Trigger warning: Sexual Abuse, harassment, blood, murder.

FOUR YEARS BEFORE AYYUR'S DEPARTURE.

Hands were gentler than those of his tormentors.

A soft press of knuckles on his cheek before fingers moved to caress his chestnut-blonde hair as a soft voice murmured words he couldn't understand. It didn't sound bad, almost too warm for his liking.

The candle's light reflected on his tired young face, his eyes half-closed as his ears twitched when the wooden door opened. Soft, gentle steps on the cold zellige, then a hand in his hair stopped moving. A soft discussion between two women, one who always worried too much about him, Zumurud and one who didn't care, Isabela.

Samir hated Isabela.

He hated how she looked at him with disdain and disgust, as if she knew what he was hiding behind his beautiful eyes. As if she knew his deepest secret.

He hated being seen, the furious feeling nuzzling behind his ears and pressing hard into his shoulders as if it tried to drown him in the fear of being discovered.

"Samir," Zumurud's voice was like the orange he liked to steal in Ibn Tahar's garden. Sweet, delicious, making you scrunch your nose with happiness. "I know you are awake."

"No, I am sleeping." The young boy smiled against her lap before finally raising his head. "Sabah al-kheir."

"Sabah al-noor," Zumurud pressed her thumbs against his cheeks with a loving smile before raising herself from the ground. "Wake up, we have to take care of our guests."

"I thought the guests were just for the night." Samir grabbed the cotton tunic, his blonde hair completely messed up from sleep.

"No more rooms available in town." Zumurud's golden wrists softly clinked as she put her hands on her hips. "I would love to turn this place into something where people can visit.. Something with families. Children. Lonely travellers."

Samir turned to look at Zumurud, his hands holding his pants as he analysed her face. Dreamful eyes as she gazed at the courtyard where the sound of oud was already playing along with the fountain pouring its water. 

The biggest qayna of the house dreaming of something so... mundane, so pure. Long lines of men came from every part of the country, from the mountains and the sea to come and see the beautiful Zumurud with the golden voice, the Zumurud who wished for something so pure.

"The governor would never accept this." Samir pushed the cotton pants up his legs before grabbing his slippers and running outside the room.

The governor.

In two days, I will come and take Samir.

Zumurud's eyes twitched, a sudden burning sensation growing in her stomach, travelling to her breasts as she remembered she didn't have the time to enjoy her day. She needed to find a solution, something to protect Samir from the governor.

Hands hidden in the sleeves of her orange caftan, Zumurud walked with grace and diligence, not letting even a single emotion show on her face. She appeared serene, her lips painted with rose petals were twitching into a gentle smile as she surveyed the main living room. 

She noticed Samir, sitting at the table of a young man. Zumurud couldn't decipher his face veiled with a white cloth but she could see his smiling eyes as he was talking to Samir, the young boy giggling softly.

He never smiles at men. Zumurud thought as her feet brought her closer to them.

"Samir," Zumurud murmured. She tilted her head to look at the veiled man and offered him her beautiful smile before looking at the young boy, expectant.

Samir lifted his head, looking at Zumurud before realising he must have been too loud. He pressed his hands together between his thighs,44 clearing his throat.

"This is my friend Amir," He gestured toward the veiled man with his head. "And this is.."

"Zumurud," She said with a soft smile, stretching her hand towards Amir.

Her hand adorned with expensive rings and a wrist filled with gold, Amir looked at it for a long moment, hearing the soft, embarrassed cough of Samir. The young boy's cheeks turned red when he witnessed the long moment when Amir simply looked at the hand before finally taking it.

"Greetings." He simply shook her hand.

Samir wanted to scream in shame. He knew that Amir was kind of aloof; he was nothing like the men coming here, spending more time speaking about the food than the women singing and dancing but this? Not kissing the hand of the most famous qayna in the whole emirate? 

This was like signing his death.

Samir looked at the flustered expression on Zumurud's face, her eyes widening with confusion, her mouth wide open as she looked at the way he shook her hand in the air before her brows lifted, her cheeks turned crimson red before a sound left her lips, filling the whole room with stunning surprise. She was laughing, loud and hard.

