Esfandar and Gita walked through the winding alleyways of Shiraz, passing by merchants and beggars of all sorts. They wore the clothes of the common people, dull, worn robes of inexpensive cloth, as unassuming as possible.

Esfandar wore a turban that half wrapped around his face in order to conceal his identity. There was really almost no possibility that anyone would have been able to recognize him regardless, but Gita had insisted upon the extra precaution.

Gita herself wore a simple dress in a dark red hue, the fabric fluttering prettily as she walked. Her hair flowed freely over her shoulders, not tied into a perfect braid as it always was. Esfandar tried to remember if he'd ever seen her with her hair loose before and couldn't recall. Perhaps he'd never seen it before.

If Gita was in any way uncomfortable without her usual clothes, she didn't show it. She walked with the utmost confidence, blending in completely with the other men and women on the street. She glanced at him and caught him looking at her. He quickly looked away.

It was on the cusp of nightfall, and people began closing their stalls, calling their children, and making their way to their homes. Esfandar envied them.

He saw a thin woman dressed in dark blue cloth whispering to a crying infant, trying to soothe it. The baby only continued to cry, its whines growing louder, but its mother only brought him closer to comfort him.

Esfandar's thoughts drifted again. However much he trained himself not to think about his family, not to think about what was happening back at the palace, he invariably failed. He thought of Kasra, that child who had been born into misfortune and horror.

Esfandar had only met his younger brother once, but merely to see Kasra was to love him with fierce pride and happiness. He was the calmest baby Esfandar had ever seen, his fat cheeks looking perpetually pursed in curiosity and his eyes wide and bright. He was already an intelligent child. It would be his luck, if he lived long enough to get the chance to use it.

Kasra would still be an infant now, but getting to the age when he'd begin to talk and then walk. A rage boiled in Esfandar's blood as he imagined his brother growing up in captivity, forever Roshani's prisoner. And under that rage, an undercurrent of deep sorrow.

However miserable Esfandar felt about the situation, Homeira must have been in despair. The Shah's third and youngest wife, she was closer to an older sister to Esfandar than a mother, but she had always been kind and generous to all of the shah's children. Certainly she didn't deserve to suffer in this way.

Esfandar jumped when a hand grasped his shoulder. He turned to see Gita peering up at him, her brow furrowed.

"What's wrong?" She asked him.

He only shook his head, though he cast one last wistful look to the woman and her baby. Gita followed his gaze and her expression softened. He imagined that she understood the direction of his thoughts.

"Come," she said, walking ahead of him on the path. "It's getting late."

The meaning of her words weren't spoken so as not to give themselves away, but he heard it: our guard of the well begins now.

The winding alley they had been following suddenly opened up into a wide square. It was more crowded there than in the alley, but was growing emptier as people drifted off to their homes, to warm beds and peaceful rest.

In the center of the flat, old stones was the well. It was old and worn down, the bricks of it crumbling and filthy with dust, but it functioned well enough. They both eyed the well carefully out of the corners of their eyes, while taking care not to stare at it. So far, no one had given them a second glance and they intended to keep it that way.

A merchant selling various cloths and dresses was one of the last to pack up his stall for the night. A short man with balding gray hair wearing a dusty white kaftan, his eyes lit up when they passed him by, sensing potential last minute customers.

"Clothing of only the finest fabrics from across Sazia!" He exclaimed, waving a hand to his wares. "Beautiful lady, wouldn't you like a dress equal to yourself in grace and beauty?"

Esfandar cracked a wry smile at the merchant's effortless flattery, but Gita kept a straight face. She approached the stall and made a show of examining the various dresses and saris for sale, running her fingers over the smooth fabrics. To Esfandar's surprise, she picked up a bolt of vibrant purple cloth and held it up to the man.

"How much?" She asked him.

"Ah, the lady has good taste as well," the man chuckled. "The dye for this scarf comes all the way from Turan, a rare commodity for most of the year." He winked, as if waiting for Gita to react with excitement or self-contentment at his comment, but she remained unaffected, staring back it him with a completely straight face. The merchant frowned at her but continued with his sale. "Such rare and sought after dye is expensive. That would be 200 darics."

Gita replaced the scarf onto the pile.

"Well, good night sir," she said, starting to walk away. Esfandar moved to follow her, but the man quickly called out.

"Wait!" he said hurriedly. "It is 200 darics on the normal market of course, but for such a blossoming lotus flower... 170 darics."

Gita stared at him, her gaze unflinching.

"100 darics," she said simply.

The merchant tsked and shook his head. "Hey, I have a family to feed, you know. I can't just go halving my prices for all the pretty girls who ask nicely and bat their lashes."

"150," he offered. "I'm sure your friend here would be more than willing to buy it as a gift for you." He turned to Esfandar and winked.

"100," Gita repeated, ignoring him. "It's all I have on me. Otherwise I can find another salesman tomorrow."

She started to walk away again, but the merchant held up a hand to stop her. He sighed and glanced up to Esfandar with a mischievous smile.

"What a clever young lady," he said. "Alright, alright- 100 darics."

He held out an open palm to Gita who dropped the money into his hands. The man eagerly pocketed the coins and smiled up at them.

"A pleasure," he said, handing the purple scarf to Gita. "Tell your friends where they can find the best cloth in Shiraz!"

Gita finally allowed a small smile. She nodded to the merchant and the two of them continued to walk along the street, keeping the well in sight.

Gita unfolded the scarf and wrapped it over her hair. The deep purple color truly was beautiful, and made Gita's already dark hair seem black as the night sky.

"Well," Gita said, adjusting the headscarf. "How does it look?"

"It looks... very nice," Esfandar answered. A slow smile crept onto his face, seeing how pleased she looked with her purchase. "Except you got swindled."

