"Do we need this many arrows?" I asked Ali as he fixed and steadied the whole quiver onto his saddle.

He smirked. "One could simply never have enough. Plus they're specially designed for me," pulling one out, he balanced the arrow on his fingertips. "The balance, the flexibility," his fingers bent it slightly. "The tip is made of obsidian," I watched him, fascinated by his interest and his passion. "I designed it. The head pierces through human flesh in seconds, nearly impossible to recover from."

"And the feathers? Are those yours too?"

"From the royal sigil. No one else is allowed to have these." He flipped the arrowhead. "Look at the tip, if you look really closely, you can see my initials. Every royal house has theirs so there is no doubt who killed who. No one else can use these."

"Fancy," I said, chewing the inside of my cheek, swallowing the laugh that threatened to escape my mouth. A healer and a warrior. We were quite a match.

I wish I had laughed then, if only for him to continue the conversation for a little while because that was all the conversation we'd managed to have in the past ten days.

Ten days of constant travel, of endless sand dunes and the swaying movement of the litter. I was nearly at the end of my patience, debating if I should get into an argument with Ali of wanting to ride on a horse. That would at least allow me to see the landscape around me, to feel Ali's presence and enjoy his company.

We'd barely had any time together. I only saw him when he came back, tired from those never-ending meetings, and in the mornings when he helped me pack for the next day of travel.

I missed him. Missed talking to him. Missed waking up beside him. Missed his silence.

Even Ayesha and Haleema had tired of the trip, their gazes searching for something. Ayesha had taken to sneaking out of the tent for brief periods of time at night and I'd pretended to be ignorant about her budding relationship with Hamza.

Someone should have fun.

On the other hand, Haleema had all but given up on this journey. Her tired, anxious gaze was now beginning to haunt me.

Hence, I'd become a professional at avoiding the gazes of those around me, especially that of the boy with the green eyes, who took every opportunity to burn through me with the heat of his discomfiting stare.

Mehmet was still an unsolved issue, his disappointment searing through me.

On our tenth day, we managed to reach the City of Tunis, a major stop among the way. We stood outside the Bab el Bahr, greeted by the second in command to Abu Zakariya, the newly inherited ruler of the city. He led us through the city, our procession winding down the street. As we passed, a sudden breeze cut through the clopping of horseshoes and the narrow alley of abandoned buildings, slicing through the stone hollow in a frenzy of air and sound.

For a moment, I thought I'd heard a shout in the distance. Beside me, Ayesha and Haleema paused as well.

The breeze died down. The whorls of sand and dust falling to the ground.

But all was not right. That much was evident.
I felt it in the air.

Just as I saw the distinct shift of shadows near a building on the far right.

An unfamiliar noise ricocheted in its wake.

A barrage of arrows descended at our troops and I let out a shout. Almost immediately, a legion of soldiers materialized from the shadows, ready to attack. Ready to strike down anyone who dared come in their path.

Sound of swords being torn from their sheaths emanated on all sides as our litter toppled and all three of us feel to the ground. Thankfully, it hadn't been that high up. My handmaiden's hands reached towards me, shrieking, their eyes wide with panic and concern. No one could hear us through the clanging of metal and the shouts of wounded men.

We crawled out of the litter, helping each other out, saying a silent prayer for the men who had been slaughtered ruthlessly. My heart stuck in my throat,  I checked their pulses, a singular thought in my mind.

Ali.

Rushing Ayesha and Haleema towards a sheltered alleyway, my desperate eyes searched for Ali and found him a few feet away, as he ripped Zulfiqar from its scabbard, charging into the chaos without a second thought. His eyes met mine, relief flickering over his face. I watched as he swung his sword to defend himself from a vicious blow.

"Get back!" he yelled at me, grabbing the assailant by the shoulder. Another attacker ran towards him, his sword raised and I let out a warning shout.

Hamza materialized on Ali's left side managing to deflect the next attack with an able parry of his own. He stood at Ali's back as a swarm of men surrounded them, wielding flashes of menacing silver.

All of a sudden, Ayesha screamed, clawing at one of the men who had managed to sneak behind us. Without a second thought, I grabbed a discarded sword from the ground and swung it in a haphazard, slicing his arm.

