peepo | the morning sun and the night sky.

[ silence is telling. kaveh watches, studies, tries to find fault in alhaitham's features, in every motion he makes, in the way his lips mouths the words he speaks, as though there he would find a tell that this is all an elaborate lie, that he's being played with. kaveh, trusting, loving, naive kaveh. he would be easy to manipulate. his father worried much about him, but never saw the opportunity to warn his son. lokapala was perfect. sumeru, then, hadn't been so tumultuous. so full of conflict.

he puts his plate down for a moment. there is no need for a prince to recall the name of every single one of his people, but kaveh does. they're family, after all. in the intricacies of his mind, their names are all written on a large wall, never to be forgotten. ]

Akram. Kurash. Nasser. Bita. Panah. Goli. Sanad. Varsha. Elham. Izad.

[ slowly, he recites each of their names, their faces fresh in his memories. they had all smiled, once, dined around the same table, celebrated the same festivals. now, with luck, they're all under the same palace, enslaved. with luck, they're still alive — or would it be luckier to be met with death? ]

Not that you will remember, or assign a face to a name. Again, what does it matter to you?

[ names recited from memory. a prince, no matter what manner of heart he possesses, is forced to confront the limitations of the human body and mind when recalling the names of every subject in his domain. it then confirms alhaitham's suspicions that each lokapalan had been selected based on their connection to the royal palace itself. he considers the perspective of the eremites - they would have been ordered to choose and select the best and most viable slaves for serving the vissudha palace. what better quality of slaves to choose than individuals who once served a palace themselves? he considers, and rejects, the possibility that azar would have given orders to the eremites directly as to where the slaves must be sourced. communicating little details like that to eremites, the scourges of the desert and mere dust beneath his heels, would be beyond him.

alhaitham knew that he could use this. there were a few elements to be confirmed, but the facts slot into his pre-existing plans with the neat click of a chess piece in place. alhaitham looks at kaveh, still defiant, chin jutted out in a contemptuous lilt, and rests his chin on the heel of his hand as he thinks. ]

The young woman who was brought in with you, with long light hair braided along her left shoulder. Purple painted lips, gold foil on her eyelids obscuring the reddening of her eyes, extensive bruising beneath the make-up on her right arm, and the tri-coloured bangles on both wrists - which of the ones you named was she?

[ he watches, again. studies, again. analyzes, again. the description is an immediate match to the name in his mind, and he finds it unnecessary the continuation. they are truths that kaveh knows, truths kaveh watched happen, but truths he does not want to be reminded of. it is wood thrown into his fire, igniting it, making it stronger. it rekindles the flame in his eyes, again. ]

... Elham. [ he complies, then, and there's a small ball of fear deep in his stomach. what if, by giving a name to a face, he's going to indirectly be the cause of her distress? what if, indirectly, her prince brings her hurt?

alhaitham hadn't choked him when he had the chance. hadn't killed him yet. he could, if he wishes, kill those around him, again. the knot in his throat is not an easy one to swallow. ] Why do you ask?

[ once again, kaveh asks. once again, alhaitham is disinclined to respond. the intention does not - and never has - mattered. he is the prince of a state that soaked lokapala in blood. nothing he says will assuage the evident suspicions that swim in kaveh's blood-like gaze. and so he doesn't. elham's name is inscribed in the neat annals of his mind, carefully filed away for actionable outcome. beneath her name, there is a blank to be filled. the only person left alive in this world who would know the answer is kaveh.

what use are you, he had asked kaveh, not having expected a response in turn. but alhaitham knows kaveh's use. ]

Is she good with dance, or numbers? Or perhaps is she a gifted equestrian?

[ number would be idea. he had never had a spy within the hall of the master of numbers. and have someone within the stables with the master of horses and sumpterbeasts would further facilitate travel opportunities.

knowing, however, his questions come without explanation, alhaitham inclines his head. ] Answer the question, and I will arrange for you to meet with her.

