(Part 1)

For some time after the mother had ushered him away from that fateful chamber, and even as servants hastened to make way for the royal pair, Dastra did not speak a word. His lady mother, meanwhile, walked on with a smug grin.

"Mom," he called at length, "what will happen to her, I wonder?"

"That need not be your concern right now, my dear," came the reply, "nor should you look so troubled, for Azalea had stood for what she thinks is right and proper. Convenient, perhaps... but ill-advised."

"What will happen to her?"

"That shall be decided at my leisure. Her threat to us is greatly diminished, in any case; she is friendless and alone, while we shall have well-placed sources and contacts at our disposal... and with part of those, you must prepare to be the man I know you're meant to be."

"How?"

"Training," Mama Viper observed. "All these years you've been training to sharpen the mind; about time we should start paying more attention to polishing your skill in arms, as someone of your stature should be doing."

"I gather you would call in 'nother set of favors for this purpose?"

"Naturally. Be assured, son; you shall not be found wanting on that score."

While smiling openly to her even as Mirani stroked his dirt-brown hair in a manner that was not quite there for the other child, deep down, Dastra found himself performing the sort of apology that he had demanded of his sibling just moments earlier.

"Sis Zalea," the princeling murmured, having at last been left to his own chambers with well-wishes for the night, "a thousand pardons, but Mom is right in this: you lack finesse, and look where that led. You are out of favors and quite alone, while I am about to be trained by some of the finest masters around.

"But fear not," he continued, "here I am now, deep inside the enemy's circles, her trust in me intact. I shall try playing both sides of this line for your sake... Risky, I know, but darn--ya've seen me bein' brave for a change. Let's all persevere, for the well-deserved unity of our family!"

***

Mama Viper, meanwhile, was also preparing herself: that night the Amir was supposed to grace her chambers and might inquire about 'domestic' events in that day, their kids included.

Were it not for Urdin, we might have spent a wretched existence moving from one gutter to the next!

Stricken Azalea's rage-fueled warning flashed again through Mama Viper's devilishly-fertile mind even as the latter finished putting on her snow-white night dress and slippers. Now seated on a couch adorned with cushions near the four-poster canopied bed in anticipation, Mirani massaged her own temple at the thought.

"Why is it so darn hard to garner support in my own homeland? No, rather--is this undertaking still viable at all..?"

Her string of attempts to displace or subvert agents loyal to Vazir (prime minister) Yasnar--and by extension the Amir himself--could not have gone unnoticed, Mira realized.

Nor could the discreet flow of coin skimmed from the royal treasury to help subsidize this 'project' be expected to remain undisclosed; eventually a reckoning would have to be brought about.

"Until such time," the arch-schemer reflected, "I should at least have made an investment of real benefits. Yes... this upcoming training for Dastra should darn well be it!"

Almost as soon as she came to this new conviction, three knocks occurred at Mama Viper's door, revealing the Amir's wiry figure with his shoulder-length silvery hair and sharp green eyes. Even in his ten-bottomed leaf-green pajamas, Urdin's gait was unmistakably intimidating for the uninitiated.

"You sure took longer to dispense with today's state affairs, darling," Mirani observed affably. "Unexpected developments?"

"Expecting a visitor," the Amir confided. "Mustafa's coming back; day of arrival still uncertain but already starting on the journey, as had been conveyed in his letter. So much other details and possibilities to work with."

"From the north, so you said during dinner today." Mirani caressed his shoulder, nearly marveling again at the feeling of corded biceps beneath the garment. To think these same arms might have been the very ones that had decapitated her father!

"It is nearing winter," Mama Viper acknowledged presently. "Frost and homesickness are a deadly couple against one's endurance, both inside and out. I pray Mustafa may endure both."

To this Urdin nodded earnestly. "You may also have to attend the welcoming feast, while we're at it. Courtesy."

The second Lady Husnirid tilted her head with a smile. "Sure thing, dear. Seen many such thanks to you~"

"Speaking of. What do you make of our kids today?"

Here it comes, thought Mira. Such a cakewalk!

"Oh, run-ins with Zalea again, you see, she's such a rascal!"

"Wonder who she takes after," the father contended, his expression betraying almost nothing beyond the furrowed brows. "Hardly the first time, though. What was it this time?"

"Made her way to one of the garment shops and... and thought it proper to splatter mud, wet grass and street filth onto almost every garb that came within her line of sight. She even tore up some outright! I chastised her so severely after today's dinner that she bolted off crying, that vixen. I believe that's going to leave some marks, as well--you may see them tomorrow should you care to observe closely enough."