Ayesha ran to Haleema and I braced myself for the assault. The mustached man sneered and started to reign blows on me, knocking the sword from my hands. Though the blood raged through my body, I felt my heart plunge like a stone in his stomach. This was not a battle I could win. I was grossly outmatched, in all ways. He was going to kill me. I was sure of it.

My attacker raised his sound to bring it down to slice my head off and I prepared myself for my death, my mind playing back my Mother's smile, my father's face, Ali...

Oh, Ali. This was all the time that we had. A tear snaked out of my eye and I felt my heart clench.

Someone violently pushed me to the side and I crashed into one of the fruit stalls, my shoulder breaking the fall. A loud clang echoed behind me and I looked up to see Mehmet's furious face just as he kicked my attacker in the chest and drove his sword in his chest.

He scowled at me. "Why didn't you move?"

Blood thundered in my head, excruciating in its force. The pain bayed, thrashing about, its claws raking across my eyeballs. Why didn't I move? Mehmet didn't wait for a reply, holding two swords in his hands as a pair of men charged his way.

As all chaos broke loose, I glanced at my right, expecting to see my handmaidens but they were being protected by Seif, a long way away. Mehmet moved to cover me, battling several men, trying to protect me, getting me to a safe place.

Panicked, I frantically hunted for my husband. He had been near me a second ago.

My eyes snagged on Hamza and I screamed to let him know of the man behind him. But Hamza could not hear me above the fray. He spun in an attempt to deflect the blow— and I saw his eyes go wide in the same instant Ayesha screamed. It was too late.

A sword pierced through Hamza's stomach from behind just as another man clubbed his head.

Ali cut at his attacker and kicked him away. Striding forward, he slashed to defend Hamza, pulling him close, and I yelled for help, running around Mehmet to get to them. Mehmet whipped around one of the rebels, then slashed across his face and chest with both swords. Streams of crimson sprouted from the injuries and I stepped aside to avoid the gush of blood.

Mehmet cursed as he followed me, his face and gaze murderous.

We huddled together, a small band of fifty people, surrounded. The rebels were closing in on us. Another one of our men fell beneath the wicked slice of a blade. Bodies lay on the ground, strewn about haphazardly. Suddenly everything around me came to a sudden halt. We seemed to be suspended in a moment. Frozen. Fighting a losing battle.  Ali looked at me and I knew we had to retreat, to make it to a safe place if we were ever going to have a chance to survive this.

"Mehmet!" Ali called out, trying to convey his intentions in a glance. Mehmet nodded.

Then, just as quickly as the world slowed, it sped forward in a sudden rush. Mehmet scooped Hamza up on his horse, just Ali helped me on his. Seif and Afet followed with the rest of the troops, carving our way through the pandemonium.

Faster and faster through the alleys and streets and thoroughfares. Angry oaths were hurled at our retreating backs. Women pulled their children away.  A fruit stand was knocked to the wayside in our haste, but we spurred on.

We entered the blessed gates of a safe house and I nearly collapsed in relief. Ali helped me off the horse and I held onto him.

Neither of us had yet to utter a word, our eyes fixed upon each other.

Though his face was blank, his eyes were a summer storm. A fiery sun besieged by churning thunderclouds.

"I'm fine," Ali said, checking me for any injuries. My hands did that same, moving over his face, and his shoulders. "I'm okay..." he assured me, Zulfiqar held ready at his side.

Ayesha rushed to Hamza's side.

"What the hell happened back there Prince? You rigged a trap for us?" Mehmet thundered, walking towards us, his face streaked with blood, Seif, and Afet by his side. Alli turned towards him, Zulfiqar raised, his features punishing in their severity. Ruthless in their intent.

With only one discernable emotion, fury.

And the promise of death hung in the air about him.

He was truly terrifying.

"Why would I do that? Are you really that stupid? My men are lying there on the ground, dead!" Mehmet took a step back and I remembered the death and destruction around me.

'No survivors' Omer had whispered to Ali earlier with a heavy heart.

I watched the heartbreak on his face. The absolute defeat.

He did not seem quite so . . . much now. Before, I had always thought of him as larger than life. So full of vim and vigor. So full of everything I wished I could embody. So incapable of losing to anything or anyone.

Now he seemed like a boy who'd lost his best friend.

A boy who could lose.

Ayesha sobbed by Hamza's body and I knelt to help her to her feet, my heart aching for her loss.