[ alhaitham always knows what to say. he is the perfect example of what a prince should be; cunning, intelligent, authoritarian. kaveh would agree to disagree.

he stares, again, because it's all he can do. his heart sinks into his chest, again, because alhaitham reads him like a children's book. there is no reason to believe those words, but kaveh is optimistic. bright, he gleams and shines, always finds the glass to be half-full. even here, that side of him hasn't been extinguished yet.

yet. ]

... She was our treasurer. [ was. it burns in his tongue.

these memories, too, are vivid in his mind. elham had never agreed with the way kaveh was so lax with money, so often offering his to those in need, so often being close to being in debt. a dear friend, above all. a sister. the memory, too, burns in his heart. ]

Is it your way of speaking of the living as if they were dead?

[ but alhaitham's thoughts are already moving on. treasurer - impressive, for a woman of her age. she would be underestimated by the hall of numbers, but her beauty would allow her closer access than others in her position. the blank page within his mind fills. he will be able to use that. there are arrangements to be made and underhanded meetings to involve himself, but success viable.

he gets up. ]

Eat. [ alhaitham says to kaveh as he moves back to his desk, taking a towel with him to clean off his hands. ] I will arrange for the meeting with her within the week. She will be inconsolable if her prince visibly lost weight. Do you want to be further impetus for her worries? At the very least, if there is nothing else you can do, you can put on a brave smile.

Your people have stripped us of our essence and being. Do not place the blame on me. Or do you intend to bring her name and status back?

[ who would have thought alhaitham would be vissudha's royal jester alongside crown prince. a man of so many talents.

his blood-red, fire-lit eyes watch each and all of his movements, as he stands and returns to his desk. there is a natural curiosity here that has him wondering he had been doing there moments ago, what missive he had written. kaveh is optimistic, but that does not apply to matters what come from alhaitham. he'd have been optimistic vissudha and lokapala's personal enmity would come to an end, once.

it did, but in all the wrong ways.

kaveh turns back to the food. it's his turn to pick apart one of the skewers left. alhaitham is always good with his words. ]

Why are you doing all of this? [ he inquires a third time. ] I don't understand you.

[ kaveh continues to eat. alhaitham settles down once more to write. another missive, this time stamped with gold foil. he considers the phrasing, and adds in an additional line - pursuant to treasury laws, he writes, section 17 subsection b. one of his predecessors did not slack on embedding regulations involving gifts, reports and slave ownership. alhaitham, today, reaps the benefits. ]

Must you understand me? [ he says this as his left hand continues to write unabated. three more lines in neat, slanting cursive, each character bleeding into the next. ] What would understanding me achieve? You speak of returning names and statuses - would understanding me achieve either of such things?

It would make it a little less infuriating to be here, for one.

[ it would, too, ensure he sleeps just a little better. it would prevent thoughts from festering, from poisoning the ins and outs of his mind. thoughts, he knows, can kill. thoughts can suffocate someone.

the food doesn't taste well on his tongue at all. ]

What am I here for? Why did you remove my bindings? Anyone else would not have. They wouldn't even let me speak, I'm sure. Why did you promise you'd let me meet with Elham? Do you even mean it at all? Do you even know how to answer questions, or did they teach you not to indulge anyone, ever?

No.

[ alhaitham says, in succinct response to one of the questions posed. maybe two of them. it's unclear. his pen continues unabated for another line. and then, once more, the same routine: sand, wind, and seal. the letter goes into a formal envelope. alhaitham rings a silver bell, and a servant steps in from the door - he hands the missive to him, and closes the door once more.

task completed, he turns back to survey the room, and kaveh. ]

Slaves will be here to remove any extra food in thirty minutes, so I suggest alacrity. You are free to keep some of the food in here for your consumption later, but I reserve the right to veto foods that have strong scents.

[ alhaitham's eyes skim the line of kaveh's body. ]

You seem smaller than I am. Clothing will be brought approximate to your size; tailored clothing will be provided later in the month, if I have time to arrange it.

