Scheherazade and the King Ch. 06

Scheherazade stood frozen as she stared at the exiled prince, her hands clamped firmly over her mouth.

Just as he had been the night she first saw him, Shahzaman was clothed all in black, a matched set of swords sheathed at his hips. But this time his face was not obscured by a dark mask.

Hazim's voice echoed in her mind as she took in the prince's visage: He tortured him within an inch of his life before Shahzaman's allies helped him escape.

Tendrils of scorched tissue snaked up from beneath his clothing, covering his neck before continuing up his right jawline. She had seen burns before but never to this extent. His skin looked like melted wax that some blundering candlemaker had tried to push back into place.

Where his flesh was not burned, it was scarred. Lines of stitched flesh blazed forked patterns across his face like lightning.

The banished prince watched her taking him in quietly, his gaze unwavering as her sapphire eyes followed the trail of traumatised flesh until it reached where his right ear should have been.

"Did Shariyar do that to you?" She asked, her hands falling slowly from her mouth.

Shahzaman blinked in surprise. Of all the questions she could have asked — indeed, probably should have asked — he had not expected that one.

He looked down at the ground as if he was ashamed and ran a hand up his neck, his fingers hovering over the hole that marked where his ear had been.

"I suppose I should be more concerned with what you're going to do to me than what your brother did to you," she said, her tone sombre.

"I'm not here to hurt you," Shahzaman said, raising his silver eyes.

Scheherazade's memory had not distorted the sound of the prince's voice: it rumbled up from his throat like distant thunder, low and booming. It sounded like it belonged to a much bigger man than the one who stood before her.

"Then what do you want?" She asked.

"I promised I'd see you again," he said, turning his back to her as he walked towards the table and sat down.

"Why?" She asked, following after him.

"I wanted to meet you," he said, stretching his legs. "And perhaps while you were awake this time."

"Meet me?" She scoffed, her arms folded tightly across her chest. "Your brother's whore?"

"That may be what he treats you as, but that is not what you are."

"What am I then?"

"A piece of a puzzle," he said. "A player in a game."

"You mean a pawn," she muttered bitterly.

"I do not," he said. "I did not survive this long by being a fool."

She sat down in the chair opposite, eyeing him with suspicion.

"I don't want to use you," he said softly, glancing across the table at her.

Scheherazade scoffed aloud and sunk lower into her chair.

"I'm sorry you find that so hard to believe," Shahzaman said.

"And I'm sorry you risked your life just to lie to me," she glowered.

"I'm not lying to you," Shahzaman said.

"Oh really?" She asked. "Then tell me, in this game of yours, whose side should I be on?"

The prince shrugged.

"Whose side was Nasrin on?"

Shahzaman's silver eyes narrowed: "No one's but her own."

"That's not what I heard."

The prince let out a heavy sigh, his proud shoulders slumping: "What did my brother tell you?"

"He said that you convinced Nasrin to kill him because you wanted — want — to take the throne from him."

"I didn't and I don't," he said.

"His perceptions of reality seem to be the only ones that matter," she said.

Shahzaman ran a hand up his neck, his fingers following the line of his scars until it reached where his ear should have been: "I'm well aware."

The girl bowed her head and looked away.

"From what I hear, you have suffered at his hands too," he said gently.

He opened his mouth to speak again but, before he got the chance, she interjected sharply: "Wait — what do you mean "from what you hear"?"

"I still have friends here and there," he said.

He pulled a folded piece of paper from his shirt pocket and handed it to her: "Indeed, I think we have at least one mutual friend."

Scheherazade unfolded the sheet and gasped slightly when she saw that it was one of Hazim's letters.

"Hazim saved my life," he said, his voice low.

She eyed him silently for a few moments, and then began to speak: "I saw the way your brother reacted when he found out you had breached the palace walls. I am loathe to believe he could have imagined such a threat where one does not exist."

"And yet," she continued, musing aloud, "Hazim counts you as an ally."

"I never had any intentions towards the throne," Shahzaman said. "In my younger years I was content to bask in the fame and wealth that was my birthright. Believe me, Scheherazade, had you known me before, you would feel no sympathy towards me now. It's a wonder Hazim cares about what becomes of me at all."

