The Prince
I wiped the beads of sweat dotting my brow with the end of my turban.
A large building surrounded by a market of wares was alive with activity below us.
It appeared to be a small place rife with life, and yet if Farani had told the truth, the building was a safehold for a golden root, and the merchants shifting about were its guardians.
“Is that it?” Zeki asked, dubious as he peered below.
I could feel the questioning stares of the men who had accompanied us, though they were wise not to speak their doubts aloud.
“It must be,” I muttered.
Even if the chance of saving Delara was slim, I would take it. I would go to the ends of the world and vanquish demons if it meant her life would be spared. Azarkhosh pawed the ground, sensing my anxiety.
“The shahdokht.” Zeki shifted his horse closer to me so he could speak in a lowered tone. “I do not trust her. This may be a trap.”
If anyone else had spoken so of my wife, it would have been my duty to seize every drop of blood in their veins. But this was Zeki. The man I trusted most.
“What is the reason for your distrust?”
“I am concerned for your safety, Dayyan.”
He wouldn’t meet my gaze. He was hiding something. It was as clear as the blazing sun above us.
“If we are meant to die, Zeki, not even the shah’s army could save us if it came stampeding from the palace. They make plans, but the Almighty is the best of planners. Do not fear.”
I clicked my tongue. Azarkhosh sent up a shower of sand as we shot down the hill toward the market.
Eyes fastened on us as we rode inside—curious, suspicious, and lingering far longer than necessary.
I rode before the building, turning my horse to address the merchants.
My men rode in as well, lining up behind me.
“I am Shahzadeh Dayyan.”
At my proclamation, hands shot to hilts, and some drew their shamshirs. Their fear was so prominent the air nearly crackled with it.
“If you give me what I seek, none shall be harmed.”
The merchants glanced at one another before one of them stepped forward—a stout man with a broad chest and thick beard. “How can we believe you, oh Shahzadeh?”
I dismounted from Azarkhosh and walked toward him.
He lifted his head, and though he held my gaze, I sensed in him the urge to retreat.
“You may not trust my word, but trust that of your princess. I made an oath to the shahdokht.” I produced the ring Farani had given me before I left and presented it to them—the silver ring that she had never taken off her thumb.
I read the words inscribed across the metal.
Shahzadeh of the South. It must have been Sultan Kasim’s ring when he’d been a prince.
I lifted it higher, for all eyes to see.
“You will not be harmed.”
“Shahzadem,” the man who had questioned me uttered with reverence as he read the inscription. “Our shahzadeh’s daughter’s wish is an honor for us.”
Whispers flitted among the merchants until, one by one, they dropped their shimmering blades into the sand.
The man walked forward without further comment.
I followed him, nodding at Zeki to keep watch.
The man unlocked the heavy chains on the building with a key around his neck and swung the door open.
As soon as I stepped inside, I sensed a charged current within, foreboding and yet intoxicating.
The man led the way, entering room after room until we stopped. Each door had been locked and required a different key to open it. The man waved about the room. Sunlight streamed in through the open ceiling. I blinked at the sight that my eyes beheld: thin golden roots sprouting from tiny pots.
“What we managed to save from the large root,” he informed me. “We have nurtured them and cared for them, only using them when necessary.”
I reached out, but my fingers stilled. There was something almost wrong about touching the plants. And yet part of me craved it so dearly. I wondered if that was why they were kept away from us. The temptation was too strong. I tore my hand back and turned to the man.
“If it is the order of our shahdokht, I will gladly give some to you.”
I nodded, fighting the urge to examine the plants again. The man snipped three of the smallest ones and carefully preserved them within a glass container. I tucked it away and turned to leave.
“Your father, the shah,” the man called after me. “Does he know?”
I stilled. Something of this much importance had to be told to Shah Jihangir. But imagining what he would do, what he would become with the wealth of the roots, made me fear like never before. I left without answering. Zeki watched me approach, tilting his head.
“There is nothing here,” I called. “Let us go.”