[ unhelpful, as always. kaveh shouldn't have expected anything else.

the servant, that is only in the room for a brief moment, still gives kaveh pause — his chewing, his breathing, his body altogether —, and he catches himself once he leaves. trauma response, sheer fear. he hasn't realized it quite yet.

he starts, then, with slaves, and every word that follows is processed ten times over in his mind. he recalls, too, a former assessment — if too much is leftover, it will fall on the slaves, some possibly lokapalans. they do not have to have blood of his blood for kaveh to worry. thirty minutes is more than enough for him to stuff his face; for them, yes, but for himself as well. there's no telling when would be the next time he would eat. he doesn't give alhaitham the opportunity, here.

between mouthfuls, then: ] If I keep asking why you're doing any of this, will you answer, or is this your way of teaching me not to question you at all?

[ alhaitham's earlier words seem to have had their intended effect. kaveh continues to eat, and alhaitham observes the amount of food left. it would be like him, he thinks, to go over what his body's limits may be for the sake of others. but it's equally likely that kaveh has not eaten all day. he would benefit from having the additional the additional food; it may ease sleep, if nothing else, though it will not ease his nerves, nor his visceral reaction to a person at the door.

alhaitham retrieves a book. he takes a seat on one of the many low divans scattered around the room and, waiting, begins to read. ]

I am demonstrating that you may choose to ask questions, just as I may choose to not respond. You should not commend yourself on identify a portion of what is being shown. Even a child could understand after repeated attempts.

[ he figures, of course, that the method of annoyance is not one that would bring about results and answers. he would have to lay down at night and ruminate on all these questions, overthink and overexhaust them until the words themselves lose their meaning. he will ask whys, he will ask hows. kaveh will not find an answer, will not come to a conclusion. the next day, it would be the same.

what is the point in all of this? why did his people have to die? is there meaning in war?

he puts down his third skewer in a row. his jaw hurts from chewing. ]

Then I'm here for decoration at best, and a pet at worst. How exciting it is to know you choose to take lives away for your own selfish reasons. Whatever dreams and plans for my own future don't matter if they do not favor you, is it?

[ decorations and pets serve to make their owners happy, alhaitham thinks. kaveh, as he is right now, can make nobody happy. it is also not kaveh's place to do so. kaveh puts away a third skewer. his tongue is the sharp whip of a lashing snake. alhaitham flips a page in his book. ]

Are you used to others putting your dreams and plans ahead of your own? [ is what alhaitham asks. ] Do you expect it from those around you?

[ and how many of those people, he doesn't say, putting kaveh's dreams and plans ahead of themselves, died for it? ]

[ there's a look, here, that he shoots towards alhaitham that is far sharper than any words he could say. looks that could kill, fire that could not be tamed. he all but growls, again. ]

Are you used to putting your own dreams and plans ahead of other people's own? [ a question for a question. venom for venom. two can play this game. ] Do you think yourself superior, or perhaps you are simply egoist, and you don't want other people to succeed in life. What, you think Lokapala was going to ruin your life, so you saw fit to ruin ours first? Do you fancy ruining a person's life for your own benefits?

[ he stands, then, at last. there's very little food left, and if he's any lucky, no one will be punished for it. the weight of their pain will be too heavy to carry, but kaveh would still do it, damned be the consequences. damned be his own health.

without any direction, he leans against a wall furthest across alhaitham. any closer, he might have jumped him. ]

Yes.

[ another answer, cut to the quick. whether it's the answer for a singular question or for several remains unclear - but alhaitham has said what he needs to say. ]

A prince is of an inherently different rank and purpose than those who are not. It follows that I understand that my actions will hold more weight, regardless of how I would like to be regarded. Luckily, I do not care how I am regarded. Decisions cannot be democratised, yet consequences will be. Any prince who does not heed the very real power dynamics at play fundamentally are unable to fulfill their role, which leads to the downfall of those relying on said role to maintain peace, security and comfort.

[ kaveh stands, and alhaitham continues to read. but the flicker of the connection between them is like an electric charge in the air. two binary stars opposing, spiraling into futility. ]

The personal attacks and baseless guesses regarding my intentions, however, are not worth addressing. You may believe what you will, as you will. But I am guessing you are not verbalising these accusations to understand me; rather, you are venting your own impotence and rage, are you not?