"Hazim does not seem one to condemn easily," Scheherazade said.

Shahzaman searched for a hint of bitterness in her voice but found none. He shook his head in wonder.

"Scheherazade," he said, "when you discover who you are, and what you did to end up on this most unlikely of paths, I do not think you will be surprised."

The girl looked at him sharply: "Do you know who I am?"

"No," he admitted.

Scheherazade's shoulders slumped slightly in disappointment.

"But I have a guess."

The girl straightened: "You do?"

Shahzaman nodded: "And I believe that, once my brother receives the information I have, he will come to the same conclusions."

"Information?"

"I know two stories Shariyar does not," he said. "One will come to him from foreign messengers but the other must come from you."

"From me?"

"Yes," Shahzaman said. "He needs to hear your story."

"No," the girl said, rising sharply from her seat. "I cannot."

"You must," the prince said as he stood to follow her.

"And what exactly would you know of my story?" She asked.

Shahzaman sighed and sat back down: "After Shariyar tortured me, my friends and allies did everything they could to bring me back to health. But I was not satisfied with merely my health — I wanted to appease my vanity. So I sought out a Daarkan healer and that is how I came to meet Ekundayo."

The name had a visceral effect on Scheherazade.

"You met Ekundayo?" She asked, her voice barely louder than a whisper.

The prince's eyes were downcast as he nodded solemnly: "I did."

"Why do you hang your head?" Scheherazade asked, apprehension building in her voice. "What happened to her?"

"Nothing," he said, his heart over his hand in promise. "She is alive and well to the best of my knowledge."

"Then why are you so grave?" She asked. "What did you do?"

"I did not do anything to her," he said. "But I tried."

"You had best explain yourself — now," the girl said icily.

"I sought Ekundayo out and demanded that she heal me," Shahzaman said. "I will never forget how she scoffed at my sword and my rank, how she sat me down in the dirt and began to tell me a story about a girl who had had everything taken from her — her voice, her sight, her youth and beauty. The girl had not come looking for healing; Fate had led her. She told me your story, Scheherazade, so I would understand why she could not use her ancient magic on the likes of me. And, had my friends not restrained my hand, I would have killed her for her refusal."

"You and your brother do not seem so different after all," Scheherazade muttered grimly.

Shahzaman lowered his head: "I would like to think I am no longer the same person who appeared before Ekundayo."

Scheherazade sighed, taking in the sincerity in his voice, and finally relented: "You do not seem like the same man."

"I am not," the prince said earnestly.

The girl held his eyes for a moment before nodding for him to continue his story.

"When Hazim told me about you — the girl covered in Daarkan tattoos that Jafar had rescued from the sea — I knew you were the young woman Ekundayo had described," Shahzaman said. "I knew your name before Hazim spoke it."

"If you know the suffering I endured, then you will understand why I cannot tell Shariyar," she said firmly.

"You must tell him," Shahzaman urged.

"I will not relive those memories of pain and humiliation for him to take some sick pleasure in," she said, her voice trembling with anger. "And, even if he were to find an ounce of humanity left somewhere within him, I do not want his pity."

"You do not deserve pity, Scheherazade," the prince said. "You deserve respect. You must tell him what you have endured so he can understand the kind of person you are."

"Do you understand what you are asking of me?" She asked. "You are asking me to reveal my darkest, weakest moments to the man who rapes me and beats me."

"If you do not tell him, you may never find out who you are."

"And why can't you tell me?" She asked. "Why can't you find out?"

"My forces may be strong, but I do not have the diplomatic resources necessary to confirm my suspicions," he explained gently. "Shariyar does."

Scheherazade began to pace the floor, her hands clamped so tightly into fists that her fingernails threatened to puncture her palms.

"How long before the messengers arrive?" She asked finally.

"If there are no delays — and, believe me, Scheherazade, I am doing everything within my power to ensure there are none — approximately two months."

"And what will happen if he comes to the same conclusions you have and confirms that I am whoever it is you think I am?"

"As I see it, he has two choices: either he returns you to your former life or he keeps you for himself," he said.

"Or he kills me," she muttered.

"He won't."

"Let us imagine he does decide to return me to my former life," Scheherazade said, ignoring the prince's remark. "What will you do then?"

"If he does the right thing, my forces will be behind his, offering whatever support we can from the shadows until the day comes that he calls me "brother" again."

"And if he keeps me or kills me?" She asked.

"Then he will have to add another enemy to his growing list," Shahzaman said gravely. "Shariyar may control an empire, but his capital is surrounded by my desert. No caravan or messenger crosses those dunes unless I allow it. That is why, although my brother has banished a hundred and fifty women, he has killed none."

Scheherazade stopped in her tracks: "You mean they are alive?"

"Alive and well in my keep," he said.

"Why haven't you returned them to their families?" She asked. "While you keep them, Shariyar still has a target on his back."

"If I were to return them to their homes, I would have the loyalty of many powerful men," Shahzaman said. "My brother may not have their loyalty, but at least no one else does."

Scheherazade laughed slightly to herself as she resumed pacing: "The irony of it all... By exiling you, your brother gave you the motivation to dethrone him and all the tools to do it."

The prince watched as the girl walked back and forth with quick, deliberate steps.

"So I am not a player in the game at all," she said finally, throwing an accusing glance over her shoulder at him. "I am the test your brother must pass."

"He is doing better," Shahzaman said, his voice a gentle murmur.

"Better?" She scoffed.

"He is attending council meetings, he is drinking less," Shahzaman said. "And right now he is on his way to personally greet a diplomatic envoy — this is the first time he has left the palace in almost half a year."

The girl's steps slowed to a stop.

"He is returning to the king he used to be — the king our people need and deserve," the prince said. "And the only change is you."

"So, to protect your people, I must stay?" She asked.

Again Shahzaman searched her tone for bitterness and self-pity, and again he found none.

"Scheherazade, will you please sit?" He asked, gesturing to the chair opposite him. "I know your story, I think it is only fitting you know mine."

The girl did as he asked wordlessly.

"As I said before, I had no desire to rule. My status meant I did not want for wealth and my looks meant I did not want for —" The prince stopped mid-sentence as he searched for the right word.

"Companionship," he said finally.

"Growing up I always believed my brother and I were fundamentally different — he cared deeply about things I could not muster a grain of sympathy for," Shahzaman continued. "When we were young men, a terrible earthquake struck a small city called Abula'a. Shariyar accompanied our father to lead the recovery effort. He helped many people rebuild what they could of their lives, but he could not help them all. When they returned, my brother was sick with heartbreak for the people he could not aid. For months he could barely eat or sleep."

Shahzaman's voice was thick with emotion as he continued: "My response to my brother was to taunt him for being weak. I did not care about the families who would never be whole again."

The prince hung his head in shame: "I suppose I knew from then the kind of depression my brother was capable of sinking into, but I did not consider myself his keeper. After our father passed, Shariyar descended into despair once again. And, just as before, I left him to deal with his sorrow alone. And that's when she found him."

Scheherazade's eyes widened at the hatred she suddenly heard in Shahzaman's voice.

"When that woman found Shariyar, he was at his lowest point," he said. "She took advantage of his vulnerability to earn herself a place among the royalty. And, when he was thoroughly wrapped around her finger, she made her move."

The prince fell silent for a moment, his argent eyes fixed blankly on the table before him.

"She came to you?" Scheherazade asked gently, prompting him to continue.

"Yes, she came to me," he said. "I suppose she assumed I was an ambitious man — one who could be useful to her. I came into my room one night to find her lying naked in my bed and I laughed in her face."

Shahzaman cringed at the memory: "I threatened to drag her to my brother and tell him what she had done. She sobbed at my feet, promising me that she would never try to betray my brother again."

The prince took in a shaky breath and stole a glance at Scheherazade, finding just enough courage in the sparkling depths of her eyes to finish his story.

"The next thing I knew, I was the one being dragged through the palace like a dog," he murmured.

"And that's when he did that to you?" She asked.

Shahzaman nodded: "The pain was more than I could bear. I screamed until my voice was a mere whisper as he hurled accusation after accusation at me. I barely had the strength to tell him that I — I could not have seduced Nasrin."

"Could not?" She asked.