Zeki frowned before slowly nodding. He alone saw through my guise. Even if my men would lay down their lives before betraying me, I couldn’t risk word reaching my father.
We set off, riding hard to the palace, when I spotted glittering in the distance. I urged my horse toward it. There, standing alone, was a beautiful altizar with a mane of silver. She was young, two years at my estimation. Gasps rang out from my men.
The altizar’s head shot up, ears perking in alertness.
I dismounted, patting Azarkhosh’s side in a silent order to stay before extracting rope from his saddlebag.
Zeki followed me, and we kept our steps light in the sand as we approached the altizar.
Her nostrils flared, and she wheeled around, whinnying as she caught sight of us.
Her eyes went wide and she bolted. I rushed after her, but it was futile.
My chest heaved when I came to a stop in the dust she’d left in her wake.
I placed my hands on my knees, watching her disappear.
Zeki appeared at my side, his expression telling me the obvious: It was impossible to catch an altizar if it didn’t want to be caught.
I took out the glass vial and extracted one of the golden roots, the shimmering plant leaving gold dust on my fingers.
I handed Zeki the vial, and he accepted it with a hesitant grip.
“Get to the palace and give this to Ustaad Saf. Do not stop for anything. Delara’s fate rests on this.”
Zeki hesitated. “Dayyan—”
“Make haste.”
“What will you do?”
“I will right a wrong.”
I mounted Azarkhosh and tracked the altizar for hours, alone on a hunt without the pressing presence of my men.
I followed the altizar’s silvery hoofprints left behind from her hasty bolt across the desert.
Then I saw her. Between tall palm trees, like a spirit with an eerie glow.
I dismounted and approached with careful steps.
I was almost to her when she caught notice of me.
Her intelligent eyes glowed. Her muscles bunched in preparation to launch.
“Aram bosh, dokhtarim.” Be calm, my girl.
Her ears tilted, her silvery mane shifting as she faced me.
Another step closer. I lifted my hand. My fingertips grazed her coat as I reached for the golden root I had tucked away in my belt.
A smile pulled at my lips. The root slipped free.
She reared up with a defiant whinny, and I stumbled back, narrowly evading her hooves.
She shot away, racing between the palms and disappearing once again.
I kicked the sand, cursing. I nearly had her.
Disappointment seeped over me, followed by dejection.
I glanced at the sky, seeing the sun had set and a pink tinge hovered on the horizon. Time for prayer.
I went through the motions with a heavy heart, ignoring the doubts that plagued my mind whenever I prayed.
But they slipped through, as they always did.
That I was too damaged and had damaged too many to possibly be forgiven.
Through the years, I had neglected prayer, hating how hypocritical it made me feel.
But Zeki had introduced me to it again. It is never too late, he’d said.
Farani’s dedication was an inspiration as well.
I sank to the ground, pressing my forehead to the coarse sand, my lips moving in memorized phrases.
The golden root lay abandoned beside me.
I lifted my head, my knees digging into the ground as I sat, palms resting on the tops of my thighs.
Then I heard the soft approach of hooves.
Azarkhosh whinnied softly, towering over me.
But it wasn’t me he greeted. Another shape emerged.
The altizar appeared beside me, head tilting down as she brushed her muzzle over my shoulder.
Elation filled me, but I continued my prayer, not moving at her presence.
The end of her mane raked my face as she leaned down farther and sniffed the golden root.
I finished the prayer, looking up to the sky reverently before standing.
The altizar faced me unflinching as I patted her coat.
I reached for my rope and encircled the root with a careful motion.
She leaned over again, nipping at the root before chomping down.
I lifted the rope at once, settling it over her neck.
She peered at me, her nostrils flaring as she continued chewing.
Her wings had appeared small and malnourished, but with each bite of the root, strength filled them.
They grew larger, and the feathers covering them glowed with health.
I gave her and Azarkhosh a moment to bond, sniffing and nickering to each other, before I mounted Azarkhosh, leading the altizar forward as we set out for the city.