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Authors: Renee Lewin
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sorceress in the world. To him, everything she did was magic. His father, on the other hand, always frightened him.
So, Jem’ya was right. He was only raised by his natural mother the first ten years of his life. After she died, there was the King, the demon. Who knows how much more of a “heartless monster” he might have become without Bahja?
Tareq couldn’t have survived this long in this palace if he’d given his heart too much influence. He learned to shut down his emotions to be a warrior, and a prince, and to remain the King’s successor. But was it worth it? He had caused the woman he cared about to hate him for always, during an effort to make proud the King who he’d hate forever.
Bitter and drunk, Tareq stumbled out of bed, pulled on some clothes and headed for the King’s chambers.
“Wake up you soulless bastard!” he shouted down at the King.
The room smelled of decay. The King was frail and sallow. Even his gray, overgrown eyebrows and white beard had become a sickly yellow. His thin skin hung to his bony face. He opened his cloudy hazel eyes. His voice was raspy and brittle “What are you doing?” the King wheezed.
Tareq stabbed his pointer finger an inch from the King’s face. “You deserve what’s come to you. My mother never loved you and now you will die here alone, because everyone, everyone , hates you. You fucking murderer.”
The King stared blankly at Tareq.
Tareq’s mouth began to tremble. “How could you? How could you make ending my mother’s life a public spectacle?” he growled. “How could you let your children witness that?! I was only 10 years old! Damn you!” Tareq stumbled backwards and then caught his balance. “You are the weak one, not me. You are the monster, n-not me.”
“Leave,” the King dismissed him with a tired wave of his decrepit hand. Then he turned his head on the pillow and fell asleep.
Tareq squinted and blinked at the sleeping man. He stood swaying for a moment, then shook his head, turned around and stumbled back to bed.
CHAPTER FOUR
Late the next afternoon, Tareq pulled himself out of bed to eat and to bathe. He got dressed and sat in a chair on the balcony where he could feel the warm energy of the sun on his skin. For a long while he did not move from that spot because there was nothing he was eager to do. Tareq’s mental, emotional and physical energies were depleted. He could not think of anything too deeply. Watching the bustle of the citizens in the capital down below was all Tareq could take in.
Bahja came into his room a few hours later and stood beside his chair.
Tareq did not look at her. “Is she well?”
Bahja looked out at the capital and shook her head. “She has not stopped crying since yesterday. She cries for her family and she calls for you.”
Tareq lifted his chin slightly but continued to stare out at the city.
“She calls for you, wanting to know why she is being held captive. She asks me why she is being kept here, but I have no answers for her, Prince Tareq.”
Tareq heard the disappointment in Bahja’s voice, but his mind couldn’t conceive a response. He lightly shook his head to express he had nothing to say. The old woman sighed and shuffled out of the room.
The memory of Jem’ya wild with hate entered his mind. There was strength in her grief. When Tareq lost his mother, he didn’t speak for eight months, but he had been young and weak.
He was weak still, because he could not face Jem’ya now. He hoped Jem’ya would be calm tomorrow. Then he would have the chance to explain the battle in Tikso rather than block another of her assaults.
More memories of Jem’ya’s beauty and sorrow began to spill into his mind. Tareq stood and went to his bed. There he slept the remainder of the day.
The following morning, Tareq awoke recharged. He ate, dressed in black pants and a white sleeveless shirt, and rang the bell for Bahja. “How is she, Auntie?” he asked when she
So, Jem’ya was right. He was only raised by his natural mother the first ten years of his life. After she died, there was the King, the demon. Who knows how much more of a “heartless monster” he might have become without Bahja?
Tareq couldn’t have survived this long in this palace if he’d given his heart too much influence. He learned to shut down his emotions to be a warrior, and a prince, and to remain the King’s successor. But was it worth it? He had caused the woman he cared about to hate him for always, during an effort to make proud the King who he’d hate forever.
Bitter and drunk, Tareq stumbled out of bed, pulled on some clothes and headed for the King’s chambers.
“Wake up you soulless bastard!” he shouted down at the King.
The room smelled of decay. The King was frail and sallow. Even his gray, overgrown eyebrows and white beard had become a sickly yellow. His thin skin hung to his bony face. He opened his cloudy hazel eyes. His voice was raspy and brittle “What are you doing?” the King wheezed.
Tareq stabbed his pointer finger an inch from the King’s face. “You deserve what’s come to you. My mother never loved you and now you will die here alone, because everyone, everyone , hates you. You fucking murderer.”
The King stared blankly at Tareq.
Tareq’s mouth began to tremble. “How could you? How could you make ending my mother’s life a public spectacle?” he growled. “How could you let your children witness that?! I was only 10 years old! Damn you!” Tareq stumbled backwards and then caught his balance. “You are the weak one, not me. You are the monster, n-not me.”
“Leave,” the King dismissed him with a tired wave of his decrepit hand. Then he turned his head on the pillow and fell asleep.
Tareq squinted and blinked at the sleeping man. He stood swaying for a moment, then shook his head, turned around and stumbled back to bed.
CHAPTER FOUR
Late the next afternoon, Tareq pulled himself out of bed to eat and to bathe. He got dressed and sat in a chair on the balcony where he could feel the warm energy of the sun on his skin. For a long while he did not move from that spot because there was nothing he was eager to do. Tareq’s mental, emotional and physical energies were depleted. He could not think of anything too deeply. Watching the bustle of the citizens in the capital down below was all Tareq could take in.
Bahja came into his room a few hours later and stood beside his chair.
Tareq did not look at her. “Is she well?”
Bahja looked out at the capital and shook her head. “She has not stopped crying since yesterday. She cries for her family and she calls for you.”
Tareq lifted his chin slightly but continued to stare out at the city.
“She calls for you, wanting to know why she is being held captive. She asks me why she is being kept here, but I have no answers for her, Prince Tareq.”
Tareq heard the disappointment in Bahja’s voice, but his mind couldn’t conceive a response. He lightly shook his head to express he had nothing to say. The old woman sighed and shuffled out of the room.
The memory of Jem’ya wild with hate entered his mind. There was strength in her grief. When Tareq lost his mother, he didn’t speak for eight months, but he had been young and weak.
He was weak still, because he could not face Jem’ya now. He hoped Jem’ya would be calm tomorrow. Then he would have the chance to explain the battle in Tikso rather than block another of her assaults.
More memories of Jem’ya’s beauty and sorrow began to spill into his mind. Tareq stood and went to his bed. There he slept the remainder of the day.
The following morning, Tareq awoke recharged. He ate, dressed in black pants and a white sleeveless shirt, and rang the bell for Bahja. “How is she, Auntie?” he asked when she
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