(Part 1)

"Aunt Lista," Rashid greeted as the royal kids were being served warm tea and cakes by a pair of the servants in the residence, and one could almost tell the warm longing in his voice, "peace be to you. It's really been some time since my... our last visit, has it not?"

The hostess nodded, calm and precise, eyeing her daughter-in-law Naissa who was keeping her baby boy Uvais--Idris's son--seated on her lap; a fact which one of the visitors did not miss. Naissa nodded as well.

"It has," Imran's widow acknowledged. "In fact, unless my memories have started to fail me at this age--oh, don't balk, dear, I have seen far too much for my liking--this would be my first time seeing this other girl. Pardon me, sweet one, what was your name again?"

The 'other girl' dipped her head in lukewarm acknowledgment. "Azalea, my lady."

"Your mother--"

"Is the Amir's second wife, Lady Mirani Ernavia... but I would prefer not to hear mention of her at present, if it pleases you."

"You think I am not worthy enough to hear about your lady mother, I take it?"

"I... don't think you'd want to know her beyond this point."

"And why not? She too is part of the royal family, now."

The princess sighed. "She's been through that once. Little use had that experience done her, I daresay."

"Azalea," Rashid reminded her in a whisper. "Not very often can we afford to visit our aunt, so please, just this once--don't spoil it."

"True 'nough, Pipsqueak. Sorry."

Alista chuckled. "If you say so, dear sweet Ras. Happens I've heard quite a mouthful about that Mirani woman from Naissa here."

This did surprise the princess. "You- you had? How-"

"Now, now," Lady Alista lightly waved her dismissal. "Enough with such an unpromising topic, just yet. Are there anything of you two, personally, that I had not known from the last time we've met?"

"I'm thinking of crafting a bow for myself, Auntie," Rashid related. "Late Uncle Imran and my father had both been horse-archers at youth, I'm told, as well as superb leaders of them."

"And you are not wrong, child," Lista replied, now with a shade of melancholy. "Back when we were still at Balaras, with or without a bow slung to his person, then-Prince Imran would ride past my hovel. Near the end, though--love does facilitate things out of the ordinary at times least expected, you see--Imran's manly courage so nearly deserted him; so he called on his brother for aid."

"So- Wait, bear with me," Zalea blurted. "Dad was the one proposing you?"

"For his brother, yes... and for the hand of a mere peasant girl at that. Not, of course, without private recriminations on Urdin's part, man of the ranks as he was--something about having 'spine' as a firstborn, I seem to recall. But marry we did, Imran and myself; and Allah Be Praised, it had proven fruitful for all sides."

"To think we've been regarding him as this austere model on discipline," Rashid mused. "Turned out Dad can be nice provided the chance."

"Well," Alista laughed, "youths like yourselves do need discipline, all said and done; plus he's been Amir for close to two decades now, all while keeping up safeguarded under his proverbial wings. I wouldn't take a few hard words against him--really, I've seen worse."

"But how is that even possible?" Azalea cut in. "A peasant hoping to mingle with a highborn... I'd been given to understand that that would be nigh-improbable!"

"Until now," Rashid rejoined. "Going here was your idea, no? We all get to learn new things, and this certainly is something I hope you can adapt to, Zalea. If your mom can step up from princess to queen, her chances of being cast down to paupress are just as decent. Depending on which path she'd pick from here on, if you ask me."

"Darn right."

"Now we seem to be meandering again," the hostess observed, clapping once. "I sense Azalea may have had other things inside her head that she's more than eager to relate; in which case I'd be more than delighted to arrange a separate session all for her... if, in exchange, she would just be patient."

Zalea's expression lit up. "Would you, really?"

"A lady's word. But- where were we, sweet Rashid? I believe we were speaking of bows and horses... Are you aspiring to be a horse-archer yourself, perchance?"

The young prince snickered. "Auspicious as such a moment would be, Auntie, I don't think that'd happen in the near future. Crafting one's own bow is a start, though."

The hostess smiled warmly. "I agree and wish you well with it, Nephew."

"And how are your siblings?" Naissa chimed in. "I hope they are both well?"