I slashed her allowance for the dresses, in fairness, the Amir wondered, but were the 'marks' really called for?

"And Dastra?" the father asked aloud.

"Ah," Mirani laughed, "he's the bright, obedient learner as usual. Learned sums today--so eager for more, told me so. Incidentally, I related to him my own wish to have him train to become the fine leader he's always meant to be."

"And what field of skill did you suggest?"

"Let's see..." Mama Viper put a finger on her chin. "You have been a polished warrior-king, my love, and Mustafa sure is growing up to be. Dastra too, in my opinion, ought not to lag in this."

"That's a head start." The Amir rose, taking his place on the four-poster bed. "Got any plans on which weapon to have Dastra wield first? Curious."

"Oh, I'll have to consult with the master-of-arms... Narvis, I believe his name is, to be able to supply the answer. Alternatively, of course, you could inspect the training yards yourself. No clearer account than first-hands, many say."

"Something to see to, indeed," Urdin observed drowsily. "Right now, however, I believe I could do with a... quite different sort of training."

Lady Mirani grinned, rising from the couch in her turn. "Ah, the impatience."

(Part 2)

Once he was sure his spouse was fast asleep to his back, the Amir opened his eyes without rising and began pondering on events that he felt had helped propel him to where he now was.

[Three years earlier]

Back in the days, the vices of the Izurian Empire had been such that it had not remained without contenders for its prestige for very long. One such, House Azam from their newly-seized capital at Melvir, had been among the first fellow powerhouses that Urdin had considered looking into in an attempt to further his own liberation (as he'd regarded it) of the peninsula.

Be that as it may, in every known age, thieves were bound to quarrel on the spoils. Mere weeks after his thrashing Izurian legions at the Badra Plains, and even as the Husnirites set out to plant their banners in ever-widening swathes of what had been Izurian provinces, then-General Urdin's agents hinted of a 'rapid souring' in relations with the Azamites.

So unexpected had this kind of development been, that the Amir had not had the proper time to investigate whoever might have had a hand in this ripple. Not until the no-less-frustrating news on an attempt on young Prince Mustafa's life was relayed to him posthaste one night, that the Amir had begun working feverishly on setting up necessary countermeasures.

The eldest prince had been spotted panting and side-kneeling in one of the palace corridors opening out to some bushes a good distance from Vestra's backyard gardens; a sentry standing guard not very far from him--blood-smeared spear in hand.

Even more shocking, nine-year-old Rashid had been there too: clinging on his brother as if his life had depended on it.

The path before those three was strewn with blood-stained bodies, some disfigured.

'We're alive, Akhi,' Ras had been babbling, perhaps in an effort to comfort the eldest sibling, whom had appeared no less shaken, 'still alive... T-t-together...'

A violent storm had also begun to show signs of abating that night, the Amir recalled presently. How Ves had screamed in sheer distress at the sight of them!

He also recalled his young heir having been just a tad beyond furious then.

'My maids Vareena and Zahra... gone,' the boy had complained with tears on his eyes, his lady mother's attempts at softening the blow notwithstanding. 'Just look at them, Dad! Observe! Actual victims of your ignorance... You so spiritedly aspire to plant our banners left and right; heck, how 'bout pausing to look at what's actually happening to us here for a change?!'

'Mu!' the mother chided almost immediately. 'Such unseemly words to your own father!'

Despite this interruption the father had--uncharacteristically--indulged said heated request.

Staring at the maids' chalk-white, glazed expressions (now cool to the touch), he who had gone through scores of raids and clashes afield without sparing too much of a second thought at the aftermath, had felt oddly moved at that time.

Blue-eyed Vareena--who had been captured during a well-staked ambush on some caravans coming down from the (supposedly) semi-barbaric north--had, according to Mu, nearly always been among the first to greet him out of warm bath, with fitting clothes of matching colors always at the ready.

Dark-skinned Zahra on the other hand, had had a sweet, thought-provoking voice as she had read him stories at bedtime. There had been times when Rashid or--rarer still--Azalea would sneak up to Mu's chambers if they found out that this maid was (in Zalea's forthright terms even then) 'gonna sweet talk'; and they would stay on until the end of the first tale, if neither hadn't already been fast asleep by then.

Such 'intrusions' would often result in Zalea being forbidden to stroll and watch the flowers at either the courtyard or backyard gardens come morning by her own mother; but whenever she had not been too ill nor too lazy, this princess could be counted on to show up almost every other night.

Now, such joy and laughter would apparently no longer be. Present-day Urdin recalled muttering a solemn 'Rest in peace' as he closed both of the maids' eyes in turn, sighing with despondency at such a memory.

