Chapter Text
Kaveh crosses his arms over the windowsill. He stares through the glass as Al-Haitham walks away from the house. The emperor glances over his shoulder, perhaps sensing Kaveh’s gaze. He nods at the blond comfortingly before returning his gaze to the street he is following. Kaveh’s lips twitch with a smile. He leans his chin against the palm of his hand. His fingers curl against his cheek. He watches Al-Haitham continue until he can no longer see the silver-gray hair swaying gently in the breeze. Kaveh stays at the window for a few moments longer. He half-expects for Al-Haitham to return immediately, but he knows it is going to take a little longer for Al-Haitham to tell the retinue who came with them that they are returning to the capital in the morning.
Kaveh pushes off the windowsill. He takes several steps back. He turns on his heel to look around the interior of the house. Most of the furniture was here when Kaveh arrived, so he doesn’t need to pack it up. Al-Haitham has helped him pack everything that belongs to Kaveh. They are sitting in boxes and bags on every surface. Kaveh runs his fingers along the top of one of the chests. The velvety material is smooth against his skin. It is replaced by the cold metal frame, but Kaveh’s hand drops back to his side before he can hiss at the stark temperature difference.
Kaveh walks through the dimly lit hallway to the bedroom. The necessities have been left out. Anything that is not strictly necessary— as determined by Al-Haitham, not by Kaveh— has been packed away. While Al-Haitham is gone, Kaveh is going to unpack a few objects that he considers necessary for the night and the following morning. He might argue with Al-Haitham about it later when he realizes. They might as well argue about this rather than philosophy yet again. Kaveh is almost on the cusp of being frustrated with how incorrect Al-Haitham is all the time.
Kaveh doesn’t immediately begin on the task he set out for himself. He instead moves to a glass vase sitting on the nightstand on his side of the bed. The mourning flower droops over the rim. Kaveh gently moves his fingers around the dark red petals. He lifts the flower gently. The petals are soft against his fingers. The floral scent lingers in the air around the flower. Kaveh leans down to truly immerse himself in the smell.
A cool wind tickles the side of Kaveh’s neck. He turns his gaze toward the window. A frown pulls his lips down when he realizes that the window is open. The curtains are waving in the same breeze that sends a chill down Kaveh’s spine. One hand stays with the mourning flower, but the other one moves to his side as a fist when he shifts on his foot. Kaveh gives his attention to the window. His eyes continue sliding until he sees the person standing in the corner of the room, hidden away in the darkness. The light reflects off the curtains, casting a dark red glow across their face.
“What are you—” Kaveh starts, eyebrows knitting together in his confusion and apprehension.
“We didn’t think that divine bastard would ever leave,” Bahman notes. There is a strange quality to his voice. It sounds like someone is talking at the same time as him. He leans into the corner. His arms are crossed over his chest. His head is tilted down, and his eyes are closed. He taps a finger against the upper portion of his arm. “His appearance really threw a wrench in our plans. We thought he would punish you if he ever came to find you. We didn’t expect him to care for you. We didn’t think he would stick to you. We guess that’s what we get for forgetting he knows that you are prone to running away as well as we do. We were counting on you running away from him; we were not counting on him assuring that would never happen.”
“What are you talking about? Why are you talking… like that?” Kaveh demands. He releases the mourning flower to swing his entire body around to face Bahman. Kaveh puts his fists up. He doesn’t know how to fight. He doesn’t have any sort of power. He still thinks he can hold Bahman off long enough for Al-Haitham to return. The emperor has both fighting prowess and divine magic.
“We are simply shedding the disguise we put on,” Bahman answers with that other synchronized voice. He tilts his head back. His eyes are still closed, but Kaveh thinks his irises are starting to glow bright enough that it can be seen through his eyelids. “We assumed that you would be romantically inclined towards someone who was kind and hardworking. It is rather sad that the divine bastard is your type. His personality leaves much to be desired. Even you seem to agree with us. But we acknowledge that some people only account for beauty.”
“I’m not getting very many answers, Bahman. Tell me what you want or get out of my house.” Kaveh glares at the man.
Those eyes finally open. Bahman’s sclera is a misty black color. His pupils are a poisonous purple, bubbling with an internal light. Bahman pushes off the wall. He languidly steps closer to Kaveh. The blond tenses. Bahman smirks humorlessly at him. He flicks his hand. Kaveh flinches back, but Bahman’s hand movement wasn’t to throw something at Kaveh. It was to start controlling the mourning flower in the vase behind Kaveh. The plant shoots out of the glass, wrapping around Kaveh’s throat. It tightens, cutting off Kaveh’s airflow as the flower brushes against his chin. Kaveh reaches to grab the stem. He pulls at it with all his might. Bahman raises an eyebrow at Kaveh’s fruitless struggle. “We were hoping to be kind about this since you are a former business partner, but you just couldn’t follow through. Well, fortunately, we are not above resorting to cruelty to get what we want. We need to get you out of here before that divine bastard returns, though, so just close your eyes and accept your fate.”
Kaveh collapses onto his knees. His vision darkens. Instead of Bahman, the last person Kaveh sees is Marana.
—
“Your Imperial Majesty,” Candace asks from the doorway. Her voice is tight. Her expression is muted. Her body is tense, like a coil ready to spring. She holds her spear in her hand, letting the end rest against her lower back. She looks around the room, searching for clues. When she doesn’t find anything from her position in the hallway, she turns her focus onto the leader she serves dutifully.
Al-Haitham leans on the ground. He touches one of the shards of broken glass from the vase. The mourning flower is gone, but the vague outline of it is left in the air from the residual dark magic. Al-Haitham takes a deep breath. The clover on the back of his hand glows, purifying the space immediately around him. Al-Haitham lets the green light brighten his eyes as he rises to his feet. He turns to face Candace. “I have found him once before. I will do so again. Send word to Nilou. It seems there is someone else capable of using dark magic.”
“Understood.” Candace is already darting away even before she finishes her statement. Al-Haitham is left alone in the room. He takes a deep breath. This will be the last time he lets something like this happen again. One more struggle, and then everything will be fine. May the gods forgive whoever took Kaveh because Al-Haitham will never do so.