Chapter Text
Jamil isn’t certain where it all went wrong. Maybe it was when Kalim saw him sending out college applications and decided to copy him. Maybe it was when Kalim’s letter came back emblazoned with the crest of the Royal Sword Academy. How he’d crushed Jamil’s heart in two with a casual, “Don’t worry, Jamil! I’m sure they’ll let us go together!”
Jamil knew what that meant. His own letter of acceptance to Night Raven College, tucked up back in his own room, was as worthless as fire kindling. If Kalim were to go so far from home, then he would need a servant, and as always, Jamil would be forced to play the role. Kalim kept on chattering about how exciting it would be, the two of them off on an adventure, but Jamil wasn’t listening, movement mechanical as he tucked his heart away, only letting out the despair in the privacy of solitude.
But then Kalim, naive, impulsive Kalim, decided he wanted to go alone. No servants, no Jamil. And he stuck to it. Fighting even his own father to a verbal standstill to get him to agree, albeit with a few compromises. The Royal Sword Academy had hosted royals from all over the world, it had protocols put in place for their protection. Kalim would have only the finest magic protecting him. And of course, he was to call every day to ensure his safety.
Jamil was surprised Kalim was so determined, and perhaps a bit offended. After all, Kalim had been so insistent that they would go together, only to change his mind so quickly. But Kalim had reassured him, large garnet eyes brimming with sincerity, that if anything went wrong, he’d call him immediately, since he would be at Night Raven College, only a magic carpet’s ride away.
Jamil didn’t know how Kalim found out he got into Night Raven College. He’d hidden it from his parents, and Najima certainly hadn’t told. But he couldn’t focus on the mystery, not when the euphoric joy swirling in his heart threatened to swallow him whole. He was going to Night Raven College. And finally, Finally! He would be free of Kalim.
With one Caveat.
A ringing interrupted his musings, and he reached over to the top of the small chest of drawers he’d managed to claim before his roommates could. He pulled his magicam off the top, cast a glance at his still sleeping roommates, before slipping into the hallways to answer it.
The Magicam lit up with the image of a very dishevelled Kalim, clunky mascara running down his cheeks as he pulled at his hopelessly tangled turban.
“Jamil!” He sheaked. “Help!”
Jamil held in a sigh. This would take a while.
—----
Before Kalim had left for Royal Sword Academy, Jamil had done his best to prepare him for a life without servants, but two months was not enough to prepare someone who had never so much as dressed himself once.
He’d focused his efforts on the basics: how to tie a tie and adjust a belt, how to make a basic sandwich, how to brew basic antidotes. What alarms were and how to set them. How to use a map. Finer details, like tying his shoes or the art of a perfect catseye, were left to the wayside. Kalim would have to make do with sandals and mascara.
It wasn’t enough. Not nearly enough, and when Jamil had sent him off, weighed down by heavy bags full of uncomplicated clothing (so he could put it on easier), golden jewelry (silver would tarnish), dry foods (so he wouldn’t starve), and all the antidotes Jamil could manage to fit, he’d known it was only a matter of time before it all went wrong.
He just wasn’t expecting it to be quite so soon. The school hadn’t even officially started yet. Jamil didn’t know how they did things in Royal Sword Academy, but he himself had only just been sorted into Scarabia last night. But it was Kalim. What did he expect?
“Slow down,” He chastened the frantic boy, voice taking on a soothing tone he saved for when Kalim was particularly frantic. “What exactly is wrong?”
“Everything!” Kalim cried. “I was trying to dress up, to make a good impression, you know? But I can’t get the turban right!”
Of course he couldn’t. He hadn’t succeeded once despite Jamil’s numerous attempts to teach him.
“Do you need to wear it?” Jamil asked.
“I’m an Asim!” Kalim replied, back straightening as he quoted his father, “I have to make a good impression on those who will one day be my equals.”
“Right,” Jamil rubbed his temples. Stupid Master Asim and his stupid expectations. Didn’t he know his son at all? He’d be lucky if Kalim got through this in one piece, much less make a good impression.