"Very much so, Cousin Nai, thanks for asking. Big Sis Lei's knitting more shawls as we speak, perhaps with a mind to sell some; and Akhi Mustafa... well, he is making his way home for this upcoming winter. I believe he'd then regale us with northern tales."

"Good for you."

For the rest of that conversation, Azalea mostly kept to herself.

First the vazir, then Vessy, and now this lady, she reflected. All counseled patience, so darn-different from my own usual hotheaded tack. All are figures that have lasted quite a while in this stupid jungle game they call 'politics', come to think of it... so they might all have a darn-solid point.

And besides (here Zalea smiled outwardly, which the hostess took for added interest in something she was telling the prince, and smiled back in response), this peasant lady presented her case with such graceful firmness; be a freakin'-nice thing to have in the long run, not gonna lie. I wonder if that might not be something worth learning... and if so, where?

***

"Now then, Azalea," the hostess called, clapping once again, at the expiration of another hour. Naissa, this visitor saw, had begged to be excused along with Rashid, who for his part wanted to know his baby nephew better. "My apologies to have kept you waiting, and sincerest thanks for not interrupting. As promised, I will now listen to what you have to say."

"Then I urge you, listen well," came the reply. "You said you had heard bits about my mom from Lady Naissa; I hope that includes her--I mean my mom's--scheming tendencies, growing more insidious by the day."

"Quite the term for your own mother," Alista observed.

"True nonetheless. Better believe me when I say, Mom really does resent what's been goin' on--and I gotta admit, there are times when I would shudder at mere thoughts of what she might do to not only ourselves, her own freakin' children, but most importantly to members of Lady Vestra's line..."

"Vestra I know intimately, young lady," Alista put in. "Her brother Arys is the current overseer to the Principality of Estreon just a strait away, taking after their late lady mother, the redoubtable Lady Ashara. Should anything unseemly befall her here, she would at least have somewhere to fall back to."

"Well, ain't that darn fortunate of her, then! Meantime, pray recall. Yours is the family of Dad's brother, the one who had once been Amir, with the added fortune of Mirani havin' no real beef with any of you, least of all with Cousin Idris, him bein' in Dad's inner circle and all. Suppose he were to, er... reassert his birthright, that would bring most of the wind outta this charlatan's sails... wouldn't you say?"

"My son assuming the throne again?" Alista's tone was suddenly terse. "Watch how you speak, dear. It is Id's birthright, I would not doubt that for a second... but the fact that he hadn't made use of it already, speaks volumes of our intentions to keep things peaceful, I like to think. Never forget, with that same peace..." the hostess pointed a stiff finger at her long-unseen niece, "Urdin had helped build things as we know today. And now you, his own daughter, are asking me in earnest to throw such advances away from unfounded fear of some charlatan's whims? I doubt my hearing!"

Zalea winced. This kind of opposition she had come to expect, but the blunt way with which it was being conveyed nevertheless stung her into what she felt was righteous fury.

"Cousin Id's heck of a claim would have come miles ahead compared to that of Akhi Mustafa's anyway, now, wouldn't it?!" this princess retorted. "Behold, he's got a son we can all see and hold here, while it would still be a matter of contention for Akhi to even get himself a lass friendly 'nough to take to bed, never mind spout scions!"

"Such bluntness!" Lista paused to take this all in and for breath, flushed as she was getting. "Before we go any further, girl, do reflect on these two points. Firstly, should this Mirani prove to indeed be as cunning as you are so eagerly implying she is, then I dare wager she would have had few scruples of whoever should stand between her and authority, never mind how illusory. In this regard, my son's coming next in the line of rule right after Urdin would--I fear--only make him just another body for that charlatan figure to try and dispose of. Where, I beseech you, would that have left little Uvais? For that matter, the true brain behind that vile attempt on Mustafa's life remains as yet undisclosed!"

"That's--!" Zalea was about to retort, but trailed off on realizing this argument's soundness. "Freak..."

"Secondly, regardless of whoever would end taking up said claim, dear Azalea, your father is bound to have reasons of his own not to let the son of his elder brother take the reins of rule as per customs when such a chance had first presented itself... as does Id for not coming to demand it even when he has established his own branch as can be seen. You may try to inquire either of them for said reasons at a later date, but please, do not presume to dump it all on my door."

