A Princess for the Witch Doctor (Legends of Rahasia Book 3)

Chapter Thirty-Four

"For your little one." I hold out a wooden sword that I used to play with as a child. "I had it polished and repainted for them to have. A little warrior."

Tawil looks down at it, wiping at his nose and eyes. "I'm not crying." He sniffs. "You can give the sword right to her. I brought her with today. She'll love it. Damn. Dust in my eye."

Pari slings his arm around Tawil's shoulder, and I don't think I'm imagining it when I see Tawil lean into him a little bit. "We're going to miss ya, princess." Pari does a little salute, his burns and scrapes healing up well.

Saban stands to the side, holding the hand of a little girl who's skinny and tall for her age, just like Tawil. A woman, her mother, is dressed in the robes of a scholarly student. She hugs a stylus to her chest, a row of numbers that make no sense scrawled across the front of her papers.

"Are you Tawil's—?" I walk over to the woman, glancing over some scrolls and casting glances at her daughter every few seconds.

"His former lover and mother of his child?" She replies, hardly looking up from her work. "A harried student trying to become an accountant while also caring for my little girl? Yes, yes I am." She shrugs.

When she looks up, her eyes widen and her jaw drops. She bows deeply at once, looking more than a little frightened. "I'm so sorry, amira. I didn't realize it was you. It was Tawil's day to visit Malala, our daughter. I thought... I didn't... My name is Dasha. Punish me, if you will, for my insolence. But please, leave my daughter out of it."

She stutters, staring at the ground.

I laugh, helping her up to face me. "I just wanted to say your daughter is cute. And you're doing a good job as a mother. And Tawil isn't a half-bad father either." I glance over at Tawil, absolutely glowing in Pari's presence. "But I'll hazard a guess that you and him are better apart than together. You, with your studies. Tawil healing from his alcoholism. Am I right?"

She blinks at me, stunned. I backpedal. "I apologize if I was too forward..."

She bows again, looking up at me with a slight smile. "No, I was only surprised because you're exactly right. Thank you for understanding, princess. Most just judge me for being, well, an immoral woman for not staying with him. But I do love him, just not in that way."

I pat her shoulder. "You're doing good."

She flushes and nods. I lean down to pat Malala on the head, handing her the wooden sword. "You, little warrior. Protect the Empire when I'm gone, okay?"

She smiles at me with a gap-toothed grin. Saban squeezes her hand tighter. The old man beams at me. "I have eight granddaughters. I love every single one of them. Little Malala is welcome to train with the guard whenever she likes."

I hug each of them in turn before setting out with Zahra, who's waiting patiently with one leg crossed over the other, staring out at the horizon. I seat myself beside her in the caravan cart, resting on a flat cushion and watching the city waking slowly, bustling to its regular drum of crime, cons, counters, and crooks. Watching the city wake to flatbread and rice, shining gemstones and plated weaponry. Watching Rahasia, so quiet. Would never know unrest resided in the hearts of so many, a stone's throw from full-on civil war.

"To Jiwa." I whisper. "To a kingdom across the sea and possible death."

"To possible death, and marginal victory." Zahra agrees.

With that, we set off, leaving Rahasia behind us in the rolling sand.

"This was for you." Zahra hands me a letter. On it, it's a simple note that touches my heart just as much as any embrace, any parting gifts.

Arnina,

We thought you'd need the blessing. We know you don't believe in the stuff, but you need all the help you can get, kid.

Love you all the same. Forgive us someday for our actions. We only wanted what was best for you, and we didn't know how to handle our fear that you'd get hurt.

Fight well, kid. We're cheering for you.

-Sol and Kura

I reach beneath the paper and pull out a new weapons' belt inscribed with verses from Cato, an inscription from the god of war. A prayer for victory.

I sling the new belt around my waist, tucking Baqir and Ode's dagger into it. Now, I look like the Champion of Rahasia.

If only I could start feeling like it.

***

Readers,

Anyone got dust in their eye?

-Sophia