“Could you walk me through it?” Kalim asked, hope in his voice. “I’m sure if you tell me what to do, I could do it. I know you can’t get here in time to do it yourself.”
No he certainly could not! Jamil shuttered at the casual suggestion. The last thing he wanted to do was walk Kalim through putting on a turban when he should be preparing for his own first impression. But he needed Kalim to succeed. If he didn’t…then it would be Jamil’s own future that would suffer. So he grit his teeth, took a deep breath, and grabbed a tea towel from the bathroom.
“Just follow my movements,” He instructed as he pulled the tea towel around his head. It didn’t feel wet, so it was unlikely any of his doormates had used it yet. Small mercies. Carefully, he began the painstaking process of tying and re-tying it around his head like a turban. It took a while, but finally the image through the magicam held a semi-decent turban.
“Good,” Jamil sighed as he dropped his arms, nearly numb from how long they’d been in the air. “That’s good. You did it.”
“Really?” Kalim gave an excited squeal. “Thank you, Jamil! You’re the best!”
“Happy to help.” Jamil gives Kalim a half smile, hopeful that it was over, and he could now go and get ready for his own first day. But Kalim doesn’t hang up, instead he shifts a bit, looking nervous.
“Kalim?” He prompts, trying to get the boy to finish.
“Can I call you later?” He blurts out. “I know you’ve got a big day, but I just miss you so much…”
“You saw me two days ago.” Jamil sighs. It wasn’t even the longest they’d been apart.
“I know, I just…” Kalim fiddled with the gold rings on his fingers. “I’m all alone here. And I know it's the same island, but it feels like you’re so far away…”
Jamil took in the slump of Kalim’s shoulders and held back his frustration. It was Kalim’s own choice to go alone. What did he expect? But homesickness was to be expected, and if Jamil didn’t want to get sent to the Royal Sword Academy, he needed to make sure Kalim stuck through it.
“Of course you can call me,” He gave Kalim his best smile. “You know I’m never too far away to spend time with you.”
Kalim’s face lit up, mouth twisting into a wide smile that looked practically garish with the mascara still streaked on his cheeks. Speaking of…
“Don’t forget to redo your makeup. It’s not waterproof,” he advised. Kalim gave a squeak, but before he could ask for more help, Jamil cut in. “Make-up wipes are in the fourth pocket of your red bag.”
“Thanks Jamil,” Kalim looked up sheepishly. “I really don’t know what I’d do without you.”
“Good thing you have me,” Jamil joked with a trace more irony than was strictly permitted, not that Kalim would notice.
Kalim opened his mouth once more, but before he could talk, Jamil felt the door behind him move. “I have to go,” he cried, hitting the end button on the call. The door swung open to see one of Jamil’s roommates. What was his name? Hamad? Something like that.
Hamad blinked down at him. “Why are you sitting in the hallway?”
“No reason,” Jamil sat up, making a show of dusting himself off. “I just didn’t want to bother anyone who was still asleep.”
“I thought I heard another voice.” Hamad frowned, eyes still suspicious.
“It is a dorm,” Jamil shrugged. “Plenty of people.”
“Riiight,” Hamad said, giving him a suspicious once-over. “Well, I’m going to the bathroom, so scoot over.”
Jamil obligingly stepped out of his way, face a mask of polite smiles he used when meeting a nobleman. He needed to keep a cordial relationship with his roommates, he reminded himself; there was no need to start fights over nothing.
“By the way,” Hamad looked over his shoulder at Jamil with a smirk. “Nice turban.”
Jamil’s hands flew to his head, where the tea towel was still haphazardly wrapped. Seven Damn it! There goes making a good first impression!
—----------------
Classes at Night Raven College were everything Jamil had hoped for and more. Sure, they were mostly going over introductions and syllabi right now, but he could already tell he was going to love it here. Potions, spells, and everything he could ever possibly hope to learn were all at his fingertips. This was the opportunity of a lifetime, and he was not going to waste it.