[ insufferable. absolutely insufferable.

this time, no matter what question his answer is for, none of the options are good. he continues, then, as though explaining his answer, and the fire in those blood-red eyes of his only becomes bigger, as though his gaze would not only kill, but burn as well. it is, he can tell, an attack at his person, at his status as royal and prince, as though the fall of his kingdom had been, ultimately, his fault.

it's insanity.

he all but growls, again. it had been a good call to stand across alhaitham — by now, otherwise, he'd definitely have jumped him. it would have been a terrible, terrible decision, but impulsiveness is one of his flaws. instead, kaveh grits his teeth, clenches his fists. rage is not an emotion that suits him. ]

What would you know what I feel? A kingdom does not fall because its prince does not exert his power over his people. They may rely on him for all of those things, and still find a friend in him. You can be equals with someone, but have different strengths. A prince will command their royal guard when need be, will exert authority when it's required of him, and when that's all said and done, what truly differs a prince from a commoner? A crown, or fancier clothing? If you give those to a servant, would they now be royal? If one learns to do all that a prince does, would they be eligible to take his place, their status notwithstanding?

[ his hands hurt, nails sinking against his palms, but kaveh doesn't let go. ] Why is it that you are more deserving to control a person's life than anyone else? We all bleed red. We all die if slain. A title doesn't define who you are.

[ alhaitham listens. kaveh's rage burns. it burns with the flame of the lost and the dying, the flame of something cornered and bleeding. a creation with claws and teeth against inescapable odds. that kaveh has chosen alhaitham for the target of his rage is obvious. he is, after all, the only one here. he is vissudha. he is alhaitham, the prince. the argument makes itself - that what makes alhaitham, the prince, worthy of kaveh's rage and not alhaitham's servants, or the soldiers of the vissudha, is because alhaitham is vissudha's prince.

but instead, what alhaitham says is this: ]

The difference is that your people are in the slave pens, and you are here with me.

[ on the heels of kaveh's fury, the impotence of his rage, the hard heel of his distress - in the hush of a silence, the reply comes like a whisper.

the difference that kaveh, the prince, can be here with alhaitham. the difference is that all others cannot. the difference is that kaveh's gold manacles lay like decorative baubles on the ground, and the slaves below are being scrubbed with course sand-soaps and dressed in rags. the difference is that the slaves below are currently being sent to bed. they are not being sent to their own beds.

alhaitham says, again, quieter: ]

Kaveh, you are here. And they are not.

[ the meaning of those words are obvious. the only reason he's given food to eat, the reason his manacles now lie on the floor: it is solely because alhaitham is prince, and he has authority, and he has power. no one aside from azar could tell him what to do with his belongings, with his slave.

kaveh recalls then, for a moment, the tormentous trip to vissudha. he was an offering, alhaitham had said. spoil of war, a gift. the eremites had known he'd be, if not the prince's, the regent's property. the eremites hadn't cared then, and kaveh wonders, how much authority can a prince really exert?

better him than any of his people, at least.

his fingers loosen their grip, the nails stained with a faint red. there's no winning in this argument. ]

I shouldn't be here. None of us should. That's the whole point, either way.

No. The point is that you are here. And that this is reality, not ideal.

[ it is an old argument, but not one had by them. the scholars in their towers would argue this in times of peace. poets and writers and thinkers would come together beneath the trellis of aquamarine lotuses to cajole and debate and remake the thoughts of this world. but not, as it were, in times of war, and vissudha has been at war ever since alhaitham could remember.

kaveh's fingers loose their grip. his nails are stained with red. alhaitham flips another page of his book. ]

But if it pleases you to think so, you may do so. Expend your rage. You will sleep better tonight for it.

This isn't supposed to be my reality, Alhaitham! That's the whole point! You forced it on me!