'And the would-be perpetrators?' the Amir had then inquired, turning to regard a Sergeant Idris, the lone sentry who was also his nephew.

'Three of them, my Amir; all dead, as could be seen.'

'Anything on them?'

'Strangely enough... at second search, one of them was discovered to have carried rough sketches of this part of the palace's passageways for better reference. These, my Amir, have been extracted for your perusal. Please.'

Hardly had Urdin perused the first sketch, before he crumpled the rest altogether in his fist--his countenance a mask of indignation.

'The rat that did provide these,' he had growled, 'shall pay dearly for it, upon my word!'

'And my maids?' Mustafa had called out. 'This must not go unavenged, Dad--'

'And it shall not!' the Amir had roared without turning, stilling the child's protestations. 'None slights the heir to a realm, without then having to face the full might of said realm; I swear it! Idris! Since you've managed to come across these damnable parchments, might you not have been so fortunate as to gauge out who might have authored them, as well?!'

'On that, sir, I'm afraid our attempts are of little avail. But pray observe their daggers, and you might then recognize that they sport marks of House Azam...'

Urdin's response then had sent shivers down young Mu's spine, secure as he and Rashid had been in their mother's protective embrace. For a very brief moment Mu even wished that these unfortunate agents had succeeded and escaped... considering whatever might be coming.

'Filthy foxes!' the Amir had thundered. 'When I get my hands on them..!'

'Urdin, my love,' Vestra had then broken in, her tone reminding. 'This is no fit sight for the kids.'

'Then do your darn part, Ves! Get them the heck away!'

'Look here,' she had countered. 'The actual catspaws are dead, we can see here. The blood of everyone else within the walls of their capital are thus no longer yours to spill, for they are quite--'

'--Innocent?' the Amir offered, glaring at her. 'What about their sending stool-pigeons to do away with our sons--my heirs--when our Houses are officially still at peace? This is a sign of bad faith, and you would dare counsel me to let that pass?!'

'You would brave actual casualties over a mere sign, husband?'

Urdin eyed the dead maids. 'But I had, woman, and you must be a fool if you thought I desired this. Besides, as we have heard, Mustafa had chastised me for ignorance. He's darn right to--this shall not be repeated.'

'Mu's a child in grief! The head of House Azam itself might not even have learned of this dispatch...'

'Have no fear; we shall ask him soon. Now get out of my sight, 'fore I have the lot of you dragged.'

'Dad,' Rashid had blurted, 'that's way too rude!'

'To build empires, my boy, you cannot expect to play nice all the way.'

At the very walls of Melvir during the later Azamite campaign, however--in which the Amir had so strenuously insisted to take charge personally, alongside Sergeant Idris--the operation had come very close to catastrophe.

It had developed that the would-be defenders had themselves ousted their overseer in protest for her breach of trust against the Husnirites, in turn offering to open their gates to Urdin's troops for assurances of no-plunder. The Amir had initially been in no mood to listen, however, and had contented himself to besieging said city.

During the tenth day of this siege, a Melviran envoy had been sent at the greatest discretion to establish and maintain contacts, not with the headstrong Amir, but with Idris, who was even then gaining renown for being even-headed in his judgments.

'That you had set out not to let us remain very long in this jungle of a political map, is already known to us to some extent,' the envoy had related. 'We had therefore allowed you to maintain this farce of a siege. But know, sir, that were this to drag on, you would not have had much to build on, for the same zeal for resistance remains afire in our citizens' bosoms today as during the day this all began.

'Should this siege ever reach a twelfth day without a definite settlement, regrettably, I have come to inform you that men of our garrison, from sixteen to sixty, have partaken in a vow they had come to regard as holy, to poison their womanfolk and their young, before themselves falling upon your swords--with the strength of ten raging lions each--or theirs, thereby depriving you the pool of immediately-taxable population.

'Should this kind of atrocity not be in your clearest conscience, nor the kind that you would prefer historically to be held accountable for, then pray inform the Amir at once; for I can assure you that we shall make hardy and devoted subjects to him in the future as you have seen we made for such awfully-resilient adversaries today.'

Idris dutifully did relay the word, only to initially be greeted by a torrent of choice words at, as Urdin had heatedly put it, 'this subtle and so help me, not purposeful display of rank insubordination.'

'While I feel I might sympathize with your displeasure, sir, and ready as I am to accept any manner of chastisement whatsoever,' this sergeant had countered, 'I see before us a one-time opportunity to cut short this attempt at wanton bloodshed. The envoy had fathomed our aims for the real thing, that is to say, impartial Melviran compliance with our administration henceforth--had he not?--and had even taken the time to consider and put to our attention the welfare of his own compatriots: something I daresay you yourself would want to uphold as best you could in peacetime.'

