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Chapter Text

Giyath woke up in almost total darkness - and immediately regretted that he had come to his senses.

His whole body was in pain, from the roots of the hair to the tips of the fingers. It was just unbearable in the hands - it felt like they were stuffed with thousands of needles.

He remembered a bright flash, fire and hot air full of sand. The piercing blue eyes of his enemy. Female cry, furious and sorrowful.

Now there's only silence.

He did not know exactly where he was, but the air in this place was disgustingly warm and smelled of dampness, rot and rats. Giyath moved a little and felt all the hardness of his bed with each of his bones. He was lying on a stone and a thin layer of putrid straw. He tried to look around, but saw almost nothing. It wasn't just the darkness that opposed him; Giyath simply couldn’t focus on a single thing, neither with a glance, nor with a thought. Even the memories of the recent battle slipped away like tiny fishes between the fingers, teasing the tired mind with barely perceptible touches. The eyelids felt as heavy as stone slabs, and keeping them open for more than a few moments was a daunting task.

He didn't know how much time had passed when a sudden light ripped him out of the obscurity. Flames splashed under his closed eyelids, and Ghiyath opened his eyes, immediately plunging into pain. A man leaned over him - he recognized the hilt of the guard's saber.

But there was someone else.

“Is it him?”

Oh Lord, Giyath knew that voice way too well.

Why is she even here?

"Maid," he croaked. His throat was tortuously dry.

Her face appeared from the shadow, beautiful, like a doll's, and tender, like a flower, with a gaze attentive and stern.

“Are you hurt?”, she asked coldly.

He tried to answer, but his tongue wouldn't obey. Not waiting for him to gather his strength again, she has gone out of his sight. Then he felt his hand being taken. The touch felt like a gash, and he couldn’t help but groan.

“Giyath, your hands are burned,” now her voice sounded less harsh.

He remembered flashes of fire - the last thing he saw before everything was gone. It seems that Ghiyath instinctively covered himself to save his eyes. Did he? He wasn’t sure in a thing anymore.

Consciousness began to slowly float away, and her vague figure turned in a ghostly vision, a fantasy of a sick mind. A few moments passed, and everything faded, putting him back in the dark.

He was awakened by a touch: someone was gently shaking his shoulder.

“Giyath, wake up. You have to eat”.

Still disoriented, he allowed himself to be lifted and then leaned his shoulder against the scabrous wall. Giyath opened his eyes and finally realized: he was in a dungeon. He saw a grate a couple of steps from his mangy bed, and a narrow beam of light fell through a tiny window under the ceiling.

He glanced at the girl next to him. She was busy with the tray: crumbled up the bread and threw it into a bowl with some kind of brew. It smelled delicious.

“I bandaged your hands”.

Indeed, his hands were carefully wrapped in clean clothes. Some ointment pleasantly cooled the burnt skin under the bandages.

“Why?” Giyath said with difficulty.

She stared at him with ill-concealed annoyance.

“It was foolish of me to expect gratitude from you.”

Without saying a word, she took the spoon and, scooping up the contents of the bowl, brought it to Giyath's face. He looked at her in surprise, but her face was serious.

“You can't do it with your hands like that, so eat. And keep your pride to yourself.”

Giyath glanced once more at his hands, two useless swollen stumps on his lap. She was right, and that was humiliating.

He still didn't understand why she was here with him. This little maid had never been kind to him - basically, she had not a single reason to. Each of their conversations was just an exchange of barbs and threats, and then Giyath almost killed her and her bothersome friends. And now she was fiddling with him, pent in this disgusting place.

As if she cared.

He parted his dry lips and let her pour the nourishment into his mouth. Lentil brew with a piece of soggy bread - too plain food for a king's son, but luxurious for a wounded prisoner.

When the bowl went empty, Giyath was already exhausted. Even keeping himself in a sitting position was too tiring for him, and she seemed to notice that.

“Here, drink this.” She brought a bowl of water to his lips. “The last thing.”

After draining the bowl, Ghiyath awkwardly fell back onto his bed. At the very last moment, small hands stopped him from hitting his head on the stone floor. The touch was not at all affectionate, but in a strange way it felt thoughtful. Not indifferent at least.

Giyath couldn’t develop this thought further. Before she even took her hand from his head, he fell deeply asleep.

Chapter Text

He was awakened by heated voices — a man and a woman argued just behind the grate of his cell.

“Have you lost your mind? He tried to kill you! He tried to kill us all!”

“I know, Light, and that's why I'm asking you to do it.”

So, Light. She wants the smug genie to finish Giyath off while he can't even stand up? Cunning girl.

"What if he still has magical powers?" Have you thought about it?” - Arslan puffed with anger. - “What if he attacks us?”

"He's hurt and can barely sit by himself," she replied with annoyance, and added more softly, "I would never make you do something dangerous, you know that. Please, it won't take long.”

“Fine, fine,” Arslan said reluctantly after a pause. “But he’d better not make things difficult.”

A moment later, the key rattled, and the gate opened, letting two visitors in. Giyath felt slightly better than yesterday and was even able to raise his head to look at them.

"You're awake," she said as if it was something good. It seemed to Giyath that she was smiling ever so slightly, but he could not see better - the weak light from the window barely dispersed the humid gloom.