"Ayesha..." I whispered, my arms coming around her, my eyes snagging on Hamza's chest. The blood still bloomed on the his uniform, streaming from his wound. Why was it still streaming? I gathered a piece of my cloth and pressed it to the wound. Was that... was he breathing?

"I should point my finger at you Mehmet. You're the one who could have benefitted from this!" Ali continued, his tone sharp.

"Why you..." Mehmet pulled out his sword and Ali lept forward, unrelenting. The clash of swords rang out in the desert, the ring of metal on metal pulsing through the air. The whole thing was over in four strokes. There was no contest to be had.

Mehmet grabbed a dagger from his sleeve and was about to throw it just as Ali got in position-

"Enough, both of you!" I roared.

All eyes whipped back in my direction. My chest heaved as my gaze fell on the boy lying in the sand.

"Though it seems foolishly hopeful to say so," I continued, my arms crossed across my chest. "Hamza seems to be alive. Find a doctor, he can be saved."

"General!" Omer jogged our way. "We've managed to clear the house, and we've sent a messenger to the Emir. He's sending for help, but they don't have a doctor here, he left this morning to grab some supplies," I glanced at Ayesha who looked ready to faint. Haleema had her tightly clasped by the shoulders. It seemed to be the only thing keeping her upright.

"What? Today of all days!" Ali's broken tone broke something inside of me. "What do we do now?"

"I'll do it," A nervous flush bloomed across my cheeks, but I soldiered on determined to remain calm despite the recent tumult. He had to know about my 'hobby' some day.

Might as well be today.

He looked at me not understanding. "What?"

"Ali, you have to trust me," I'll let my secret out for you.

"Laila..."

"Please." I turned to Omer. "Are there any tools here?" he nodded, his mouth opened in shock. "Good. Now listen carefully. Bring me some tea with valerian root. It should help fend off the fever and let Hamza sleep through the worst of the pain." He turned on his heel, running to get the supplies.

I swiveled to look at my astonished husband, my smirking cousin, and the entire contingent of men. "We need to move Hamza. Is there a doctor's room here?"

One of the men cleared his throat and nodded. "Yes Princess, we'll move him right away."

Minutes later, two men came forward, brandishing a makeshift stretcher between them. Emotion swept Ali's bloody face and he carefully lifted Hamza up, his hands pressing the cloth to his wound to staunch the bleeding.

Soldiers had taken up a vigil on either side and as they carried their comrade to the physician's clinic. They stood up when they saw me enter the room, their eyes downcast and exited at Ali's sharp glance.

Omer had returned and laid the tools out on a clean cloth.

I scrubbed up with soap, my mind going over a million different scenarios.

"Go wash your hands," I ordered, slipping into my role.

Ali gave me an alarmed glance. "Why?"

"Because you're helping me. The drill takes some strong-arming. Go." He nodded, walking to the washing area.

Straining to recall everything Uncle Yaqoob had taught me, I measured a spot about a hand's breadth behind the Hamza's brow and then carefully shaved his hair, scrubbing the skin with soap. I looked at the occupants in the room.

"If we don't remove the clotting in his brain, he'll never survive." They nodded.

Ayesha sobbed in the corner and Mehmet just looked back at me, his face grim.

Back at my side, Ali peered, his face set in a determined look. "Start stitching the stomach wound after you've cleaned it," he nodded, rolling up his sleeves and getting to work. "He's losing a lot of blood."

He was done in minutes.

"Hand me a cloth," I said to Ali, swapping out the blood-soaked one, before making a precise cut in the scalp. Dabbing away the blood that instantly blossomed from the cut, I pinned back the small flap of skin."Now the drill."

Ali's hands were steady when he gave it to me, his presence comforting, and as the weight of the drill fell into mine, so did the staggering prospect of what I was about to do.

I wasn't a proper physician.

Was I mad? Who was I to take someone's life in my hands and drill a hole into his head?

No, but I was the General's wife. A Princess of the Caliphate. Ali rubbed a soothing hand across my shoulders and I calmed down.

He was here. He trusted me.

When I placed the drill against his skull, my hands had stopped trembling.

Later, I would not say when the eerie hush of calm descended. The room sounded with the steady grinding of the drill and the smell of dust and blood. I carefully coached Ali through a few rounds, sweat beading on my skin. I stopped him as soon as I saw the last bit of bone begin to give way. I took over, my heart nearly stopping as I carefully withdrew the drill.