He was still riding that high when he stepped into the cafeteria and was abruptly reminded of the great truth of middle school: where you sit matters.
Now, Jamil hoped that college students were more mature than that, but he didn’t want to risk it on his first day. He scanned the tables, looking for someone familiar.
The scarabian students appeared to be mostly gathered on the left side of the cafeteria, in spiralling rings around their Housewarden, who was sitting proudly in the middle, wearing clothing worth easily twice what Jamil’s whole family made in a year combined. He had clearly just made some kind of joke, and his sycophants were all falling over themselves to laugh.
Jamil turned his head away, struggling to keep his face neutral. He was well aware of the housewarden, Iftikar Al Asim, a distant cousin of both Kalim’s and royalty, which he never let anyone forget. Thankfully, Iftikar was not familiar with the Viper family name, considering servants' names beneath him. Jamil hoped it stayed that way. The last thing he wanted here was the attention of another Asim.
Still, completely ignoring him would bring its own kind of attention. People like that despised it when they thought someone wasn’t worshipping the ground they walked on. For all Kalim’s many, many faults, at least he’d never expected that of Jamil. He’d have died.
He looked over the edges of the scarabia tables, on the outskirts of the Housewarden’s influence. As he expected, most of the first years were gathered there, the ones who weren’t from especially important families that might catch Iftikar’s notice. Perfect. But which one?
His eyes met Hamad’s across the room. The boy gave him a smirk, and Jamil looked away, remembering the tea towel incident from this morning. Nope. He was not going to give him more time to laugh at him. He’d wait until the incident faded from his memory a little more first.
His gaze landed on another table, where his quietest roommate sat, a parrot beast man, reading a book. Aun was it? Perfect. He’d been asleep at the time and definitely hadn’t seen Jamil’s little screwup. And he looked too shy to engage. Even now, he wasn’t talking to anyone else at his table.
Jamil put on his best smile and walked over to Aun. “Is this seat taken?” He asked with his gentlest servant voice, the one he used when Kalim was especially upset and needed assurance.
Aun looked up at him in surprise, but he shook his head. Jamil gave him a crisp, “Thanks,” before sitting down and digging into his food. Aun stared at him. Jamil kept his smile firmly on his face. “How has your day been Aun?”
His phone buzzed in his pocket.
Aun stared harder. Jamil fought to keep his smile on his face as he continued. “I’ve had a wonderful time. I think spellwork is the class I’m looking forward to the most.”
His phone buzzed again, more insistently. Jamil ignored it. “What about you?”
“I think someone’s trying to reach you.” Aun whispers.
Jamil held in a sigh. “Excuse me, one moment?” He said as he checked his phone.
Kalim, because who else besides Kalim would be texting him right now? Had been writing quite a bit, his name in text still saved as K<3 after Jamil was warned by older servants not to have Kalim’s name in his phone, so no one who got his hands on it could reach the Asims. Who would target a middle school servant’s phone was lost on Jamil, but Kalim had been delighted at the thought of code names and put in his own into Jamil’s phone. Jamil had been meaning to change it, but he kept forgetting.
K<3: Jamil.
K<3: How likely is cafeteria food to be poisoned?
K<3: Should I take it from the top or the bottom?
K<3: Which is safest?
K<3: I went with the bottom, since it’s harder to reach.
K<3: Does this look poisoned?
A photo was included, showing a tray of perfectly normal cafeteria food, albeit slightly fancier. Jamil sighed.
JAMIL: It’s fine. No one would poison an entire cafeteria’s food; there are way too many students eating it to be specific. Just be sure to take from where others have taken, and you’ll be fine.
He slipped his phone back in his pocket, only to look up and see Aun staring at him. Jamil gave his best innocent face. “My friend is just making an inside joke,” he offered. “He’s not serious.”
The phone buzzed again, and Jamil closed his eyes in resignation. Praying it was normal, he carefully opened his phone.
K<3: I miss your cooking so much! It’s so much better than this!
Jamil rolled his eyes.