[ raising his voice, he knows, is not something he should do. there'd be guards outside, most likely, and for all that alhaitham has authority and power, they also have a duty to him. for a moment, he expects them to barge in, and that, too, makes him pause.

silent is deafening. it enhances his fears. how is anyone supposed to live like this? ]

... I'd rather be in the slave pens than here. I can't stand to be in the same room as you.

[ it did not need to be stated, alhaitham thinks, something as obvious as this. kaveh is like a pacing riboshland tiger. he has regained his strength, and his fury, and suddenly, even the vast expanse of alhaitham's personal room seems too small of a place to hold him. it will, however. even unchained, there is nowhere kaveh can go. even in his unbridled rage, kaveh is no fool; he wouldn't put the safety of his countrymen on trial to go gallivanting without a plan. there is no place for kaveh except for here, in alhaitham's room. that's what separates kaveh from the rest of the salve entourage, because he has a use, a role that only he can fulfill.

it is, in fact, discrimination. to think that all people are made equal and can be equal is folly, when it is acknowledge their individual strengths, abilities and shortcomings that allows you to see clearly who and what they are. ]

My condolences, that being here means you are fed and unchained. Still, it does not change reality: you are here. There is nowhere else you can be. You have not entered another dimension; reality has not warped between yesterday and today. This is your reality, Kaveh. You will do well to accept it.

[ and then, in the same, bloodless tone: ] Choose a divan. You will sleep on it.

[ he won't. not today, not tomorrow. and if he comes to at least acknowledge it, he will fight against it. if this is his reality, he doesn't want to be part of it. he will sleep, he will dream of a better world. of home, with his father, and mother, his people. he will sleep, and it'll be warm again.

this is all just — a nightmare. a bad, terrible dream. the war had been getting to him, maybe. the endless strife between vissudha and lokapala over avidya, the inability of pretending they hadn't had their men and women captured, murdered. his reality had always been a perfect fantasy land of peace and joy.

it's fine if he pretends. it'd be better than accept this pain. the weight of his guilt that maybe, if he weren't here, at least one of his people would replace him. they'd have food, they wouldn't be in chains. it's a bold thought, but it haunts him nonetheless. ]

That one. [ kaveh jerks his head towards the divan furthest from alhaitham's bed. at least, if anything were to happen and alhaitham dared approach him in the middle of the night, he'd have a chance to wake up and defend himself, fight back, just — keep his eyes on alhaitham. he'd be a fool not to. ]

[ the divan, which alhaitham had moved furthest from his bed. it sits next to a view of the courtyard below and out into the green of the blossoming rainforest for a reason. alhaitham doesn't look up from his book. ]

A fine choice.

[ the silver bell rings. servants enter once more, and slaves follow to bear away the mostly-empty platters. a young woman with red hair and slave trappings rolls up the dinner rug and works together with two other slaves to carry it out of the door, where it will be washed before being utilised once more tomorrow. alhaitham directs two servants to leave kaveh's sleeping clothes on kaveh's chosen divan. they leave behind two modest silk skiffs, both made in the traditional blacks and greens of the vissudhan lands, hemmed in blood red and golden strands. a hairbrush, a set of towels, a jewelry stand, on which hands a single pair of earrings - the earrings that had been taken from kaveh's nightstand at the palace of alcazarzaray.

the servants and slaves leave. alhaitham, finally, shuts his book. ]

I will take a bath in the adjoining room. Do as you wish.

[ all the while, kaveh watches. the red of his eyes always tend to fall on the cuffs, and without fail, melancholy rises to his face. they do not need to be blood of his blood for him to feel anguished over them. no matter which nation they hail from, which kingdom they belong to, it is not a sight he is used to, not a sight he enjoys.

the only time he breaks contact with them is when they set down the jewelry stand, and there, he finds old gifts he could have sworn he would never see again. the same pair of earrings his parents had gifted him in his coming of age celebration.

how? why? surely they should have been sold. surely the eremites would have made at least a good amount of mora if those ended in the market. when kaveh inspects them up close, there's no mistaking it. these aren't replicas.

he turns to look at alhaitham. ]

Where did you get these?

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject