her another glance, Marrar resumes his mission of finding Dhiraar.

"RAHAF?"

Moonlight kisses her face when she turns to him. The darkness has fallen and the torches light the veranda where he has stopped her. Tonight, a million stars are aglow in the sky. Tonight, his heart feels tight and heavy. Aswad ties his hands behind his back and walks towards his sister.

His guards stay behind, and her handmaiden steps back as he approaches her, leaving the siblings alone. Rahaf smiles at him. After a long time, Aswad can see her truly happy.

"How are you, Rahaf?" He caresses her face with affection. "Are you happy, azizati?"

She nods, moving closer to him. "Are you?"

He only hums, gesturing towards a bench in the veranda. "Would you like to sit with me for a while?"

"Of course."

They go to sit on the bench and Rahaf sits close to him so their arms touch. The wind carries the fragrance of roses in it— a fragrance that reminds him of his childhood and his mother. These gardens. Clear skies. Stars. Late afternoons. Even the steam rising from a hot tea cup. And Rahaf. Lately Rahaf has been reminding him of their mother, alot.

"You were very young when mother passed away," he tells her, not knowing why he has to bring up something sad at this occasion. "You may not remember much of the memories you made with her. But if you do, you may remember that she resembled you a lot. And not just in her looks, but also who you've grown up into."

"I remember," she mumbles.

"She was a kind hearted woman. Very patient and forebearing. Perhaps why she could love and spend her life with a callous man like father."

"I like to believe that he was good to her," Rahaf is quick to add— to defend. Aswad doesn't approve or disapprove of her.

"Men and women, Rahaf, are created very different than each other. In order to rightly relate to someone, or to feel loved or cared for, one must first try to understand them. Or one may feel wronged because the other is misunderstood."

Aswad pauses, trying to weave in his speech what's on his mind. He hasn't been the most expressive man, neither has been the most eloquent like his late brother. But he certainly has cared more for his family than Tahman ever did.

"A woman, you see, loves you bright and loud. A man may not compete her to the degree in his expression. But just because someone loves in silence doesn't devalue the sincerity of their emotions. I learnt that when I met and married Adara."

He doesn't elaborate on it. Neither does Rahaf question him. She may understand it. If she doesn't remember it between her parents, she certainly has seen it between him and his wife. Where he's believed to have become like his father. Where in order to protect, he's ready to destroy. But God knows all that's in his heart even if the world doubts him.

"I hope Furat is good to you."

Now he's speaking quietly to her, with great difficulty. Not knowing the right words. Not knowing how to fill in all the shoes for her. To be her parents, her sibling, and her friend.

"I hope you both understand and respect each other. I wish you nothing but goodness. But remember, azizati, if you ever need someone to turn to, you'll find me beside you. And I promise, I'll prove to be enough for you."

She looks down at her palms. Aswad realizes that she has painted them with henna. And he realizes that she's crying when her tears fall on it. Not knowing how to console her, he simply hugs her to his side.

"Forgive me for I'm not good with words."

"May Furat be good to me as you've been good to Adara, akhi."

He kisses her head, not saying ameen to her prayer but saying his own.

"May he be better."

ADARA STANDS BEFORE a bookshelf in the library glaring at the books before her. She's angry. Upset even. Sometimes, her husband is the most loving man. Other times, he's the most inconsiderate.

After waiting for him for hours at their chamber and him not showing up, she decided to look everywhere for him but failed to find him, only to end up at the library, her last resort, but to her disappointment finding it empty too. Now she doesn't know why she's wandering here instead of leaving and being upset in the comforts of her bed.

She picks up a random book and flips through it. It has images of plants and flowers in it. Botany. She puts the book back in place and picks up another one. This one speaks about the stars and universe. Intrigued, she begins reading through it.

She's only halfway through the page when she hears footsteps come into the library. She stops reading, holding the book against her chest. The footsteps come near.

"Adara?"

His voice. How it wraps itself around her. Like warmth and safety. How foolishly she's always fooled by it.

"Are you in here?"

She holds her breath, stealthily moving between the shelves away from him without making a noise.

"Adara?"

The footsteps stop, Aswad waiting for a response. Adara doesn't give him one, continuing to hide away from him.

Another pair of footsteps join them in the library.

"My Khalifa?"

Tabrez. She recognizes. The footsteps shuffle. Aswad is now moving away from her towards Tabrez. Very quietly, Adara follows him in the direction.

"I bring you news," Tabrez says, his voice hushed but not enough. She can still hear him in the silence of the library.

"Speak," Aswad allows.

"Ameer Furat has brought a slave boy with him. He intends to gift him to the Amira. His name is Bassam. He doesn't look like a guard to me. Quite young and seemingly untrained. As per your orders, servants are already prepared for the Amira, both handmaidens and guards. A new one isn't needed, especially an unskilled one. I thought to bring it in your notice."

Adara resists the urge to roll her eyes. Tabrez and his intense desire to know everything and deliver it to Aswad will put him in the jaws of death some day.

"Let it be," Aswad dismisses. "Perhaps Furat wants a messenger for himself more than a servant for his wife. If that's out of his worry for Rahaf, then good for him. If it's any way other than this, he'll earn nothing from it."

"There's something about the general you should know too, my Ameer."

"What is it?"

"He went to the forest this morning, after the break of dawn. It has been twice in a short time."

Adara strains her ears to hear clearly. She misses Aswad's response. He probably questioned Tabrez about it, to which he replies, "Nothing. He just spends some time under the fig tree and then returns."

"So my general goes to mourn over my dead brother's grave like a widow."

The book almost falls from her hands. She almost gives herself away. But God saves her. Frozen in shock, Adara forgets to breath. But her breath is stolen at what she hears next.

"Ameer Hirash is concerned about his daughter, sayyidi."

"I spoke to Marrar for her but he didn't give me a response. I suppose he isn't willing to marry her. Inform Ameer Hirash that I'll address the matter after Rahaf's wedding. He doesn't have to worry about syeda Marajil."

Tabrez leaves the library. She can hear his footsteps fade away. But Aswad is still around. His footsteps once more move near. But this time she doesn't attempt to hide, not caring what might happen if he finds her. She hears him rummaging through the books. Then a moment later, he leaves the library and she's left alone.

Her knees feel weak, but she doesn't fall to them. The book is still hugged tightly to her chest. She closes it and returns it to its place. Adara is once more standing before the bookshelf, glaring at it as if it has done her wrong, more angry and upset than before.

"They can dream you all they want, Aswad, but it will always be I alone to live those dreams."

She leaves the library and sets to find her husband.

━━━━━━━━━━━━

The wedding from Rahaf's pov or Furat's?

PS: To clear the confusion some readers had about how soon the wedding is taking place, the lapse of time between chapter 12 to 17 (February/March, 952) and chapter 18 (June, 952) is 3 to 4 months, which is skipped as the story progressed into part 2. For an easier understanding, keep a note of the dates mentioned at the beginning of the chapters.