Here again Azalea found herself compelled to bite back her own retort. Such grace, from a relative whom she had not the chance to meet for so long, and who--if whispers be true--had been amongst tillers of the lands prior to marriage!

"But 'tis no longer the time to dwell on 'what-ifs' now, I feel," Alista continued, slightly waving her hand in a gesture of dismissal. "Far as I'm concerned, I am the matriarch of a growing family; Urdin is the ruler; and if this Mirani still tries to play the fat gopher part, well, then she's due to suffer the consequences, as every detractor should. Best prepare yourself for that moment also, dear Azalea."

"Yeah, p'raps I should," the princess with that name mumbled glumly. "My apologies for the ill grace, my lady, I-"

"Youth notwithstanding, you are already quite keen about this realm--the same realm, I believe, that your forefathers may have ruled--having a proper ruler after Urdin's passing." Alista rose. "Believe me when I say, girl, that we share that sentiment... but that such a delicate matter shall be decided in time, and in manners of which you may not ask now. Nevertheless," this lady asserted, "I shall try to put in a word with Id. His acceptance of it shall no longer be my primary concern, though, nor should it be yours. Do we understand each other, dear niece?"

Azalea found herself too abashed to answer at once.

"We do, my... Auntie," she replied at length with a blush, remembering herself. "Many thanks for this audience."

"Ah, now that's a real improvement."

***

"Well, my lady," Naissa rejoined when she was sure Uvais was asleep, and only after the visitors have left, "might I inquire, what do you make of Azalea? Where I could listen, this princess's rejoinders were nowhere too polite, and yet-"

"Nor would mine at her age have been, Nai. Give her time."

"But you also promised her to talk to Id. He had specifically forbidden its mention within his earshot."

"Even from me, who was there for the whole of it?" Alista smiled. "We boarded that Balarian ship together, did you know this? We were among the last to leave the smouldering shores of what once was my husband's domain--may Allah Reward him well--and said ship was raided by Sigistan pirates eight days out to sea. We survived this encounter, Allah Be Praised; and with the smoking vessel as background, little Id--still ten then--clasped my hand with one of his as we stood side by side staring out to sea beautified by sunset. And..." the lady briefly closed her eyes. "Oh, sweet me, they're all coming back... And, I was saying- Id promised me to, in his own words, honor dear Imran's memory. Imagine! Such a solemn mien when others might've bawled themselves dry. So glad he remembers it to this day."

"Still," Naissa probed, "how, if I may, could you hope to sway him? Thrones could not be won by sweet memories alone, this much we realize."

"Suppose memories could kill," Alista gently clapped her daughter-in-law by the shoulder, "those of this Mirani woman might have left little for any of us. But no; memories only serve to fuel people to do the killing, my dear... and such people, we can afford to stop."

"How-"

"In bringing down trees," Imran's widow observed, "start from the branches. Let's hope my hotheaded genius of a niece would not take too long to figure that out."

(Part 2)

"Whew... quite some encounter that was, Pipsqueak," Zalea remarked once the royal pair was back out on the streets. "That cousin of ours got quite the mom; so does everyone in your lot, gotta be thankful."

"Oh, I am, Sis. My mom's done great things in keeping us together in the face of Mirani's whims, for one."

The wolfling princess rolled her eyes. "Guess there's gonna be a time when I should apologize for that too, eh? Right now that scheming hag's too much of a sore in the butt for even a night o' sound sleep, though... Best start hopin' nothing--or none--shall get slashed."

Rashid massaged his temple. "Thought you said we're here to try and wind down!"

"I haven't forgotten! But not a day passes without some fresh plans for that hag, and I'll be damned if we don't at least try to match it."

"Oh? Not to bust your bubble, Sis, but the odds to that are nigh impossible-"

"Do not start by pointin' out impossibilities, Pipsqueak; some lesson I'm tryin' to draw from Auntie. Look at her, a peasant-turned-noblewoman. Her and Idris were practically outcasts from their own realm... kinda like myself. Heck, you've seen how I'd beaten yer preachy sis 'gainst all odds, and have pointed out yourself how I should start learn something outta that freakin'-encounter. I am, so now you try to frighten me off?"

"What have you learned, then?" Rashid wanted to know.

