Work Text:
Tucked deep into the hold of the ship that draws her away from her country, Talia dreams.
Nighttime visions come less often in the days since she woke. Pleasant dreams come even more rarely.
This day, the dreams take her to the gardens in the old palace. She is no more than ten, running and playing with her cousins. They battle with stones and branches and halt only as hoof beats come close. Taqib rides up on the black horse he loves more than any human and lowers Janilwa to the ground. Talia runs to her sister, who sweeps her up and scolds her for getting so dirty. Talia breathes in the jasmine sent of her sister’s hair, and kisses her neck. Her face feels unfamiliar, and it takes Talia a moment to recognize that she is smiling. The desert sun is warm on her skin and she is happy, surrounded by those she loves.
The dream shifts then, as dreams do, and she is seated on cushions near her father, the spices of a banquet in the air. He laughs loudly at an uncle’s joke and looks down at her with such pride and joy that her heart aches at the power of it.
Another shift and Talia is alone, weeping in the dark shrine of the temple. A black-clad figure approaches softly. Faziya cradles Talia’s face in her hands, and murmurs words of kindness. They are not lovers yet, but Talia remembers the moment and knows they soon will be. She takes strength from the strong sinew of the Kha’iida woman’s hands, and the tears slowly ebb. It is the last time Talia cries.
One last shift and she is in safe mother’s arms, listening to ballads of the peri and ancient heroes they aided. She is young enough to be comforted by the sound of her mother’s voice, and the stories hold only wonder for a small child’s ears.
Talia whimpers softly in the ship’s hold, one of the cats tucking in for a nap in the curve of her legs. Something in her blood tightens, then softens and releases its hold on the land that should have been hers. Knowing she can never return, she dreams of home.