JAMIL: Don’t let the cafeteria chefs hear you say that. You need them to like you so they won't poison you.
K<3: THEY COULD?
JAMIL: Just eat your lunch.
Jamil smirked slightly as he turned his phone off and slipped it into his pocket, fully revelling in the fact that he could do so at all. Let Kalim stew in worry for a bit longer; Jamil had food to eat.
He looked up to see Aun still staring at him. Jamil quickly adjusted his face into a mask of pleasantness. “Is something wrong?”
Aun shook his head. “It’s just nice to see your friend reaching out.” He whispered. Jamil was beginning to wonder if he only spoke in whispers. “Does he go to this school?”
“No,” Jamil shook his head, torn between wanting this conversation to continue and wishing with all his might that it was about anything other than Kalim. How was he still the center of his life when he wasn’t ever here? “He goes to a different school. He’s just checking in on me.”
“Again?” A familiar voice broke through the conversation. Jamil winced as Hamad appeared over his shoulder. “Didn’t you already talk this morning?”
“That was an emergency.” Jamil sniffed. “He needed advice.”
“What emergency? Did it involve teatowels?” Hamad grinned. Jamil clenched his fist, resisting the urge to punch the boy in the face. It seems his new roommate was determined to spread Jamil’s embarrassment to everyone they knew. How typical. Well, that didn’t mean Jamil had to put up with it.
“If you’ll excuse me, I’m done and I’ve got to find the library before class.” Jamil stood to his full height, relishing in how it was several inches above Hamad’s. The boy shrunk back.
“Hey I was only teasing…” He started, but Jamil turned on his heel and stomped out of the cafeteria. So much for making friends.
----------------
He managed to avoid both Hamad and Aun for most of the afternoon. It helped that they didn’t really have many classes together. Jamil was alone in class 1A while the others were in class 1B, leaving him safe among the anonymity of strangers. It also helped that his classmates were all significantly more attention-grabbing than he. A teal-haired merman in particular drew attention with his complete lack of respect for the teachers and learning, instead focusing almost exclusively on how red he could make his poor seatmate’s face go. Jamil thought this was a particularly poor strategy, given the red-cheeked, red-haired youth was far stronger, magically speaking, if the single class-sanctioned spell he cast for class was anything to go by. Jamil made sure to give them a wide berth. No need to end up in the middle of that mess.
But once classes were done, Jamil found himself at a loss. He didn’t have much in the way of homework, since he had done most of it in the library after he’d fled the cafeteria at lunch. He didn’t want to risk going back to his dorm and running into Hamad again, or even Aun, but that didn’t leave a lot of places. He supposed he could look for clubs, but no, the club fair wasn’t officially until next week, so he was out of luck. Maybe do his chores? No. There was no Kalim to do them for.
It was strange. Now he had time to do exactly what he wanted, and no idea what to spend it doing.
When Kalim called, it was honestly more of a relief.
Jamil listened to Kalim ramble on about his day, all the people he met, how he was trying to survive all by himself (what a joke, did he have any idea how much it took to keep him functioning?) And beg him for advice. It was kind of…not nice, never nice, but nostalgic in a way, like the familiar feeling of gravity as it crushed you to the earth. Helping Kalim was what he knew how to do. What he was made to do, ever since he was old enough to walk. It was familiar, safe.
Kalim showed him his dinner, a plain cheese sandwich which he was far too proud of himself for making, and Jamil found himself actually smiling. No doubt in relief for not being summoned to RSA to cook a whole meal and fly back, of course. When Kalim turned the conversation back on him.
“Have you made any friends?” Kalim asked.
Jamil suppressed a wince. “I’ve been getting to know my dormmates,” he claimed, technically not a lie.
“Oh that’s wonderful!” Kalim clapped his hands, his ruby eyes shining. “I was a bit worried you’d be lonely without me, -” As if Jamil ever would! “-but i’m glad you’re making friends! What are their names?”
“Hamad and Aun.” Jamil answered without thinking, then added hastily. “But I wouldn’t call us friends. We just met today.”
“Oh, I suppose that's true.” Kalim sighed. “Well, you keep working on it okay? School life is no fun without friends!”
Jamil couldn’t resist a snort at that. Kalim had never been to a proper school before in his life. “I’m sure I’ll manage.” He replied dryly. “Now eat your sandwich. You worked hard on it after all.”
He hung up again, relishing in the quiet pleasure of being able to shut Kalim up with the simple tap of a button, before turning back to the direction of the hall of mirrors. It was time to stop hiding like a coward. He wasn’t going to let Kalim of all people have a better school life than him. Not today, and not ever.
Confidence restored, he made his way back to Scarabia, only to find it a flutter of activity. Bewildered, he stopped in front of the entrance and stared. What was going on?
“You there! Firstie!” an Upperclassman approached Jamil with a scowl on his face. What are you doing, loligagging around? Get to your assigned task!”
“My apologies,” Jamil replied smoothly, years of training kicking in. “Where might I find the assignments?”
“You don’t even know?” The upperclassman threw up his hands in annoyance. “Where have you been all evening? You know what? Don’t answer that, just go help in the kitchens or something. They always need it.”
With a wave of his hand, he dismissed Jamil, and Jamil, not wanting to stick around to further incur his wrath, took off to the kitchens like a shot. He was still very confused as to what was going on, but it didn’t matter. He had practically grown up in a kitchen, it was some of the first work he was ever assigned. No matter what task was given, he was sure he would excel.
If he was lucky, he’d even get to cook. Nothing like the delicious smell of home-cooked food to redeem himself in his classmates' eyes. It might not be Jamil’s favorite activity, but there was no denying his skills.
Unfortunately for him, that wish did not survive first contact with the kitchen itself. All the cooking positions were taken by second or third-years, whereas first years were regulated to chopping, cleaning, and otherwise easy tasks. A smart call given how little they knew about the first years’ skills in the kitchen, but Jamil would have to wait longer if he wished to put his skills to use. But no matter, he could be patient.
The third year didn’t even look up as he gestured for Jamil to move to the chopping block. Jamil quickly stepped into line, not wanting to be the reason the rhythm of the kitchen was disturbed. He could work with this. In short order, he cored, sliced, and diced the peppers in front of him, and turned to the side, ready to start again, only to come face to face with Aun.
Jamil froze, but Aun only looked around him at the finely diced peppers and back at his own sadly chopped lot. “You’re fast,” he whispered, admiration in his voice.
Jamil forced himself to relax. “Of course I am. I grew up helping my mom in the kitchen.” Not a lie, but not the complete truth.
Aun smiled at him. “It's still impressive.” He said. Then hesitated. “Look…about lunch…”
Jamil’s lips thinned. “If this is about what Hamad said…”
“I’m sorry!”
Jamil blinked. “Pardon?”
Aun fidgeted with his fingers, not looking at Jamil. “Hamad likes to tease, but sometimes he takes things too far. I should have said something to shut him down before he chased you out of the cafeteria.”
“He didn’t chase me,” Jamil objected, pride not allowing him to admit he’d basically run out with his tail between his legs, but Aun kept going.
“I figured you’d be hungry, so I grabbed you some food.” Aun reached into his pocket and pulled out a bag of mixed nuts. Not exactly the fanciest of foods, but Aun looked proud.
Jamil made sure to smile as warmly as he could. He wasn’t in the Asim’s house anymore, where only the finest delicacies and gifts were handed out like party favors. He’d always hated those gifts, especially when someone was willing to offer one to a servant. It always came with strings attached, with the exception of Kalim, who was just an idiot. These nuts, though simple, seemed worth so much more.
“Thank you,” he said, clutching the nuts tighter. Aun beamed at him.
“It’s the least I could do,” he replied. “Hamad’s my cousin, so I know exactly how annoying he can get.”
“I see. Your family must be thrilled to have two members accepted into such a prestigious school.” Jamil offered, as he slipped the nuts into his pocket and turned back to the task at hand.