"Takin' up on that old-timer's offer, for starters. Said Dad might've had reasons not to hand Id the freakin' throne when he could've; wanna know just what reasons they were, for my part."

"And if Dad wouldn't tell you? Got no good cause to, see."

"Use yer head, Pipsqueak. Such a bright figure as Auntie Lissy might've earned Dad's notice and respect in her own right, somewhere down the lane. One word 'bout our meeting with her might just have Dad pause long 'nough for me to make the rest o' my case. From there--we'll see."

The prince nodded several times. "Might work."

"Sure it will. And you? How far had that self-made bow progressed, huh?"

"Found an artisan called Vaarsan willing to help for half the price; little investment for the talent, he called it-"

"Pamperin' ya darn-hard, that one." Zalea snickered. "More's the nitwit ya are, to have swallowed that raw."

"Agreement reached 'bout a week ago," Rashid went on, letting the jibe fly. "Since then we'd sought out the proper wood. Found one from a cut-up birch tree, of suitable length, weight and texture. Vaarsan could still be fashioning it into a proper bow as we speak. But hey- we're still on a wind-down trip here and right now it's just after midday. How do you like the idea of visiting one more place after the prayers, huh?"

"One," Zalea stressed with a finger, "and I get to pick; too late n' Dad might not be available."

"You're on. What's it gonna be?"

"The barn where I first saw friendship. Last I checked, it was occupied by a whip-tongued witty lass callin' herself Zena. Ya in?"

Rashid smiled. "Why not? You actually found a friend--not something I'd get to see everyday."

"Shut up. This way."

***

Once again shielding her eyes against the nearing-midday sunlight while already beginning to sweat as she stood in a single-file queue in the mouth of an alleyway, one of said alley's urchins, Zena, exhaled slowly.

She had known this day (the aptly named 'Protection Day') would come for quite some time--the day when her weeks-long earnings (obtained alongside reactions ranging from sympathy, pity, indifference, apathy, or even hostility) would be snatched by way of a roll-call by a certain Fatan--'Fat Squirrel' to Zena and most of the urchins there--or some of his thuggish goons.

Craning her head, Zena could just make out the figure waiting with crossed arms, the left hand carrying a twirled-up whip in case things started to turn south--better be safe--as they stood before the queue facing a red cloth lined with silver, whereon the multitudes of rag pouches were gathered.

To the paupress's relief, Fatan was not there in person that day, but rather one of his dumber goons: the stocky Firs. The flash thought that this Firs too might have been left with few other options beyond taking such an incentive--for the Fat Squirrel loved using such uppity terms--just like herself, earned this singular 'appropriator' Zena's sympathy for that moment.

Now, Zena thought. Just a few more of these grunts 'fore my turn. Hope I collected 'nough for some loafs; heck, I'd take even the wormy ones... Lucky you, Zally.

The queue progressed on; this outspoken paupress now found herself third before her earnings would have to be turned in. As the paupress looked down at her own waist, however, her mouth opened in avid disbelief.

"Wait--what the heck?" she murmured intensely. "Why only one pouch? Could've sworn I carried three..."

With dawning vexation it then occurred to her that, even if such a downtrodden state, she might once again have fallen victim to the multitudes of baby-faced cutpurses and snatchers after all; not uncommon in this kind of trade.

"Zena."

At least they had been generous--or ignorant--enough to leave her this one pouch; but still, she was the one having to make that call, and soon!

"Zena!"

The paupress looked up at her quarry's girth. "Heard ya first time, chill!"

The 'appropriator' Firs's nostrils flared, a slight outward sign of his dawning annoyance mixed with apprehension.

"Cough up already," he said, fingering his whip.

"Right here, pal."

"...Only one measly pouch?!" Firs flushed, his grip on the whip tightening for three seconds. "The heck had you been at, lass, all the weeks? Didn't remember Fatan feedin' the whole lot of ya to loiter 'round!"

"Whoa, whoa... Loiter? Cut the crap, dude. 'Tis charity we've been playin' at, not muggery... if you'd care to use your brains and not gloat 'bout that ample girth, that is. 'Sides, one would think you'd pay more heed to what's in that pouch rather than its number, yes?"

