❝My love will drown you to the depths of the sea.❞
Furat bin Kiyan, the fleet admiral of Al Andalus, is a spy and a rebel on a mission to kill the caliph of Cordoba and claim the throne for himself. But finds himself in trouble at the hands of Rahaf...
We all have one foot in a fairytale, and the other in the abyss.
— Paulo Coelho
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June, 952 Bahr Al Rum (Mediterranean sea)
IT'S A NIGHT of full moon and the sea is turbulent. Rays of silver light seep into his cabin through its window and fall a little further from the foot of his bed. Sometimes the moon comes into sight when the waves push up his ship and he can spot it on the dark but clear sky. Other times it's only the darkness and he can only hear the waves leaping.
Throughout the night he has slept very little. More so because of the gash along the left side of his ribcage than the turbulence. It burns and stings and keeps him restless. He turns in his bed, careful not to put any pressure on his wound, and reaches for the ointment lying close by. His physician prepared it for him. But it does little to soothe his pain.
It's been a week since the battle in the sea where his cannons succeeded to blast the enemy's ships and chase them away from their territories. There hasn't been any casualties on their side but a few injuries, including his own that's taking longer to heal given the poisoned dagger he was attacked with when a spy sneaked onto his ship. But he has brought his men victory and kept his rule strong and secured, which is all that matters to him.
After a few more minutes where his pain won't settle and sleep won't come to him, he leaves his bed and goes out of his cabin.
Walking onto the deck where the moon is displayed in its full glory and the waves are enraged, he finds Bassam praying. He's a young boy, perhaps somewhere around sixteen or seventeen, having joined his crew not long ago.
Quietly walking around not to make any noise and disturb him, he moves to the back of the ship.
"Raees (chief)?" Someone calls him.
Furat turns to the voice and finds Tamir, his first mate, walking towards him.
"What keeps you awake, sayyidi?" he asks him.
"This wound." Furat places a hand over it. "It feels like that bastard left his dagger in my flesh."
"What does the physician says?"
"It's healing. The poison is making the process slower and more painful, but it's healing."
"Can he not give you something to make it heal faster, or help with the pain at least? Your wedding is in four days."
Furat smiles, ignoring his question as he poses his own, "How is the crew doing?"
"They're happy with you. Proud even. You've nothing to worry about."
The waves rock the boat, somewhat gentler than before. Furat sits down on a bench and sighs, patting the space besides him. Tamir silently joins him.
The dark sky is soon to turn bright. The black of it has already blended into a deep blue. Over the horizon there's still no sign of sunlight. But dawn is to break soon.