"I do not feel for women the way most men do," he said. "With what I had left of my strength, I confessed that fact to my brother but if he understood what I was telling him, he did not care. He refused to believe that Nasrin would betray him of her own volition."

Scheherazade bit her lip, trying to come to terms with the full weight of Shahzaman's admission.

"How did you escape?" She asked.

"He let me," Shahzaman said.

The girl cocked her head questioningly.

"My closest friends came to my rescue," he explained, "but they were no match against Shariyar's guards. We were outnumbered and I was too weak to walk let alone fight. He could have killed me then and there but he spared my life and let us escape."

He looked at Scheherazade meaningfully: "He did not kill me and he will not kill you."

"You are his brother, he loves you," Scheherazade said. "He could not kill you."

"And he cannot kill you either."

The girl's expression was suddenly stony: "What do you mean by that?"

"It is obvious you matter to him," Shahzaman said. "If you did not, he would have sentenced you to death like all the others."

"He has sentenced me to death," she retorted. "And he's promised it will come at his own hands this time. There will be no short walk into your desert for me."

"You are the key to his salvation and he is the key to yours," the prince said. "I am sure of it."

The girl shuddered: "Do you hear yourself? Do you understand what you are saying?"

"The man who did this to me and who is doing these things to you is not my brother," Shahzaman said. "My brother is a good man and he will do the right thing when he remembers himself."

"A good man would not take out his pain on another," she replied.

"Fate has forced us all to wear masks we were never meant to," the prince murmured. "That is what you see — the mask, not the man."

"So have you truly changed or is this just a mask?" Scheherazade asked.

"Sometimes I ask myself the same question," he said darkly. "But I think I have changed, I think I am now a man my brother could be proud of..."

"What if I am not who you think I am?" She asked after a few moments. "Will you just leave me at his mercy?"

"No," Shahzaman said firmly. "But I do not think it will come to that. I believe you are the girl I've heard of and I believe Shariyar will do what is right when he learns your identity."

"That makes one of us," Scheherazade said.

"I have to leave now," Shahzaman said, rising from his chair. "If you need to contact me, Hazim knows how to reach me."

Scheherazade nodded but did not say a word.

"Before I go," he said, pausing in the doorway, "may I ask you a question?"

She shrugged.

"What was the pirate's name?" He asked. "Ekundayo could not tell me his name."

"That's because I did not tell her," she said quietly. "I do not speak his name."

"Then write it for me," he said.

The girl sighed but nodded — the earnest look in his eyes told her that it would be useless to refuse. She walked to stand beside him and traced the letters on the wall.

Her finger stabbed out a single word: Zigor.

Shahzaman nodded, his expression enigmatic — she could not tell if the name meant anything to him or not.

"Good bye, wild waves," he said, leaning forward to plant a chaste kiss on her cheek. "I think the next time we meet, it will be under different circumstances."

"Better, I hope," she said.

"I'm sure of it," he said, offering her a smile.

Scheherazade nodded and watched silently as the prince scaled the garden wall, disappearing like a shadow into the night beyond.

She bolted the door to the garden and collapsed onto the bed wearily. The thought of telling Shariyar about the tortures she had endured at Zigor's hands set her stomach churning. She sat up and glanced around the room. Suddenly, she noticed a pile of papers Shariyar had abandoned. She walked over to the table and plucked the topmost parchment from the stack. Shahzaman had given her an idea — she would write the story for Shariyar instead of relaying it aloud. She searched the room for a quill and ink, and, as soon as she found them, sat down to write.

++++++++

Although Shariyar's body ached from hours of traveling on horseback, he was content. His meeting with the diplomatic envoy had been successful and he had been warmly received by his subjects in Cyrria.

He led his convoy through the palace gates and dismounted in the main courtyard, leaving his steed to be tended to by the stable hands. He was hungry and tired and thirsty and, for some reason, he wanted to see the gypsy.

He pushed open the chamber doors and was surprised to see the girl asleep on the bed. She still wore his shirt and the soft fabric barely covered her thighs.

The king walked towards her, wondering at the peace he felt staring at her sleeping countenance. Although he hated to admit it, the girl's beauty had a power over him he could not shake. The raw fullness of her lips betrayed nothing of the sharp tongue they sheathed and it took all his will to keep from kissing them.