Firs paused to consider this, and the fact that he had heard this Zena girl mentioned several times in Fatan's mid-inner circles... and nowhere too negatively. Remarks had been made of the lass's quick wits, biting remarks and uncanny skills at stealth, of so many others--which, more than once, had helped her make good of 'deficits' in her supposed turn-ins.

That said, henchman Firs--lackey-like as he was--retained enough sense to realize that he was getting only a sip of this vixen's skills; even still, he saw no reason not to have some fun of his own. Carefully he untied the pouch, looked into it, even put his hand into it for good measure. His hands came out dripping with gold coins, glinting in the sunlight.

Outwardly, then, Firs only flushed at Zena's chain of mockery.

"Fair 'nough," he growled, "I'm lettin' ya off this time, but better pray that Fatan's trust ain't misplaced, or I swear, lass, you'll rue this day. Leave the pouch there n' get your li'l butt movin' 'fore I let dear whip do the rest o' talkin'."

Zena pulled off a gasp of mock-admiration and began making kissing sounds. "Love ya, Fatty~"

"One more of that, I'd twist that fishy tongue of yours out. Scram!"

"What, no loafs? You know darn well I need those-"

"Screw you! Brought less than the supposed share and all, no dinner, your skin intact enough to work on more; best offer you can hope to get, don'cha think? Good thing Fatan happens to like you too, best thank him when next you meet." Firs again fingered the whip, grinning. "Unless, of course, you insist..."

"Hey! Fewer pouches than expected, perhaps; but you've seen it, I brought gold where the rest of this sorry lot would be damn lucky to even spot bits of copper! That's worth something, surely?!"

"One pouch of gold, and ya want me to slink off just like that, wretch? Considerin' we're also talkin' 'bout yer sorry life here," Firs sniffed, snickering, "ya're really valuin' it very cheap, no? Lucky I'm gentle 'nough not to ask for more 'fore lettin' ye do the skulkin'"

The paupress pondered this for some time with gritted teeth before holding up both hands in dejected acceptance and started trudging away, kicking pebbles out of her way as she did so, quite heedless of some of her fellow urchins' pitying stares.

(Part 3)

Denied her daily bread for something entirely beyond her control, Zena's best bet short of outright stealing (to which she herself might as well have been an inconspicuous victim) was to retrace her steps in hopes of spotting the missing pouch somehow, back to that barn with the rusty lock wherein she had first felt the warmth of friendship by a certain 'Zally'.

Melancholy flooded her for a couple of seconds, wondering what it would have been, had she been afforded the chance to trade fates even for a single day; to wear all the glittering clothes, and taste anything but moldy loafs day in and out...

They had, after all, similar height, build, and dare she admit, temperament.

"Crap; such pipe dreams again," the paupress shook her head and growled--or was it her stomach again? "Focus, Zena, focus! That's it... gonna have to try find some unused sacks n' stitch 'em to pouches, for whenever the Fat Squirrel should wish to take the rules into his own hands next... Darn it all..."

"Well, well," said a cheerily-snide voice. "'Nother day of playin' down and out. Hope ya've had yer fill, 'cause I sure as heck do."

Zena looked up fiercely at this. She might be penniless, but how dare this nameless lousy bugger mock her for it--

Except, she soon realized, the 'bugger' was neither lousy nor nameless.

"Fine day, Zena. How's life?" A girl she least expected stood there, waving perfunctorily, then slapping a boy only a tad shorter than her by the back. "Meet-"

"P-prince Rashid!" the paupress stammered in disbelief. "And you- Zally, how could-"

"Zally..?" Rashid looked at one girl, then the other; blinked a few times, then started to laugh. "So you got yourself nicknames here, eh? Already? Gee, that's fast!"

This time 'Zally' smacked him on the head. Ignoring the "Ow! Hey!" almost immediately after, she winked at the paupress. "Family. First o' many."

"No doubt," Zena snickered back. "Oh- where are my manners. Care to drop by my place? Must've been quite the walk!"

"Been freakin' there, told ya're out hunting."

"More like dumpin' away the loot, lass- but, oh please, come! We'll talk much, I imagine."

"Try make it less freakin'-tedious this time, would ya."

Zena smiled, her first proper one that day. "No promises."