Gita turned to him with a scowl. "What do you mean?" She protested. "He halved his price."

Esfandar tried to stop the grin spreading across his face, but he couldn't help it. "It was worth about 30 darics. Maybe less."

Gita opened her mouth to protest. Esfandar reached out to touch her scarf. "Feel the grainy texture?" He said. "Who knows if he was telling the truth about the dye, but the fabric is dirt cheap."

Gita felt the scarf herself and her features turned into a sour expression which Esfandar just barely contained himself from laughing out loud at.

After a moment she just sighed and rolled her eyes at herself.

"Well, now you know I'm a terrible bargainer," she said, a bit begrudgingly. "In my defense, there aren't exactly bazaars to be found in the Western jungles."

"I won't hold it against you," he assured her. "You should have seen me before Karim got a hold of me- I would have bought that scarf for 200 darics, no questions asked."

Gita laughed and Esfandar's smile grew wider.

"He must have had quite the challenge with you," she teased.

"I'm sure he'd be happy to tell you all about it," Esfandar assured her. "He laughed himself sick at me more times than I can count. He still does of course, but it was worse during the first year or so."

"It's hard to imagine a time when you two didn't know each other," Gita said. "I picture you two being tied together at birth."

Esfandar's smile faded. He and Karim couldn't have been further apart at birth. Him, the son and heir of the great Shah of Sazia, future Shah himself. While he had been pampered and doted on in the palace, Karim had been born a bastard and orphan in the worst slums of the capital, with nothing at all to call his own.

Sometimes Esfandar still marveled at how they hadn't killed each other the first time they'd met. The gods must have had other plans. Eventually, over the years, they had become friends, brothers even.

Esfandar shook his head at himself. There he went again, returning to the topic of brothers, the one thought he was trying to avoid. He truly needed to discipline his mind.

"It's time," Esfandar said, changing the subject. The moon rose high in the night sky now, and night fully ensnared the city in its clutches. The square was mostly deserted now, except for a few stragglers. Beggars or drunkards or prostitutes, all the people of the night. The dark outline of the well still stood out on the middle of the square.

"Here," he said, nodding to a sheltered doorway in a building. From there, they would be able to watch over the well without being out in the open and drawing potentially unwanted attention. They moved into the space and waited for whatever was to come.

The night drew on as they watched and waited from the darkness. They didn't speak anymore, needing the silence for cover as much as the night. People passed now and then, but no one approached the well.

Hours passed without an event. Others would have become tired and drift into sleep, but Esfandar was not one of them. Soldiers knew how to walk, fight, and follow orders even when asleep. It was something that had to be ingrained into their very being for a successful military, or else soldiers would drop asleep in the middle of battle.

Gita, too, was alert and awake. Esfandar imagined the purple of her headscarf growing darker and deeper with each passing hour, until it was the most beautiful color he'd ever seen. In the dark he hoped she didn't notice his gaze.

More than halfway through the night, something finally did happen. A man started to move through the silent square, checking behind boxes and inside doorways and alleys- making sure that no one was watching him.

He passed the beggars and mad drunkards without a second glance, seeming to pass them off as normal.

He and Gita, Esfandar were acutely aware, would not pass that test. Respectable young men and women were not meant to be out at such an hour, of course. They would instantly be suspicious, if they weren't outright recognized in the first place.

Gita tensed, coming to the same realization. There was no real danger, per se, to being caught. Esfandar was the one who commanded this city- there was no one above him to give out punishments.

But all the same, being found out would be problematic. They would lose their chance to discover once and for all who was poisoning the well, and if Esfandar were to be recognized, the people of Shiraz would be sure to anger at the idea of him spying on them in their homes.

The man was turning over boxes in the stall next to their doorway. There was no way to leave without being seen.

Esfandar reached up to try and cover more of his face with his turban, but Gita grabbed his hand and stopped him, instead pulling the cloth off of his face completely. The sound of footsteps on the stone street grew louder.

Esfandar turned to Gita, asking her with his eyes what she was doing, when she moved forward and pressed their lips together. Esfandar felt frozen to the spot. He leaned into the corner of the doorway as Gita moved to cover his body with hers.

Esfandar closed his eyes, barely even hearing the footsteps anymore. Gita's lips were warm and soft against his, clouding his mind of any other thoughts than her. He forgot their mission, forgot where they were and what they had to do. All he knew was that Gita was kissing him and he didn't want her to stop.

The man walked past and saw them in their alcove. He scoffed, making a sound of exasperation, and walked off, continuing to check the area.

His footsteps faded away and Gita leapt away from Esfandar as if suddenly struck by lightning. Instantly he missed her presence there in his arms. She stood against the opposite wall of the doorway, breathing hard. Esfandar was fairly sure he was staring at her, but he couldn't look away.

She looked about to say something and Esfandar tensed, but the man moved off in the street and both of their heads turned to watch him.

He was at the well now, though his posture was still anxious and paranoid. He reached into the lining of his cloak to withdrew a vial of liquid.

Esfandar and Gita moved instantly. Gita punched the man in the gut, making him fall to his knees and held him securely in a headlock while Esfandar quickly snatched the vial from his hands.

Esfandar was no apothecary, but he had a feeling that the sickly yellow liquid inside was nothing good. They had caught the poisoner, and with proof to boot. That and the recent memory of Gita's kiss, made a giddy feeling of triumph bubble up in his chest.

"No, please," the man begged, desperate and terrified. Gita only wrapped her arm tighter around his neck, making his words choke off.

"What should we do with him?" She asked.

Esfandar looked down at the man, the poisoner. He wasn't the only poisoner of course- there was sure to be a network of them in the city, all working together to undermine Esfandar's rule.

And this man was now the key to breaking them.

"Bring him to the palace," Esfandar said. "And then, we can discover the truth."