“Why did you come back, maid? Also with him?” he said scarcely, nodding at Arslan. Genie stood at a distance with a somber expression of sleek face and looked at Giyath, as if he were a pile of manure on the floor.

“I don't like the way he talks to you,” Arslan said sharply.

"Ignore him, Light," she replied calmly. “He was always like that, and he has no reason to change his manners now. Please do what I asked you to.”

Rolling his eyes, Arslan pulled up his sleeves and sat down next to Ghiyas. All of a sudden, the magical bracelet on his arm shone brightly with a blue light; an azure flame flared up in the eyes of the genie. After a moment, he put his hand on Giyath's forehead and roughly pressed his head into the floor.

“What are you…” Giyath started, but he couldn't finish.

Suddenly, every part of his body was taken over by an strange force. It was familiar to Giyath, he knew it when he took control on Arslan during the battle in the desert. Then Giyath suppressed it with his power - but now he himself felt like a doll, an empty vessel, and foreign magic freely poured in him. He tried to resist and realized that he was totally powerless against it heavy flow.

Arslan invaded him like a master. He was studying his mind and body like goods on the market, and Giyath could not oppose him at all. The magic that he awakened in himself many years ago evaporated and did not respond to any calls. He felt scared, scared to death - and he froze, paralyzed with fear. Never in his life had Giyath, the powerful wizard and royal heir, felt so helpless.

He knew that genie’s power will destroy him, incinerate him from the inside, like a straw puppet. But a minute passed, and Arslan simply removed a hand from his forehead, squeamishly wiping his palm on his clothes. The light in the bracelet faded out, and at the same moment, the magic immediately left Giyath’s body. It felt like he had been struck in the stomach, and for a very long second he couldn’t take a single breath.

"He's empty," the genie announced, straightening up. “There’s no a drop of magic in him. Even you have more, Gina”.

Giyath, still stunned by the fading horror, watched her from below. But her face was unreadable as a mask.

“Thanks, Light. You can go now, I'll catch up with you soon.”

“Hey, I won't leave you with this…”

“You just made sure that he is not dangerous,” she said dryly. “I just want to examine his wounds. Just for a minute.”

Arslan cast a doubtful glance at Giyath, but, after a pause, disappeared into the dark of the corridor.

She knelt beside Ghiyath and sat like a small statue for a while. Finally, she took a deep breath and looked up at him with eyes huge, sad and guilty.

"I should have warned you," she said quietly. “I’m sorry. Did it hurt?”

Ghiyath stayed silent, but internally he was rageful. Hurt? No, it didn't. It was exceedingly humiliating to feel like an insect nailed to a paper sheet with a huge pin that flutters with all its might, but cannot escape. It was humiliating to feel this overwhelming fear. It was humiliating to look helpless in the face of his sworn enemy.

Surely she now pities him. In fact, he is pitiful: the prince of a non-existent kingdom, burned, dressed in rags, deprived of all his strength, unable even to eat on his own.

“Can I see your hands? Please?”

Ghiyath exerted every remaining strength in his weakened body to roll onto his side and turn away from her.

She did not get up immediately. Half a minute passed before Giyath heard her jewelry clinking and clothes rustling.

“I'll be back tomorrow.”

“No need”, Giyath tried to say proudly, but it turned out rather offended. Damn.

"I'll be back tomorrow," she repeated stubbornly.

In a moment, the grate behind her slammed shut, and Giyath was left alone in complete silence.

Chapter Text

A new morning has come, and Giyath was glad to discover that he could get up on his own and even stay on his feet. Grimacing with disgust, he used a dirty bucket in the corner and returned to his bed again - as far as this word was applicable to a pile of foul-smelling straw. This journey of four steps — two steps one way, two steps the other — had perceptibly tired him.

Unfortunately, soon Giyath had to get up again. A gloomy guard brought him food; he pushed a tray with a bowl, a loaf of bread and a cup through the bars. For a split second, Giyath was going to say that he would not be able to feed himself. But he almost immediately understood how ridiculous this thought is - absolutely no way someone will spoon-feed him here. The guard gave Giyath a contemptuous look, which for a moment lingered on his crippled hands, and disappeared in the dark hallway.

With another effort, Giyath reached his meager breakfast. Luckily, there was only a liquid stew in the bowl. Having somehow contrived, Giyath squeezed it between his bandaged palms and drank the contents in one gulp. He dealt with the cup of water the same way, and left the bread untouched.

Even the smallest movement cause a sharp pain in his arms. It felt as if the swathes had dried to the burnt skin. She had taken a care of the wounds, but the bandages obviously needed to be changed. Giyath remembered the promise of this stubborn maid of coming again the next day. Maybe he should let her do the new bandage, he thought. Since she seems to like being bothered by this kind of things, he may let it be of some use.

Tired of pain, Ghiyath seemed to doze off, leaning against the wall. He was pulled out of a slumber filled with vague thoughts by the sound of an opening grate, and a familiar face appeared in the entrance of his cell.

“You again, maid,” Ghiyath chuckled wryly as she entered the cell. “Come, take pity on me, since you’re such a prude.”

He’d love to see the anger on her pretty face, but she ignored his causticity completely. Wordlessly, she put the medicine-smelling basket next to him and sat down neatly on the dirty floor.

“I hope today you will not be stubborn and let me take care of your wounds”, she said and looked at Giyath. Her gaze was tired, and there were shadows under her eyes that he hadn’t noticed before.

