Fortune Favors the Cursed
the-reticent-seer
diverselit
diverselit
1.3K5
An orphan girl with questionable morals. A scarred prince with two lives. One relic to change their world.
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Badriya As-Sahra is sick of piling up camel dung and ...Chapter 26
Ayaz paced in front of his bedroom window that overlooked the city's crowded streets. He could hear people talking and shouting over each other all the way here. The moment the vizier excused himself that night in the courtyard, he quickly went to his chambers and wrote a quick note to his friend Idris, asking him to look into the entire family tree of the Khadysian royal family. Folding the note, he then summoned a servant, who was working undercover for him and had him send it to Idris.
Since then, he had been waiting for a response. It had been a week. Maybe more—he stopped counting when the days seemed to stretch longer than he thought. But nothing came.
Growling in frustration, Ayaz slammed his fist onto the window. Shards of glass stuck on his knuckles, forming tiny cuts on his skin. He winced at the sight of blood coming out on some of them. He would have to get someone to replace the window. Perhaps later.
"I could help you with that," a familiar voice echoed throughout the room, though Ayaz knew he was the only one who could hear him. "But I would have to remember how I healed you the first time."
Ayaz sighed. "It's fine, Fudail. I'll live for another day."
He flexed his hand, and the shards dug deeper into his skin. He hissed. That was a mistake.
With a defeated sigh, he walked over to his bed, where he stored a bag of medical supplies underneath. He always had it stocked to the brim whenever he ran out of rags and the like when he got injured during raids. He was slowly picking out the glass when Fudail spoke again.
"You could be at the party," Fudail told him. "The day's young, kid. People are enjoying themselves outside. You should too."
"I don't care about the party," Ayaz grumbled. "I'm waiting for answers. I could be looking for them myself but I don't want people looking for me if I were to sneak away."
He could just get answers by asking Khalil or even approaching his father. But Khalil could get suspicious and think he was turning into some sort of traitor by looking into the Khadysians. And there was no way in hell he would ask his father about his mother unless he had a death wish.
"Was it something I said that made you angry?" the Hatif asked. "Is that why you're looking for answers?"
"I'm not. . . angry." Ayaz pinched his temple with his good hand. He still hadn't told Fudail about what Khalil told him. That he was Ayaz's uncle. If he did, would he even remember his sister's name, or that she had married Zecaj's Sultan and bore a son? Would he understand if he said anything at all?
He wasn't mad at Fudail. If anything he was confused of. . . of everything. Of how everything—secrets, lies, all of it—led to this moment.
After a bit of mulling over his wounded hand which was now covered in gauze, Ayaz told Fudail everything he knew. The whole time, not a breeze blew in his room, so he didn't know how Fudail was reacting. He noticed until recently that somehow, the Hatif had some control over air. Since he didn't have a face that Ayaz could see, the intensity of the air would match the tone of his voice. He wasn't sure how he did it, but it was one more thing that meant Fudail was real and that he wasn't making his dead uncle's voice up.
"Bil. . . qis," Fudail uttered the name, testing it. "I-I remember her. Bilqis, my sister. My only sister."
There was a crack in his voice, and then the start of a sandstorm began to form.
A harsh gale spun in the middle of Ayaz's room, sending everything into flying chaos. Small items flew around, which made Ayaz duck beside the bed, its sheets threatening to fly away. All of it gathered in the center where, just for one second, he thought he saw the faint outline of a man.