The Amir had flushed at such keen observations. 'You would advise me to make peace based solely on the words of a cloaked figure presenting themselves during the dead of night, and not even to myself?'

'As you had started this very campaign on the grief-stained words of your firstborn, why not? If words can spur conflicts, they might as well help snuff them; and we well know the final say rests with you. Ponder before Allah with regards to which kind of glorious end you shall have us march to, my Amir, and may you be guided.'

The siege was lifted the very next day, and thereafter the campaign of Melvir was oft-heralded as one of the Husnirites' finest 'victories of the tongue'. Idris gained a promotion in military rank, a considerable rise on the Amir-uncle's personal esteem, as well the new sobriquet 'Preserver of Azam'.

The city itself was rechristened as 'Ardis', again becoming the center of the so-called 'Southeastern March', its garrison one of the most doggedly-venerable in Urdin's expanding realm.

Later still, having seen to the proper internment of the maids' bodies side by side from those of the catspaws ('In life we might not have been, but in death we're all equals', as the Amir had pointed out then)--and as further means of ensuring that his firstborn understood better the nature of governing such a sprawling realm as theirs, Urdin had assigned fifteen-year-old Mustafa the post of wali (overseer) at the Amirate's current-northernmost city of Nasria for a 'trial' tenure of five years.

This was done over Rashid's insistent bawling at the thought of 'Akhi being purposefully prodded on before the abyss of certain... separation' (then, as now, Ras could not quite bring himself to utter the word 'death').

Rashid too had been advised to gear up for the moment when his turn too would come 'at the proper age'; and since he had found the idea 'unbecoming' for a prince to soil his hands directly in melee as one of the more-direct consequences of that fateful nocturnal encounter, this prince had since then developed a liking to the observation, study and use of ranged weapons.

[Present]

In the dim lights of his chamber, Urdin continued to stare at his bed's canopy, before surreptitiously shifting his gaze at the back of his softly-snoring second spouse.

"For my firstborn I had come very darn-close to tear down an entire city brick by smouldering brick," this grizzly campaigner murmured in reflection. "Let's hope this wench's sprouts shall not outperform it, Glorified Be Allah..."

(Part 3)

In another place.

"Goodness me, sir, look at this!" a peon called, immediately bringing the attention of his turbaned master--who moments before had been observing the presently-deserted chamber. This peon was carrying a torch, and at his master's nod he brought said torch over his find.

"Gracious--it's a girl, sir! She's... still breathing! Allah Be Praised, this one's alive!"

The girl moaned weakly.

"Keen eyes you got today, Zaeed," the turbaned figure acknowledged, staring at the young figure sprawled on the floor, "except 'this one' is not your ordinary lass." He turned to regard another pair of attendants. "Get this one transferred to where the scorpions couldn't easily reach; for I believe we've found one of their more-secretive hiding holes. On with it."

"As you will, my vazir."

***

When next she opened her eyes--blearily, as it happened--Zalea found herself in a chamber she could not recognize, its lighting deliberately being kept dim.

"Aggh... Where the heck am I..?"

"A safe place," a gentle male voice responded near her. "Best not concern yourself with such stuff right 'bout now. We're here to help."

The princess winced, then realized she was under heavy blankets. She huffed in relief, however, when she felt that her head wasn't bandaged. So it was mere concussion after all! Darn those black cloaks.

"How did I--guh, dang it, my head--get here?"

"Carried," came the reply.

"And who might you be?"

"A loyalist."

"To the heck what?"

"The same values we believe you stood for."

Zalea growled. "Those same values lumped me with total strangers. Gimme a workin' name, at least."

"The name's Mardanish... 'Mardan', for short."

"Why am I here?"

"Can't tell. Only orders are to watch on you."

"Whose orders?"

"Can't say."

"Yet you declared yourself to be a loyalist." The convalescent narrowed her eyes. "You know who I am?"

"Someone in need of help."

Not too darn-far off, Zalea acknowledged mentally. "And you're here to provide it, I gather?"

"As best we can."

"Then let me outta here! I have to be somewhere--"

"Where?" Mardan asked. "You wouldn't get too far anyway, not with this kind of malady; then we'd have none to blame but ourselves."

"The heck're ya talking about?! I was only hit twice..!" Zalea paused. "What time now?"

"The small hours of a new day. You were out for almost four hours; whoever knocked you out knew 'nough of their trade. 'Sides, if you let yourself be known now, we could not guarantee we'd be there again next time you stumbled onto a pitfall." Zalea heard steps heading away from her. "Rest."