“First, explain what this damn genie was doing yesterday.”

“I will explain, but you have to let me change the bandages. Give me your hand.”

Without waiting for him to react, she took his right hand unexpectedly gentle, and started to moisten the bandages with a decoction from a small jug.

"I wanted to make sure you didn't hurt anyone again," she said as she began to carefully unwind the wet bandages. “That's why I asked Light to check if you still have your powers”.

“You could have just asked instead of letting him dig into my head,” Ghiyath said caustically. She pulled on the bandage, and he hissed in pain.

"Sorry," she said instinctively, and immediately frowned, as if angry with herself. “The bandages are dry because someone didn't let me change them yesterday. Bear with it now.”

As she concentrated on his hands, Giyath studied her mindlessly. It was clear as day - she was haggard, as if she had spent few nights without sleep. Even her hair, usually impeccable, looked careless, with dark streaks streaked here and there.

“You will be judged,” she blurted out suddenly.

Giyath smirked.

“What a surprise. It was to be expected that I was kept here for a reason.”

“Kahir wanted to execute you as soon as he found out that you were alive,” she pursed her lips angrily. “You're lucky that... Well, you know what, it doesn’t matter anymore. Here, other hand.”

“Lucky?”, he repeated.

Now Giyath was genuinely surprised. Why would a young stubborn prince change his mind? There, in the desert, with sword drawn, he obviously did not think about a fair trial.

Unless he was convinced to.

"You should be grateful that Kahir is wise enough not to make hasty decisions," she muttered. ”Stay still now. It might hurt.”

She had almost removed the soaked bandage when a stabbing pain made Ghiyath scream.
The skin on his right hand was swollen and reddened with several blisters. It hurt but not that bad. The other hand was much worse: a severe burn covered it from knuckles up to the middle of his forearm. She flinched, but proceeded to remove the bandage. To alleviate the suffering of Giyath, she blew on the wound - a naive and childish gesture, but it pleasantly cooled the damaged skin.

Strange girl, Giyath thought. She had come into his life a few months ago, a small, wayward creature, and not for a second did Giyath perceive her as someone sugnificant. But this maid got in his way again and again: either in Sinbad's shop, or in the marketplace, or in the royal palace, or in the very heart of the desert. As soon as Giyath began to think that she was another obstacle on the way to his goal, she surprised him. She always put extra goods in his order, somehow guessing what exactly he needed. Then, as if by the way, she handed him neatly wrapped gifts - vials of potions, bags of incense, sharply ground feathers. She even were tugging his wrinkled robe or adjusting the plume on his turban.

As a prince, Giyath was used to gifts and attention. As heir to the throne, he was heaped with precious jewerly, finely inlaid weapons, rich clothes, dainties, and foreign trinkets, each of which could buy a village. Having barely looked at all these luxuries, Giyath ordered them to be hidden in the treasury and never touched or seen them again.

But her gifts were in his hands every day - and he used them good. Whether it was a simple goose feather or a box of ambergris, every single time they reminded him of this little maid with a sharp eyes and no less sharp tongue.

They weren't friends, and yet she was there with him now, in this damp dungeon, dressing his wounds, though Giyath hardly ever did anything kind for her.

“Why are you doing this?” he asked as she wrapped clean bandages around his already ointmented hand.

“It’s impossible for the burns to remain open in this state, you may become inflamed, and then…”

"That's not what I'm asking about," Giyath interrupted, and she stared at him in confusion. “Why are you helping me? I'm a dead man. Not even a court will save me from execution, and you know that.”

She frowned as she continued to put on the bandage. Finally, after carefully tying the loose ends of the bandage, she raised her stern eyes to Giyath. Suddenly he realized that she was not at all the young girl he had always thought she was, no. It was a young woman that looked at him now. A woman with a lot of worries on her shoulders.

"You can think whatever you want, but I don't hate you," she said. Her voice sounded haggard. “You left me in that cave, and you knew I could die. You have been rude to me countless times and laughed at me. You tried to kill me and my friends. Furthermore, you even helped the vizier poison the king. But now I know hat great pain pushed you to this. I saw it in your eyes when I turned into your father.”

Giyath shuddered involuntarily. He remembered how his father's face had suddenly appeared in a whirlwind of sand and fire. A hope, insane joy, grief and guilt surged through him, turning to anger almost immediately when he realized he had been deceived.

"My mother," he croaked. “It's all for her.”

If the memory of the father’s face was distinct, then the image of his mother blurred a long time ago, turned, rather, into vague reflection assembled from fragments of memories. A gentle hand tousled his hair. The edge of a silk skirt embroidered with gold, by which he was holding on at some reception. The scent of musk that filled her room even years after her death. But the face - the most important, the most precious - was erased forever.

He was snapped out of his daze by a light touch on his shoulder. She looked at him with a silent question, and for some reason Giyath felt that he could answer him.

“She died when I was a child,” he began. Every word was tough, so tough. “She was pregnant with my sister, but died in childbirth with her. My father was a kind, righteous man, and he loved my mother very much. When she died, he became completely different. He locked himself in his chambers for years, did not go out to his… our people. I haven't seen him for months.”

