18. The Envy of the Population #3
Salma looked at me as if I’d lost my mind.
“No, little bird. You see, King Asad was a cruel, abusive man. She was given that position at great sacrifice, and still has the scars as a reminder of his mistreatment.” She paused as if she didn’t like the images in her head.
“King Faisal is nothing like his brother. He is a firm ruler, but he is a merciful and compassionate man. The king released the rest of his brother’s concubines from their slavery.
He keeps Zara, not to share his bed, but to protect her and give her a peaceful life. ”
It was tempting to think King Faisal was a good guy. But then there was that tiny detail of his sentencing my friend to burn to death. Kinda put a damper on the whole ‘merciful and compassionate’ narrative.
Three girls approached our table and interrupted our conversation. Salma was eager to introduce me. We spent the rest of last meal in polite conversation and mingling. I kept my eye on the right door, but found no opportunity to slip away.
In mid-conversation, the room grew quiet as the king stood. He addressed the guests and stated simply, “It is time.” He then turned with Mali and his guards in tow and exited through the double doors behind the throne.
I looked to Salma.
“It is time for the Sorrow at Dusk,” she explained.
The explanation did little to increase my understanding. “The what now?”
The crowd slowly filed through the right door.
Maybe this was my chance. I could slip away as the crowd made its way to wherever it was going.
Salma then looped her arm through mine and followed behind the same men in black robes that had led us to the hall for the meal.
Two men in the same robes walked behind the group of girls as well, with the rest of the crowd following.
So much for the plan. There wasn’t any getting away.
As we were herded into the wide, arched corridor, I committed every detail to memory.
I paid attention to adjacent passageways, the closed doors, and studied the fresco murals so I could navigate when I broke away.
We moved toward the opulent spiral staircase and ascended.
The staircase also continued down in the other direction.
If I needed to keep a prisoner I planned to set on fire in five days, it would be down there. Not that I made a habit of such things.
Our destination was a rooftop garden. The king was already present and standing on the battlement, facing toward the setting sun.
The crowd dispersed through the small garden and stood amidst the sweet scents of date palms, pomegranate trees, and climbing jasmine.
In the failing light, the unexpected greenery was breathtaking.
As Salma and I stepped around a barberry bush, I stumbled to a stop. A cat! Basking in the last rays of the sun on a small bench lay a feline with long, thick fawn-colored fur and a flat snout. It methodically licked a paw and ignored our presence.
Even though I knew they were only hunted to extirpation in Volantia, I never thought I would see one. The people of Solis didn’t believe that cats were demons, or that birds were divine. There’s no reason to hunt them if they’re not eating your gods. The logic was refreshingly sane.
I looked up to realize I had lost Salma in the crowd.
Then the king began chanting in the old Soli language.
I recognized only a handful of words, but it was a sorrow-filled, mournful chant.
The crowd then joined in and repeated the chant.
Over and over. I could hear distant voices below, beyond the garden walls.
It was as if the entire city mourned the setting sun.
Shadows deepened between the pomegranate trees and lengthened along the paths as the light faded.
My gaze traveled over the crowd, their voices rising and falling in unison, lamenting the temporary absence of their deity.
Their attention was solely on the king and the dying sun.
This was it. Separated from Mali and Salma, I could slip away unnoticed—and find Griffon.
The garden wasn’t large, but it was dense with foliage and winding paths.
I scanned for pockets of darkness between the sprawling roots of the date palms and flowering bushes.
If I could find a place to hide, I could wait until everyone returned inside, continue down the spiral staircase and possibly find where they kept their prisoners.
The sun was no more than a sliver in the reddening sky. I needed to do this now.
Slowly but deliberately, I edged back toward a cluster of potted palms in a dark corner. The chanting swelled around me. The air vibrated with layers and layers of sorrowful voices. And yet the rhythm of my heart pounded over it all.
Step by careful step. Finally, I slipped behind the largest palm, pressing myself against the limestone wall. I crouched between pots where I had a view of the crowd past the palm’s drooping fronds and deepening shadows.