“Oh yeah! Grandpa’s thrilled. He says it's all thanks to his special genes. He’s always going on about how we’re descended from the advisors of sultans.”
“You’re a noble?” Jamil paused. He hadn’t expected that. Aun laughed, a high, cackling thing.
“Not in the least! But you know how old people are. If they’re to be believed, half my village is descended from royalty.”
“They do produce a lot of children,” Jamil sighs, remembering the massive harem Kalim's father had, which somehow still always seemed too small for the rapidly growing number of children.
Aun laughed his strange cackling laugh again. “You can say that again!”
The two fell into easy conversation as they continued to slice and dice the vegetables placed in front of them. It was nice, and Jamil couldn’t help but feel like he’d finally made a friend. Aun was not nearly as quiet as Jamil thought. Once he got talking, he rarely stopped, but Jamil didn’t mind. He was used to near constant prattle. He’d grown up with Kalim.
Gradually, they ran out of things to chop, so they found themselves standing around with nothing to do. This did not go unnoticed by the third years, who called out to them.
“Hey! Stop wasting time and get over here!” A particularly tall third year in an apron called to them. “We need more hands to serve the food.”
Jamil trotted over obediently, well used to this kind of work. Aun, however, looked confused.
“Where are we supposed to take it?” He whispered to Jamil.
“Just follow the other students carrying food,” Jamil whispered back, covering for the fact that he, too, had no idea where they were supposed to be going. “We’ll do as they do.”
The trail of students led them back to the common room, now transformed to be almost unrecognisable. If Jamil didn’t know better, he’d think he’d stepped back into the Asim’s manner. But no. The gauzy curtains were synthetic, not silk; the long, low couches were dressed in bright red velvet, but the cheap kind, not the ones spun by fairies in Briar Valley. The gold decorations were clearly plated, and the lovely table was mahogany, not ebony imported directly from the grand forests of the Queendom of Roses. All in all, it looked more like a cheap knock-off than anything of worth.
Perhaps Jamil would have given it more credit; it was impressive for a bunch of students to put together after all, if their Housewarden were not lounging at the head of the table, looking smugly down on those bringing him food.
Iftikar Al Asim could not be more clearly trying to imitate the main family, and was failing rather poorly. He’d always watched Kalim so intently on the off times he visited, hanging on to his every word like gold. Now here he was, trying desperately to bring to life what Kalim did effortlessly. It was pathetic. Jamil wondered what Kalim would say if he saw it. Probably something far too charitable.
Keeping his face neutral, Jamil placed his tray on the table in front of the housewarden and then stepped back into the flow of other students. He had to hold in a smirk as he saw Iftikar take a single bite of the food before declaring it passable and waving a hand for another student to take it and place it further down the table. From his place, Jamil could tell every dish had a bite taken out of it. Clearly Iftikar thought this was some kind of powerplay, but Jamil just wanted to laugh. The food in the Asim’s household had bites taken out of it to show it had already been tested for poison and was safe to eat. Did Iftikar think Kalim or his father did that? The mental image was enough to bring a smile to his face.
At that moment, Iftikar looked up, eyes locking on Jamil. Jamil froze, a smile still on his face, as Iftikar scanned him up and down. Did he recognise him?
Then Iftikar’s face broke into a smile of its own, “Is that hunger I see in your eyes? Come! Join in the feast!” He spread his hands wide. “This is Scarabia. We are all mages here.”
That seemed to be some kind of signal, as all the second and third years instantly stopped their work and rushed to find a seat. The first-years and Jamil followed after them, taking tentative seats at the furthest from the head of the table. Jamil noted the food looked of poorer quality here.
So that was his game then, Jamil thought as he dug in. Performing the acts of benevolence and equality, while reinforcing that it all came through him specifically. A generous sultan who could take it all away if angered. It would be impressive, but Jamil had seen real power. Whatever Iftikar pretended, he would be removed at the end of the year, earlier if someone challenged him and won. Kalim’s father, now there was power. A man who could make sultans bow and Kings wait. The kind of power that needed no emphasis. It simply was, and everyone else had to scramble to fall in line around it.
Even Kalim was better at throwing parties than this. Jamil would know; he was the reason most of them succeeded. Kalim’s charisma was such that he could make every guest feel equal, if only for a moment. There was no need to compete for his favor, as it was dispensed regularly and to all. People would leave feeling seen, their needs met down to the smallest detail (in large part from Jamil’s own efforts to research their tastes and accommodate them from behind the scenes), and it would make them, while not necessarily loyal, at least less likely to slip poison in Kalim’s drink the next time they met. Such effortless charm gliding over the backs of hard work, it was the kind of double attack that made even the toughest opponents soften.
This party, by contrast, was clearly heretical, with the second- and third-year students vying for Iftikar’s attention. His posse in particular would shoot venomous looks at each other, clearly trying to take each other down. Not that the Asims weren't the same way, but at least the wives made nice in front of Kalim’s father. His fellow first years, in contrast, sat farther away, in less comfortable chairs, eating food just slightly burned.
Jamil had thought he’d escaped politics when he left the Asims, but it seems he’d only traded down. Just his luck.
At least with Aun at his side, it was much more tolerable. The two traded looks over the slightly burnt food and snickered.
“You gotta wonder if the person who made this didn’t want to waste ingredients, or if they really thought it was edible.” Aun whispered.
“Clearly they don’t have a tongue,” Jamil replied. “Or any sense of smell.”
He pulled out Aun’s nuts and popped one in his mouth, hoping it would help clear away the taste. It didn’t do much, but at least it was something.
“Is that Aun’s trail mix?” Hamad called over from Aun’s other side. “For the love of the seven, please pass it down. I think this dish is legit going to kill me.”
“No.” Jamil gave him a sharp smile. “Get your own.”
“I’m not giving you any.” Aun sniffed. “The whole reason I gave some to him was to make up for your rude behavior.”
“All I did was ask who he was talking to,” Hamad grumbled loudly. “You didn’t see it! He could be in a cult for all we know!”
“I am not in a cult,” Jamil growled. “I was just helping a friend out.”
“You did text him about poison.” Aun gave Jamil a sideways grin. “You gotta admit, it doesn’t look good.”
“That was a joke and you know it.” Jamil snapped, beginning to question his friendship choices. “He just has a weird sense of humor.”
“I don’t know,” Hamad grinned. “It’s not looking good for you.”
He was clearly baiting Jamil, but he wasn’t going to fall for it. Not this time. Jamil sealed his lips with a scowl and looked away.
Down the table, he could see the second and third years had stopped eating, and were all now looking at Iftikar expectantly.
“I think something is happening,” he whispered to Aun.
“Don’t think you can get out of this…” Hamad started but cut off to the sound of an elbow hitting fabric. (A sound Jamil knew very well from when he was younger and had to use it on Kalim).
“He’s right.” Aun agreed. “Look.”
Iftikar stood up and raised his goblet. A light tap on its side was enough to bring the whole room to a close. “Now you first years may not know this, but in Scarabia, we never end a feast without a party game to crack the ice. And what is better to crack it than the truth?”
With a wave of his wand, every seat plate lit up with a number. Jamil himself found he was staring down at the number 46. Aun to his right was 48, and Hamad 50. Jamil turned his head and noted the numbers went up the closer you got to Iftikar, who was himself labeled 1.
“The rules of the game are simple.” Iftikar lifted the cup, and placed two dice inside. “I will shake this cup, and two numbers will appear. The first number read will ask the second a question that they must answer truthfully. And don’t try to lie,” Iftikar waved a fat finger. “Because the seat will glow red if you do.”
The first numbers called were 10, a stoic-looking third year, and 19, a conniving-looking second. “How did your family’s business do this year?” 19 asked.
“Adiqute,” 10 sniffed. His seat lit up a brilliant red.
“Oh that’s too bad,” Iftikar gave out a fake coo, and Jamil could see the knuckles on 10’s hands grow white as he gripped his now red chair. “Looks like someone will need to reinvest!”