I stared at my work, too awed to speak. I'd just put a hole in a skull. Excitement buzzed beneath my skin, layering in with fear and anxiety.

Breathe, I reminded herself, Uncle Yaqoob's words coming back to me.

There's a membrane just below the skull. Beneath is where the blood builds. That is what you must puncture.

I picked up my scalpel.

The silence of the room was smothering, my heart was beating so fast it felt ready to burst. Taking a deep breath and offering a prayer to God I pierced the membrane. Blood sprayed directly into my face. It was thick and dark, purple, with an oily cast.

That caught Ayesha's attention. "What have you done?" she cried, lunging up from where she'd been sitting with Mehmet.

Ali stepped between us, his presence stopping her before she could grab me. I froze, staring at the bloody incision. As the dark fluid dribbled out, I could see the pinkish-yellow brain beyond begin to pulsate with the Hamza's heartbeat.

He stirred.

My heart swelled, shaking off despondency's grip.

"Laila, you are a dream," Mehmet said, his voice filled with awe.

It wasn't much, just a sigh and a slight twitch of one hand. But then there was movement beneath his closed eyes. Hamza mumbled in his sleep, and I let out a choked breath, fighting not to collapse.

I glanced back. Every eye in the room was on me, staring with a mix of horror and awe.

I grinned.

It took most of the afternoon to stitch him up. I waited until Hamza opened his eyes, and then his comrades came by whispering about his recovery, their eyes awestruck as I left.

The safe house Omer had found was an abandoned mansion. The property of the recently assassinated ruler of Tunis. It was big enough to host our little unit.

Done with my private bath, a huge sloping pool in the middle of the room, a normal occurrence in these parts, relishing the ache in my tense muscles, I sighed, feeling worth something. Feeling like I'd made a change.

But would Ali agree?

I waited in silence for a him, my pulse drumming in my ears. My emotions ran a wild gamut, and I trembled, despite the warm summer breeze.

He'd supported me throughout the process, but would he be resentful? What if he was furious with me for hiding my medical abilities?
For not telling him?

The door opened and he stepped in.

"I can explain..." I began but he groaned, clutching at his head. I ran to his side, my heart dropping to the floor.

He waved away my help as we moved to the cushion near the wall.

"It's a small cut."

"It's your forehead and the side of your face!"

"I thought girls liked scars?" I gazed intently, focusing on the wound instead of the man.

"Which girls are you talking about?"

He chuckled, his voice low and dark. "Do you like scars?"

"I like you." He laughed again and started to unravel a thread and a needle.

"No." I caught hold of his arm and placed it over his head so that his side lay smooth. "I'll do it. You are in no condition."

"You've already done a lot Laila, let me do this," I ignored him, threading the needle.

"You don't have a mirror and there's no light," I muttered, holding the edges of the wound close together.

But the needle froze in my hand, refusing to plunge in.

"Laila..." I blinked up upon hearing my quietly spoken name.

Beads of sweat covered his jaw and ran down his face, but his eyes were steady. "It is only a simple hand stitch."

"But it is on you," I said with a weak voice.

His hand fell on my waist, pulling me close, "I promise not to cry."

The corner of my mouth quirked, and my confidence returned with a rush. I bit back a smile and bent my head close to his side.

"Are you okay?" he asked, I nodded pulling the thread gently through his flesh. "Mehmet told me what happened," His side twitched then stilled.

"I thought I'd lose you today," I broke out, letting my body shudder as the final stitch pulled through.

I'd held out long enough.

"I felt the same way," A tear escaped my eye."I thought I'd never get to know what you felt for me, or if you loved me."

"You were questioning my feelings for you?" I asked, the lump in my throat growing.

"I wondered. We haven't, we've never..." He fumbled with his words and I focused on the task at hand, tying the stitch with a small knot and then taking the cloth and dabbed the length entirely."I've never felt this way. Helpless, frightened, like I'd burn everything and everyone in the world to get to you," He held my eyes with his. "And what you did today? Love is a very small word for my feelings, Laila. I'm in awe of you."

It was that simple. One sentence of his and a weight lifted from deep within my chest.

********************************************
Whew, this was a long one. As always, comments! How'd you like this development? The attack? Laila's secret coming out? Ali's reaction? Their feelings?