"Will I see ya 'gain?"

"If you promise to behave."

***

Heck... this might well be one of the most colorful days I'd known in years.

Thus settled, such was Princess Azalea's most prominent line of thought as she laid sideways on this unfamiliar bed under a thick blanket in the fleeting moments before sleep would overtake her once again.

"In one single day I got to learn where loyalties of nearly every player in this abominable chessboard lie, it would seem." She smiled lightly. "Kick-started by a measly stolen doublet, and hers for that matter! Lei must be dancing in attendance... or not..."

To think her own lady mother would not flinch from turning brother against sister to relive what Zalea had dubbed 'the Izurian fantasy'... yet she had, and with casual impunity. The chessboard, the rules, and the manners of this detestable game had been flipped asunder.

With a single, brutally-masterful stroke, the princess's options to stay in the game had been reduced to having to rely on either herself alone, or--more drastically--begin nuzzling up to the ones with whom she had so recently made amends. Some cracks were due to be felt...

Seconds passed. Azalea had already drifted off to a dreamless slumber once again; her last thought being a wordless 'thank you' for Mardan and whomever else that may have had a hand in transferring her to this unheard-of but apparently-well-protected location.

Come morning, the princess came to learn that during the previous night she had been in the company of some of Vazir Yasnar's most arduous sympathizers; the vazir himself even took time to attend to her in person.

"I deeply apologize for the, ah, uncharacteristic manners by which you have been conducted here, Princess," the vazir related, "but, I must admit, these had not been the easiest times for us either. Some of my better-placed men had been displaced, and I had reason to fear for a moment that you might have been the next."

"Displaced... by whom exactly?"

"I'm afraid I can't let you know that just yet--"

"Try me!"

"Your proclivity for bluntness precedes you well, Princess Azalea... but for this one time, please understand. We took you in with great risks to ourselves; the least we could expect from you is discretion."

Discretion, eh? Zalea felt like laughing. As if...

This convalescent was in fact so tempted to blurt out as much, but at the last second managed to restrain herself.

Had she not been carried there for not having been able to stay discreet, in the first place? Fair enough.

This, then, she observed, is the vazir--Dad's right-hand man. Said he's bein' in a pickle; not many individuals here in the palace could dare hope to pull off such a stunt, except...

Zalea grinned. Her mental list of such likely perpetrators was already getting woefully short from that single benchmark.

"Be it so," this princess declared. "What plans do you have in mind for me, then? No, don't balk; saved my sorry skin, ya did. Any way I might even the scales?"

A brief uneasy silence ensued, before the vazir cleared his throat.

"A thousand pardons," he said. "The very suggestion that you would want to voluntarily put your august self at our disposal--"

"Had my share of strangeness, aye. I'm not even talkin' as your princess here; rather, as an individual you have saved who then wanted to express her gratitude. Is that so peculiar?"

Quick, hushed exchanges of words were made.

"Do you earnestly understand the risks, Princess?" Mardan offered anxiously at one point. "We're not saving you just to see you--"

"Cut the crap, pal," Zalea shot back. "This kind of game is nothing without risks, and heck, we may be pitting ourselves against one of the most insidious minds that this realm has to offer. So! What would my first piece of assignment be?"

All present now turned to the vazir, who slowly closed his eyes in reflection.

How fortunate, he mused. Just when some of my best agents are being displaced, here comes one whom that vipress could not uproot without at the same time causing a major uproar among the royal line... just like with Prince Mustafa last time.

"Way too early," Yasnar asserted at length, quietly but authoritatively. "This kind of game, as you said, Princess, is fraught with risks; risks which are, in my humble view, not yet on the level which a mere squirt like you might hope to take on--"

"Called me a what now?!"

"You wished to be regarded as a rescued individual rather than someone of royal stature; so be it. Your willingness to aid our cause, however, isn't unappreciated... but for now, should you wish to be among the ranks of this realm's reformers--just like us, incidentally--I advise you to commence in ways that you are sure you shall be able to handle, also bearing the current state of resources and list of favors in mind. All said and done, my lady: Godspeed."

Zalea pursed her lips. Her very first attempt at gaining connections outside those of her viper-ish mother's: scratch.

Not an altogether-foul bet, she reflected, considering the morass that I'd been neck-deep in not that long ago. On the contrary, I might as well hitch up to this task; my own freakin' legacy, like the one that hag's already hell-bent to score!

"Same goes for yer hardy lot, vazir. Keep me informed, will ya."

"No promises."

"Thought as much~"