Imperial

12. Esfandar

Bonfires spit sparks into the night air. The sharp strum of sitars and insistent banging of kettle-drums punctured the noise of soldiers and common people laughing and talking. Five main fires burned in the open square, two in the northern and southern ends, and one in the very center.

The fires provided light and warmth in the cold, but they were also signs of gratitude to Mithra for granting them victory. Soldiers tossed small, worthless coins and wilting flowers into the fires as offerings to the god. It was an old tradition, one that the Sazian army had been practicing since the beginning of the empire.

Esfandar sat upon a chair on an elevated platform in the back of the square. He faced toward the northern fire, and he had a clear view of the festivities. His high generals and officers were seated around him, and they too were in a brighter mood thanks to the happy atmosphere.

Esfandar wished he could be as affected as the men around him, but he wasn't in the mood for celebration. Too many dark thoughts swirled around his mind- he was winning this war militarily, but only dark news reached him. Homeira's failed escape attempt was only the start of it. News soon reached Shiraz of Roshani's strict crackdown of the capitol. It was difficult for anyone to get in or out of the city now, Roshani fearing enemy spies would enter. Stories spread about those caught trying to leave being whipped in the streets.

Soraya was not playing at this war either. She had somehow communicated with the fire priests of Shiraz and enlisted their help. They were urging the Shirazi people to support Soraya's claim, calling it the gods' will and Esfandar's rule blasphemous. He scoffed to himself; as if the people of the city hadn't already been looking for any excuse to turn against him. More and more reports came in of patrolling soldiers harassed by people on the streets. A few incidences had nearly turned to violence, though by some miracle no full-scale riots had begun. At this rate, however, it was only a matter of time.

A table was placed next to his seat with various delicacies spread across it. Esfandar reached over to pick up a date. He hadn't raised his hand halfway to his mouth when he was interrupted.

"Stop!"

Esfandar froze, date still in his hand. To his left, Karim was staring him down with a grim expression.

Karim held out his hand, nodding to the plate of dates. "Give it to me," he said, voice deathly serious.

Esfandar carefully placed the date back on the plate and handed it to Karim. His brows creased together as his friend gingerly placed the platter on his lap and picked up a date.

"Is it poison?" He asked. His mind was already churning with possible conspiracies and mutinies, men he thought he could trust who were really spies for his sisters.

Karim considered one of the dates for a moment before tossing it into his mouth and chewing contentedly.

"No," he said with a playful shrug. "Just wanted the dates. You always hog them, Es."

Esfandar let out a sound of exasperation, letting the stiffness leave his shoulders. He shook his head in disapproval but even he couldn't keep the small smile from his face. He wondered what this war would have been like without Karim's antics to make him forget his responsibilities every once in a while and shuddered at the thought.

He looked out at the revelry of his armies without really seeing it. His eyes were picturing a place far away from the rolling hills and plains of the north, towards the south and his home in the royal palace of Nishapur.

Somewhere in the palace, Homeira was now locked away in a cell awaiting execution. Kasra, his brother, would be hidden away like a prized treasure, to make sure he stayed trapped in that place for the rest of his life. Thinking about it made Esfandar want to rip something apart or simply fall to his knees and mourn.