Ghiyath recalled how, being a very young man, he walked around the deserted palace for days. The once bustling corridors were now filled with sorrow and death, the gardens dimmed, and even the sun seemed to grow colder.

“When I grew a bit older, I came across a book about black magic in the library,” he continued. “It said that you can turn back time, and even bring a person back from the dead. I was not even interested in the price - I just wanted my mother to be alive again. I studied everything I could find, then I began to look for other forbidden books. And then…”

"You fell asleep," she whispered.

Swallowing, Giyath nodded.

“I was practicing a spell that was supposed to wake up my mother's spirit, but something went wrong. There was black smoke everywhere, and the next second I was in some kind of cave, in tatters, all alone. Those pathetic magicians who woke me up must have thought I was an evil genie or something.”

Ghiyath chuckled, but his fleeting amusement immediately faded.

“You didn't know that you slept for 60 years, so you?” Her hand was still on his shoulder, and somehow that made it easier.

“I did not”.

Giyath recalled how he had screamed in pain and rage until he was hoarse. The history of his family was almost erased, the graves of his ancestors disappeared, and he himself turned into an exile. Only black, frenzied power seethed in his blood, as if prompting: find, kill, return what is yours by right, and let the whole world burn to the ground.

They were silent for so long that the silence began to press on their ears.

"I'm sorry your mother died," she finally said. The hand vanished from his shoulder, leaving only the ghost of a warm touch. “But I know that your father loved you very much.”

Giyath looked at her in surprise, and met a firm, honest look.

“You can't know that. No one can.”

"But I do know," she insisted. “When the lamp took me back 70 years, I met the old king. Your father, he said... He said his heart died when you fell into an endless sleep. Did you know that the reason he turned to black magic was to wake you up? He wanted his son back.”

Giyath looked at her, stunned to the core. Having collected bit by bit the memories of his father, he was only able to find out that he was carried away by forbidden witchcraft and killed his ally, who happened to be an Arslan's father. After that, the uprising of the Forty Thieves began, the old dynasty was overthrown and destroyed.

“Are you telling me the truth?” Giyath felt as if an old, forgotten wound began to bleed again. "If you're lying now, I swear on my mother's name, I won't ever forgive you."

“Everything I just said is the pure truth.”

And Giyath believed that.

Chapter Text

By the end of the first week of his imprisonment, Giyath realized, that time in prison goes uneven and strange. Most of the days dragged on endlessly. He was not able to read, keep a diary, work on potions, or even just walk in the open air. There was a little choice of activities - when Giyath was awake, he was thinking, staring at the ceiling.

For better or for worse, he had a lot to think about.

His magic was gone — permanently, apparently. Countless times he tried to extract at least a spark of magic, but his force, once rapid, remained silent.

At first, the lack of power infuriated Giyath - after all, he spent most of his conscious life perfecting his magical art. He eagerly studied not only black magic — which, of course, was more important to him than all other knowledge. For a long time, Giyath was interested in the magic of healing. When he was a boy, he healed the broken wing of a bird he had caught in the garden - it fascinated him how small bones grew together in a few moments.

He even used to turn objects into animals, just to make fun of the maids. Fruits were becoming songbirds, and pillows were turning into frightened rabbits, which immediately scattered in all directions right in front of their eyes. Having performed such a trick for the first time, Giyath laughed to tears.

Giyath remembered how he tried to play the same trick on her.

Once, he noticed her through the window of Sinbad's shop - she was sitting at the counter and writing something. When she put down her quill, Giyath, smirking, turned it into a huge spider, and eagerly waited for her to notice.

He expected a good, violent reaction: a squeal of a frightened girl, maybe, some spilled ink, a funny look of disgust on a pretty face. But she surprised him.

“How did you get here, buddy?” Without hesitation, she helpfully extended a graceful finger to the spider. Shyly moving its long legs, the spider moved onto her palm. When she headed towards the window, Giyath hid hastily around the corner.

“Come on, take a walk,” she muttered, gently landing the spider on the windowsill.

Then Giyath knew: this girl is not one of the shy ones. She was not at all like any woman he had ever met. The maids in his father's palace never made eye contact with him, and neither did the current king's servants. Even Queen Scheherazade avoided his gaze, pretending not to notice him at all.

This little maid was the only one who dared to look directly at him without averting her eyes. What's more, she cared for him now, as if Giyath's life still mattered.

“You must wait for the trial,” she told him when she came again. “That's why I'm helping you.”

Giyath smiled wryly.

“While there is life, there is hope, huh?”

“Why are you so sure that you will be executed?” She raised her angry eyes to him.

“I have no idea. Maybe, that part where I betrayed the king and tried to kill his heir, was critical, don’t you think?”

She was glaring at him for several long moments. Finally, with a loud sigh, she returned to his hand, on which she applied a healing ointment.

“Just wait for the trial, Giyath. It’s a mere request.”

"You're saying strange things again, girl," he frowned. “You seem to know something important, but you deliberately hide it from me.”

"I'm not hiding anything," she snapped. “Just trust me, okay?”

Giyath was speechless momentarily.

"You’re one to talk about trust!" He even recoiled from her, startled by her words. “I wished you dead. I almost killed your beloved prince and the genie you gave that ridiculous nickname to. And now you want me to trust you? If you’re going to stick a knife in my heart, do it right away and stop playing your sanctimonious little games.”

He again stepped on the same rake: expecting an explosion in return, he faced only silence. She just kept wrapping the clean cloth around his wounded hand, carefully, focused, as always, at keeping him out of pain.

When she finally finished bandaging, she glanced at him. Her face was calm and sad.

"So that's what you think of me?" she said evenly. “Do you think that I will be daydreaming of causing you more suffering to a man, blinded by grief? I just wanted to help, and i mean it. I have no pity or hatred for you. I want to help a man who, I know, still have some dignity left."

“Dignity? A naive child,” Giyath laughed bitterly. “I am miserable. I have nothing. My kingdom is destroyed, my family and I are buried in oblivion. My magic... It was literally burned out of me. Even if a miracle happens and this boy prince decides to spare me, I will have nowhere to go.”

She kept staring at him wordlessly, and Giyath continued.

“I will tell you how things will be. Either they will chop my head off, or I will wander for the rest of my days, begging in the markets and hanging out with the beggars. Perhaps one little maid will give me alms out of pity just to shut up her guilt. Or perhaps she will forget about me, and we will never see each other again. One way or another, death awaits me, and there is not a drop of dignity in death.”

Her scarlet lips were still tight when Ghiyath finished his speech. Not a muscle twitched on her face, only her cheeks seemed to have turned a little pale - but he didn't care anymore. Giyath suddenly felt terribly tired, as if a pile of stones had been lowered onto his shoulders. He defiantly turned away, letting her know that he had nothing more to say.

It seemed like an eternity when she finally collected the dirty bandages in a basket and stood up proudly.

“The trial will be in two days. You won't see me tomorrow," she said softly. Regret was heard in her voice, and from this tone of hers, Giyath felt tight in his chest. “Goodbye, Giyath. We will continue this conversation later.”

A long time passed after her footsteps died away in the darkness of the corridor, but Giyath was still sitting motionlessly, facing the dirty wall.

I don't care, he repeated to himself; I have nothing more to lose, and I'm ready to die. But the heart, stupid and stubborn, whose voice he always tried to shut up, continued to hope.

Chapter Text

Next day after her last visit, Giyath woke up completely broken. Either the dampness finished him off; or wounds that were healing too slow, despite all the efforts; or his very body decided to surrender on the eve of the inevitable execution. Whatever the reason was, it didn’t matter anymore. He awoke from a vague nightmare with a terrible headache and body aches, and death now seemed not just an inevitability, but a sweet deliverance.

It was already late, the food had been standing by the grate for a long time, and Giyath forced himself to get up to eat a bit - whether he’s going to die or not, he needed energy. He barely touched his breakfast - food made him vomit immediately. With unwitting tears in his eyes, Giyath gulped water, praying that it would linger in his stomach, and lay back on his wretched bed. There he lay all day in a sickly slumber, and when the guard cursed at the foul-smelling puddle on the floor, Giyath didn’t hear a thing.

When he woke again, pale stars had already replaced a bright square of the sky in the loophole above his head. He was looking at this tiny piece of the night and thinking: how good it is that she won’t see him again. It’s better to let her remember him captivated with the remnants of pride, than a sick prisoner with no remained respect for himself.

***

Early in the morning, he was awakened by the sound of an opening grate.

"Get up," said the guard. “You’re going to the prince.”

Torn out of restless sleep, Ghiyath sat up, looking around absently. He still felt terrible: his head hurt mercilessly, his stomach cramped from nausea and hunger, and a vile sour taste was still in his mouth. They didn’t leave him even the smallest chance for dignity, demanding to come to the future king right now, in this state.

“He will still see me on trial tomorrow. What reins got under his royal tail?”, Giyath replied defiantly.

Frowning, the guard roughly grabbed his elbow and jerked him to his feet. Giyath was immediately led to the side, and he leaned heavily against the wall.

“Say one more word, and I’ll cut off your snake tongue,” the guard barked and pushed Giyath to the exit. “The trial is today. Hoof it.”

“Today? Why?”, Giyath asked in surprise, and received a painful poke in the back.

“His highness doesn't report to me, you know. Now shut the hell up and go ahead.”

***

Moving his unsteady legs, Ghiyath walked through the palace, squinting on the unwonted daylight. The guard led him along the corridors, avoiding the most crowded places (either by accident or on purpose). Not a soul came across them.

Finally, they stopped at the entrance to the main hall. The guard poked him again forcing Giyath to stop, and before knocking on the carved doors, he muttered:

“A message for you, prisoner. "West Gate, Midnight". It's all.”

Giyath's heart skipped a beat.

“Who gave you the message? Who told you this?”, he asked, flustered, but the guard had already turned away, completely indifferent. He knocked twice, and a moment later the doors opened noiselessly, letting them in.

Giyath expected the huge crowd, but the hall was half-empty. Old king's advisers lined along the walls; Giyath noticed a couple of new faces among them. Kahir placed himself on the throne in the center of the hall. But it wasn’t him who Giyath's gaze was riveted to: he stared at the person by the left side of the crown prince.

It was her.

Dressed in sumptuous rose-gold colored silks, she sat like a princess, holding her head high and proud. Her hair was hidden under a veil as rich as her dress. Seeing Giyath, she flinched in her carved chair, her eyebrows raised, then twitched in distress. All this happened in a matter of moments: when Giyath stopped in front of the throne, her face already acquired a majestic expression.

Looking at her, Giyath felt utterly confused. How did a little maid, a merchant from Sinbad's shop, end up in a royal trial, right next to the king’s heir?

An irritated cough distracted him from these thoughts. Turned towards the unpleasant sound, Giyath met Arslan's bright blue eyes. He stood next to the throne, to the Kahir’s right hand, and glared gloomily at Giyath. Seemed like if the genie was allowed to, he would have incinerated Giyath on the spot, without waiting for the verdict. It would really be in his spirit: Arslan have never been really patient. Grinning wryly, Giyath turned away, unwilling to give him not a single drop of his attention, than he already did.

At the same moment, advisers and ministers got up from their seats all at once, filling the room with the rustling of their brocade robes.

The trial has begun.

“Shapur,” Kahir said stately. “Or rather Giyath. Do you know why you are here?”

Giyath remained silent. He has no aspiration to answer obvious questions of the young heir.

“You are accused of a serious crime against the royal family and the people of the Full Moon Kingdom,” the prince continued. His voice was calm, but his hands gripped the armrests so tightly that his knuckles turned white. “You participated in a conspiracy against the king, contributed to the attempt on his life. You made an attempt on my life and on the lives of the citizens of this kingdom. You practiced black magic and intended to break magical taboos in order to usurp the throne. Do you have anything to say in your defense?”

Prince met with stubborn silence once again. Giyath suddenly wanted to laugh. What was happening seemed to him an absurd dream that his inflamed mind dreamed of. The unreality of this ridiculous trial had felt so acutely that he almost convinced himself of it.

Thanks to the same guard who pushed him in the shoulder forcefully - reality again fell upon Giyath again, along with pain.

"Answer the crown prince's questions, you viper, or I'll make you talk," he hissed.

Giyath reeled from the hit, and it took him quite an effort to stand firmly again. He decided to answer anyway - there was nothing to lose.

“No, I have nothing to say in my own defense,” Giyath said with deliberate humility. “His Highness listed my sins so well, even I couldn’t have done it better”.
Indignant voices filled in the room.

"Quiet," Kahir ordered. The advisers fell silent. “There is a man among us who has known Shapur longer than all of us. He has the right to testify against the defendant in this trial - and help the court to determine the punishment”.

Kahir nodded to Arslan, who stepped forward, puffing his chest proudly. He looked at Giyath with frank contempt.

“Yes, I know this man very well,” the genie began, starting to pace the hall. We have known each other since birth. I knew his father and mother…”

"Don't you dare say their names," Ghiyath growled. The blood in his veins seethed with anger.

Throwing an indifferent glance at him, Arslan continued.

“As i just said, I knew his parents too. They were decent people, but unfortunately her majesty was departed this world. Shapur, or rather Prince Ghiyath, became obsessed with black magic, and then his father fell into the same accursed hole. After that, the peace between the Western and Eastern kingdoms collapsed. The raid Of The Forty Thieves led to many tragedies, but the old king was too immersed in the forbidden art. There was no other way out of his madness.”

Giyath knew that nothing good could be expected from this smug genie, and still he saw the red. His hands were trembling, and heart was pounding thunderously in his ears. His greatest sorrow, blinding grief and oblivion… How could Arslan, this supercilious scoundrel, talk about it with such ease, like telling a market tale?

“Now we know for certain that Shapur fell asleep for 60 years after an unsuccessful spell,” Arslan continued to pace in front of a row of advisers who did not take their eyes off him. “He woke up about 10 years ago, regained his strength and entered the palace having ingratiated himself with the vizier.”

Finally, the genie stopped and stared straight at Giyath. His blue eyes turned menacingly blue, almost black, hidden power was splashing in them. But Giyath forced himself to look back, despite his tremendous want to turn away.

“He is smart enough not to deny his heinous crimes against the royal family and the entire Full Moon Kingdom. Well, at least he’s being honest about that. Your Majesty, ministers,” Arslan turned to them, ceasing to boring into Giyath with his damn eyes. “This man has encroached on the life of the king and on the well-being of the people under your protection. If not for Gina's courage, he would have wiped out the entire kingdom without hesitation. Whatever his motives, he deserves a severe and just punishment.”

The genie ended his speech with a slight bow and returned to his seat to the murmur of approval. Ghiyath felt drenched in mud, but he forced himself to draw himself up and raise his head. He couldn't let this abject court to see even the glimpse of weakness in himself.

“Your Majesty, let me speak,” she suddenly turned to the prince. He nodded with a barely perceptible smile.

“Give the floor to the honorary royal adviser,” he proclaimed.

Giyath's jaw dropped.

So, these are the heights this little maid reached.

"I shall be brief," she said softly but firmly. “As far as I know, recent events led the defendant to complete lost of his magic power. There is a witness who can confirm this.”

Gracefully turned to Arslan, she looked at him expressively; the eyes of everyone in the hall riveted to him too. The contented look on his face turned into a frown. Finally, the genie nodded reluctantly.

“For a magician, his strength is his very essence,” she spoke a little louder. “The defendant have lost it, which means that the retribution has already befallen him. Death will be a deliverance for him, not a punishment.”

Giyath looked at her, as if spellbound. A storm of feelings arose in his heart, which even if he wanted to, he could not define. Anger, gratitude, resentment, surprise - everything was there and a thousand times more. She protected him from death - but how cruel her words were! She herself did not raise an eyebrow, did not even change her position in her seat, like a stone figure wrapped in soft pink silk. Her face, turned to Kahir, wore no expression.

“And your wedding is coming tomorrow, Your Majesty. Execution on the eve of such a joyful day can bring misfortune on you.”

The councilors were noisy again, but among the voices of approval there were also doubters.

“Your Majesty, he must not be left alive!” snapped the first minister, who sat closest to the prince. “He can bring much more misfortunes on you than his death will”.

“Her words about a bad omen make sense,” another countered.

“He tried to kill the king, how can you spare him?”

Arslan leaned over and was now saying something passionately in her ear, putting his hand on her shoulder covered with elegant clothes. Giyath suddenly imagined, very clearly, him taking this hand, twisting it at the joint and breaking it in several places at once. He almost heard the snap of breaking bones.

Kahir, surrounded by a swarm of voices, was silent, looking sullenly in front of him. One by one, the ministers began to quiet down, until the ringing silence reigned in the hall. It lasted at least a quarter of an hour before the prince spoke again.

“What all you were saying was reasonable,” he said carefully pronouncing the words. “With your help, I made my decision. Shapur will be banished from the Full Moon Kingdom forever. He has to leave the capital before the new dawn, and cross the borders of the country in twenty days.”

“But Your Majesty…” began the First Minister, but Kahir silenced him with a wave of the hand.

“I’ll make sure that every guard in this country knows this man by sight. If he sets foot on the lands of our kingdom ever again, he will be killed with no hesitation.”

Giyath noticed how she closed her eyes for a moment, and her nostrils fluttered on a quiet exhalation. A lone tear glistened from under his dark lashes; perhaps he only imagined it.

All the same guard escorted Giyath out of the palace. Before slamming the door behind him, he muttered through his teeth:

“West gate, midnight. Now get lost.”

Chapter Text

When Giyath was free, albeit being an exile, it was noon over the city. In the middle of the day, the capital was dying out, scorched by the merciless sun, and few people dared to go outside at such an hour.

Giyath was alone. He wandered along the deserted streets, not making out the road, not paying attention to the heat, barely realizing where he was. It was very easy to imagine that there really wasn't a soul left in the city, and Ghiyath allowed this idea to wrap around his weary mind. It's amazing, he thought: he was in prison for only a few days, and behind the walls of his dungeon a whole city lost all of its inhabitants. He almost believed his foolish fantasy when two soldiers patrolling the streets appeared around the corner.

“Get out, pauper,” one of them barked. Unexpectedly for himself, Giyath threw himself aside and clung against the wall, letting the guards pass.

He had walked for several blocks when the nausea that he had struggled with for the rest of the trial came back in a heavy wave, and Ghiyath vomited bile right at someone's door. His strength left him almost completely. To his luck, right across the street, Giyath saw a dead-end alley where merchants kept empty boxes and barrels. He found a secluded spot in the shade and lowered himself on the ground, stretching out his bare feet covered with dust and spew.

He still wore the same rags in which he had spent his imprisonment: breeches of coarse linen, too short for his height, and his own undershirt - once white, now it was just old rags. His beard had grown indecently, and his long, shoulder-length hair was matted with sweat and dirt. Giyath thought that his own prophecy was being fulfilled. Now he looks exactly like a vagrant who begs through the markets and hides from the guards in dark corners, like a snake hiding under a stone from a hawk.

Exhausted by pain and anger, Giyath fell into a shallow, uneasy sleep.

He woke up in the middle of the darkness, when streets became noisy from the countless voices of people and animals. Sleep brought him almost no relief, but, at least, he had enough strength to get to the city gates.

Giyath have never liked crowded places: he always tried to come to the markets early, when the shops barely opened, so as not to get into the crowd; he also avoided feasts and receptions when he could. Now, being sick and weakened, he was annoyed by the crowded streets more than ever. He literally forced himself to walk, lowering his head so as not to meet anyone's eyes. He felt that if he looked at the human face even for a second, he would vomit on the spot.

Finally, Ghiyath found himself in front of the western gate, where she made an appointment for him. It wasn’t hard to guess who sent him a mysterious message; Giyath had no allies in this city, and she was the only one who still cared about him.

Sitting down on the nearest bench, Giyath waited.

He recalled her at the trial, so cold and beautiful. What did she feel, yesterday the simple servant, albeit close to the prince, when they called her a royal advisor? For some reason, Giyath was sure that she dislikes this title; she was always jarred by formalities.

How did she feel when she realized that Kahir is getting married?

Giyath saw them together many times. They whispered like children in the galleries of the palace, laughed as they strolled through the garden. She was ready to risk her life without hesitation for the crown prince, and he protected her, sparing no effort. She easily recognized the double and freed herself from the obsession that Giyath sent to her. Was it not for this that she saved the life of Giyath - for her precious Kahir would not have to take his life on the eve of the wedding?

Even though it was just a stupid guess, Giyath got angry thinking about it.

Somewhere nearby, a bell rang, announcing the onset of midnight, and Giyath's heart sank.

At that moment, as if by magic, he saw her.

A tiny girl in inconspicuous clothes walked along the city wall, winding through the crowd. Ghiyath instantly recognized her light, quick gait he had seen so many times shopping in the city. A lamp snatched her face out of the darkness, and Giyath realized that he was not mistaken.

She seemed to notice him too and quickened her pace.

"I was hoping the message would reach you," she said, getting down the bench next to him. Giyath could hardly see her face, but he could clearly hear the unspoken apology in her voice.

“It did, obviously.”

Looking around, she quickly pushed a large bundle into his hands.

"I don't have much time, so listen carefully," she said. “There are new clothes, ointment for your wounds, some money and food. A caravan will depart from this gate in an hour, they’re going to the capital of the Western Provinces. You have to go with them, so you will be there in a month. And one more thing.”

She took his hand, the one with minor wounds, and put something small into it. Even through the bandage, Giyath felt a strange warmth emanating from the object. When she removed her hand, he couldn't help but gasp.

It was his magic bead. But when he saw it last time, it was pitch-black; now it was glowing softly on his palm.

"It’s never been like this," Giyath said, discouraged. “I mean, it was, but it’s been a very long time, when I was just starting... What are you... How?”

“I found hit after… After everything,” she said, her voice cracking. “I remember, it was black, but Light's spell seems to have cleansed her. I don't know why, but I feel like you should have it. It has some power, even though I don't understand it. Maybe you will.”

After these words, she abruptly stood up. Ghiyath also got to his feet, putting aside his luggage. He gripped the bead tightly in his hand, feeling the warmth from it spread through his body.

“I have to go before they start looking for me. Don't miss the caravan.”

She was about to leave, but Giyath stopped her by holding the slender shoulder carefully.

“Why? Heavens, tell me, why did you do all this?” he asked for what seemed like the thousandth time.

She remained silent for a whole eternity, although hardly a minute had passed.

“I just do what my heart tells me,” she answered hoarsely, through force. “And it says - stop the blood. Stop the malice. You did bad things because bad things happened to you once, and I wanted this vicious cycle to be broken. Take it as a gift and just live, okay? And don't you dare make me regret my decision.”

They stood opposite each other, silent, and at that moment something fragile, intangible appeared between them. This feeling was so clear that Giyath involuntarily held his breath, afraid to frighten it away. It seemed to him that a ghostly thread stretched to her small palm from his hand - the one in which he still held the magic bead. He blinked, but the mirage was still there: now Giyath clearly discerned a gentle glow, tangled around her thin fingers.

"You're a strange little maid," he said under his breath. “How many odd ideas do you have in that head?”

She recoiled, and the magic dissipated in an instant.

“Farewell, Giyath. Be safe.”

Dark eyes flashed softly in the night - and now she is already walking straight into the crowd, not turning around, as if delay was as dangerous as fire.

***

Giyath met the first light of a new day in the desert.

When the caravan settled down to sleep in the shade of lonely rocks, he fell asleep, barely lying down in his tiny hut.

He dreamed of a palace. But not the one from where he was kicked out the day before, like a beaten dog. It was his father's palace, the place where he spent the most carefree days of his life and which he lost forever.

Ghiyath walked along the bright, breezy corridors, and every detail on his way was familiar to him - from the pattern of a luxurious carpet to the color of the stone walls. His feet carried him to the place where he hadn’t been since childhood - to his mother's favorite garden. It was a tiny courtyard with huge roses bloomed, tender as a kiss and scarlet as the dawn.

A woman was waiting for him in the garden. She bent down to smell the beautiful rose. In a moment, she turned to Giyath, and it made his heart sank and then flung open.

His mother's eyes looked at him. The face he thought he had forgotten forever was right in front of him, perfectly clear, just the same as it was in his childhood. Giyath marveled at himself; how could he forget it so easily?

“Mother?”

The queen smiled so happily, so cheerfully, as no one had ever smiled at him in his entire life.

“Hello, my son. Were you looking for me?”

“I…” Giyath stammered, embarrassed. “I wanted you to come back.”

Her smile faded a little, but it didn't die out, just turned from joyful to sad. The queen approached Giyath, gently took his palms and held it tightly.

"Oh, my dear," she said kindly. "Don't you know that I can’t come back from where I've gone?"

Giyath only nodded; a painful lump in his throat didn’t let him speak.

“But it looks like you found me. Come, sit here with me.” She led him to a small bench hidden in the bushes. “She helped you, didn't she? This girl you're thinking about right now?”

Giyath held his mother's hand - warm and firm, like it always was - and felt like his soul was filling with peace as never before. Yes, he thought about this little maid; every second she occupied his thoughts, and he couldn't do anything about it. He didn’t really want to, actually.

“I don’t know. But she seems to have really helped me.”

Mother smiled at him gently.

“Very good. She did the right thing. Now it's your turn to do the right thing, son. Do you know what you should do?”

He shook his head.

The Western Kingom was known for its school of magic for centuries. But was there a place for Giyath, whose powers disappeared in a fiery battle? He had no idea. And yet the magic bead glimmered, reminding him of an unspoken promise: not to make her regret.

“It’s fine. You will find the answer. You have always been a very smart boy, Giyath. I'm very proud of you, you know?”

“I did a lot of bad things,” Giyath whispered. “I caused pain and suffering. I did the wrong thing, and it almost destroyed the whole world. I shouldn't live, but I do, and that's worse than death.”

But mother just kept smiling.

“Then it's time for atonement.”