His crownies chuckled around him, and 19 looked triumphant, eyeing Iftikar with a clear desire for praise.
Ah. Jamil saw it now. Under the guise of a simple ice-breaker, this game would allow Iftikar and his cronies to gain information about their rivals. And as an unknown, the first-years were currently the prime targets. He had no doubt that anything Iftikar learned he would use against them in some way, all to keep them in line.
His fears were confirmed when the next numbers called were 27 and 56. The second year holding the 27 position asked the small first year what his greatest fear was, and then laughed when he said bugs. Iftikar gently offered to put the kid on cleaning duty so he could “overcome his fear.” The poor kid looked terrified.
This went on and on; some people got light questions, others got pointed shots. It was never clear what you would get, and Jamil could feel the tension rising in the room.
Finally, the numbers called out were “15, 48,”
Aun went white.
“What’s your least favorite food?” the Third-year asked, looking bored.
“Crackers,” Aun whispered.
Iftikar raised his hand to his ear. “What was that? I didn’t hear you?”
“Crackers!” Aun shouted, his voice giving a very embarrassing crack in the middle of it. It was the loudest Jamil had heard him speak, and with the way some of their classmates hid their chuckles, he could see why.
“I guess Polly doesn’t want a cracker,” the third-year laughed.
Aun shrank in his seat.
“Oh please, like he hasn’t heard that one before,” Hamad said loudly. “Can’t you think of anything original?”
The room went dead silent.
“I believe we have a volunteer for the next round.” Iftikar purred. “What’s your name, boy?”
“Mohammad Qursan.” Hamad said, arms crossed.
“Let’s see who’s asking him a question.” He turned the cup, and pulled it away, revealing a single 1.
“Looks like it's me.” Iftikar smiled. “How exciting! Tell me, what is your darkest secret?”
The audience gasped, but Hamad didn’t flinch, looking back at Iftikar defiantly. “I’ve been stealing the cashews from Aun’s special trail mix and blaming it on the dog.”
There was a beat of silence as everyone stared at Hamad, broken only by Aun’s outraged scream. “YOU were the one who kept STEALING MY CASHEWS????”
“Wait…what?” Iftikar blinked, clearly taken aback. “That’s your darkest secret? Really?”
“Yes.” Hamad raised his chin. “What, did you think I was some freak with something to hide?”
“You’re gonna be dead when I’m through with you.” Aun hissed. “Those cashews were expensive!”
Jamil couldn’t help it. He laughed. It looked like Hamad had more guts than he realized. All around him, other first years were also starting to chuckle. The tension of the earlier game was gone.
Iftikar clearly noticed, and he did not look happy. “Let’s return to the game, shall we?”
He shook the cup again and rolled out the dice, but once again, 50 showed up, along with Jamil’s own 46. Jamil’s heart clenched, but Iftikar looked down at it with a veiled smile. “It looks like 46 will be asking you another question.”
“No, no. I answered a question. So it’s my turn.”
“The higher number asks the questions…”
“Don’t bullshit me,” Hamad waved a hand, “19 asking 10 was literally the first one!” He turned to Jamil. “Who keeps calling you, Jamil?”
Jamil stiffened as the attention of the whole room landed on him, internally cursing Hamad out in his mind. He should set the man on fire. Or feed him to a tiger…Kalim wouldn’t notice.
No, he needed to think. Kalim Al Asim was the answer, but if he said that name, then Iftikar would make the connection to a certain long-haired servant always trailing behind Kalim and he could kiss his freedom goodbye. There was no way Iftikar wouldn’t jump at the opportunity to put a “born servant” to work, especially one reserved for his cousin. But then, how to answer truthfully?
There was really only one way to avoid catastrophe. He took a deep breath and answered.
“The most important person in my life.”
Technically true. Like it or not, Kalim was the centre of his universe since he’d known how to crawl. His parents had ensured it. But saying it like this implied…
“Oh my seven,” Aun gasped. “You have a BOYFRIEND?”