Nineteen

Before

THE HAWK

Baba made me start training with Mazin, despite his talent being so much less than mine. Maz trained with the other soldiers too, but the emperor decided he needed more.

"The boy is incompetent," I had grumbled to my father as he walked us to the training field at the back of the smith. Field was not perhaps the right word—the ground was so worn it was more like a yard of dirt with some sparse shrubbery.

But it was my favorite place in the world.

"Winning a battle isn't about skill, Dani. It's about heart. And Mazin has plenty of that."

I stepped onto the dirt with my talwar in my hand, watching Maz hold a too big scimitar in his as my father left us alone to spar.

"This is like charity, trying to improve your fighting prowess." I lunged forward and removed his weapon before he could blink.

And yet, he never stopped trying. I did it three more times before planting my talwar in the yard and leaning over it with a yawn. That last time was harder than I thought it would be, but I didn't want him to see my surprise.

He had improved.

Not that I would tell him.

He picked up his sword from the dirt, his jaw clenched, a muscle ticking in one corner. I thought he would lunge again, pull the same thoughtless move. Instead, he lowered his blade and looked at me.

"I'm hungry, let's stop for a moment."

I snorted. "The real reason you want to stop is that you don't want to be beaten anymore."

He puffed out an exasperated breath and planted his own blade in the ground, mimicking my stance. "Has anyone ever told you you are impossible to befriend?"

A startled laugh bubbled up. "Is that what you are doing? Befriending me? I have plenty of those, I don't need more."

He gave me a skeptical look and leaned toward me. Something flipped in my stomach at his intense focus. I noticed for the first time that he was not unappealing to look at—though he hadn't yet grown into his limbs and his hair was an unruly mop. He rubbed the back of his neck and my eyes traced his flexed arm before darting back to his face.

What was wrong with me?

"Dania, you don't have any friends. Not that I've seen. You have sparring partners. What you need is to have fun."

I stared back at him. "What I need is to train. Or I'll be in danger of being as terrible with a sword as you are," I retorted, crossing my arms over my chest and hoping my face wasn't as red as it felt.

He smiled, and I felt the fight go out of me.

I could stop for a few minutes. One break for luncheon didn't mean we were friends.

"Fine, one meal." I leaned against my talwar. "But then we go back to training. My father asked me to help you, so if you don't want to I'll train alone."

I grabbed the fresh parathas made by a village aunty that had been delivered that day. We sat along the wooden fence of the training yard, eating in companionable silence. The parathas were rolled and filled with spicy pickles and firm cheese. I must have forgotten how hungry I was because I practically wolfed them down.

"This may be the best thing I've ever eaten," Mazin said between mouthfuls, and leaned back against the post.

I chewed without looking at him, willing myself not to engage in conversation. But the afternoon sun cast a glow behind him, making the day seem softer, dreamier somehow. He tipped his head back and looked at the mountains framing our village, something in his eyes filled with resolve, and a little like longing. I couldn't help but follow his gaze, to want to see what he was looking at with such focus.

For a wild moment, I wished he were looking at me that way. I swallowed thickly and turned my head, my skin uncomfortably hot.

"They don't feed you at the palace?" My voice came out croaky, and I stuffed more paratha into my mouth to mask my embarrassment. I might as well fall on my talwar now and die to spare myself more humiliation.

"Not like this. Everything is a rich curry, or an overly sweet dessert. The emperor wants the best, most extravagant. But this is simple and hearty and made for short breaks in the sun. It reminds me of when I was a boy."

"You are still a boy," I reminded him, licking some of the sour pickle off my fingers.

"I mean, before I joined the emperor." He still had that hint of longing in his gaze that made me want to know more.

It bothered me that I wanted to know about his past at all, considering he worked for Vahid.

But I did. He wasn't royalty, not that I was aware of, and he spoke as if he had once lived in a village like ours. I bit the inside of my cheek until I felt the gnaw of pain, but it still didn't stop my question.

"What do you mean, before ?"

He looked up from his paratha, pausing before taking a bite. The sun made his eyes appear golden. I scowled at the direction of my thoughts, and his lips lifted at my expression.

"I can tell you really want to know about my childhood." He took another bite of the bread.

"No, but you won't shut up about it, so I might as well know what you're talking about."

"You might as well." He tilted his head. "My sister and I come from a village in the south, where Emperor Vahid began waging his war against the king with zoraat." His tone was light, but when I glanced at his knuckles they were white.

He was like that often, I realized. Contained —like a clay matka pot, until the heat from the fire became unbearable and he exploded. He fought like that too, whereas I was the opposite, lashing out, always on the attack. He played the defense far too much, until the last possible moment.

"I didn't know you had a sister," I said quietly.

He met my eyes at that. "Yes. Anam was a baby when the emperor came. My mother hung her crib on the branch of a banyan tree and told me to watch Anam while she went to fetch my father. My parents both died in the fighting, killed by the king's soldiers." His throat bobbed, and he took another bite. My own throat felt dry, and the paratha in my hand seemed inedible now with his words.

"A hawk flew down and attempted to carry off my sister from the tree. I fought it off, throwing rocks and desert scrub at it while it dove at us. But the bird was huge, nearly as large as me, and its talons sharp. The bird would have carried off Anam and I wouldn't have been able to save her. But Emperor Vahid himself came upon us as I was trying to protect her. He notched an arrow and struck the hawk through the heart." Maz laid a finger near the collar of his shirt to where a necklace hung. A single black talon hung from it.

"You took a piece of it." I nodded at the talon.

"The emperor did. Cut it off and gave it to me. He said I fought bravely, and he could use someone like that by his side, someone who would defend against those who would prey on him. That's when he decided to take us in. He saved us."

He sounded almost reverent.

I snorted and his gaze shot to me. "Emperor Vahid started that war," I said with vehemence. "The one that killed your parents." I folded my arms over my chest. "He isn't your savior."

"He stopped my sister and me from getting massacred. The king was intent on slaughtering the villages in the south to teach Vahid a lesson. Vahid rescued us."

I pursed my lips and looked toward the low hills that dotted the horizon, away from the mountains. The arid landscape was dotted with trees and shrubs. A golden jackal ran across the clearing, a pup in its mouth, and made its way to a nearby walnut tree that hung crooked, as if hanging on by its last root. A bird circled above, watching for an opportunity to snatch the pup, the same threat that had sought to take Mazin's sister.

But Baba always said that hawks were cunning and patient. They would wait until the perfect time before striking.

Mazin and I were both silent until he spoke again. "It's hard to understand, I know. When my parents were mowed down by the soldiers, hate could have festered in my heart. But Emperor Vahid saved us, took us in, and made sure we didn't suffer. What else could I do but be thankful? My parents were gone, but we still had each other. I owe the emperor my life and my loyalty."

I watched him, trying to understand the perspective of a small boy who was just desperate to stay alive, and to stay together with his baby sister. Desperate enough that they would be grateful for anything, even a man who created the very war that killed his family.

Mazin met my eyes, the paratha forgotten in his hands too. But I didn't know how to respond to the silent plea for understanding, the need for approval that the love he sought from the emperor wasn't a poison.

"What are you thinking?" he said after a long moment.

I couldn't say what he wanted me to, but that wasn't who we were anyway. On the battlefield, being kind wouldn't lead to victory.

Only slaughter elsewhere.

"I think," I said, straightening from my perch and dusting myself off, "that you didn't really save your sister from a hawk that day."