Confused, Amir turned his head towards Samir. The young boy looked at Zumurud with eyes filled with something he recognised right away. Love. Tenderness. The same look Amir had to his mother.

Amir understood, finally, the link between these two.

A mother and her son.

"Samir's friend is my friend." Zumurud pushed the cup of warm water with honey. "I hope to see you tonight; we are making an amazing feast for the governor."

x

The feast was indeed grandiose.

Tables filled with food, each different from another, ingredients that were lying on expensive ceramic plates, not knowing that in four years a young woman called Ayyur would cook them again.

 Women were seated to each noble man, musicians just behind Zumurud's wooden stage. Amir had spent the day in the medina, searching for more information on this governor who found it easy to insult the Sultan.

"They say he eats young boys for dinner."

"And he has ten wives."

"But also a harem of young boys."

"The bastard took three golden coins of olive oil and never paid me!"

Amir had listened to the Malaqah's people, shaking his head as he agreed with their anger, patting the back of the crying eldest men who cursed the governor. 

The city was suffering under a hungry, disgusting man who hid behind his privilege and his link to the sultan. I guess we will have to get rid of him.

"Where is Samir?" Amir asked one young boy who shrugged, busying himself rapidly to a table. He looked so pale, with sweat on his forehead and traces of marks on his neck and Amir felt the same terrifying sensation in his stomach as he did the first night.

The veiled man's hands twitched as he looked at Zumurud taking her spot in the middle of the wooden stage, her eyes fluttering with charm and grace. Her eyes met his and in a second, he stood in front of her, making everyone stop talking.

"A hundred golden coins for the evening with you." He threw the pouch at her feet; a gasp was heard, and before Zumurud could say anything, Amir wrapped his arm around her waist and brought her to his shoulder.

Eyes widening, the young woman started slamming her fists into his back as Amir walked away from the main room, crossing the courtyard before entering the room he had rented and putting Zumurud down. Amir closed the door, turned around and before he could speak, her hand found his veiled face. A strong and sharp smack.

"Where is Samir?" He asked, not caring much about the sudden slap.

"What?"

"The boy! Where is it?" His voice was louder.

"He is.. sick."

"He was laughing with me this morning." Amir took a step towards Zumurud. "Where is the boy?"

The young woman didn't answer, her eyes looking down, the fear growing into her bones as she realised that if Amir noticed his absence, the governor would notice it too. The veiled man's hands grabbed her arms and pulled her closer; his brown eyes the only thing visible on his face were filled with anger and a disgusting look.

"You sell them, right?" Amir's tone was so cold, his teeth gritting the anger growing and menacing to blow.

"What?" Zumurud's eyes widened. "Wh..a..No!"

"You sell those little boys! I saw the marks on their bodies, the way they look like some dead people! Some of them even smell like opium. You sell those boys to these men!"

"That's not.. No, that's not.. I am protecting them!"

Amir's laugh was loud. Not the kind laugh he shared with Samir but a cold, detached and disgusted one.

"Protecting them by making them serve disgusting perverts? Where is Samir?!" He shook Zumurud again.

"I am hiding him!" Zumurud screamed louder, her eyes now filled with tears. "I do not sell those boys, I try to save them! The governor turned us into a brothel and sent our master to Faz." Her fists pressed against his chest. "I try to protect them, we try to protect them.. The girls.. We.."

She knelt on the ground, unable to stand as she tried her best to not cry. "The governor makes me sleep with the men so I can protect the boys. I lay with them, I take them so they won't touch them but.. The governor wants Samir. No matter how much I try, he's always taking Samir..."

Amir, you look beautiful. Touch me here. You're doing so good...

The cold sensation started from his feet, rising through his legs with an intense pressure as if millions of hands touched him where they shouldn't, his teeth clicked together as he realised what Zumurud was saying. Taking Samir. 

The eight-year-old boy who smiled at him with missing teeth, the small boy who didn't dare to look at him in the eyes for too long, the small little boy who laughed at his words.

"Can I kill them all?"

Zumurud's head rose, eyes filled with tears, hands shivering as the words clicked in her mind. All. Men feasting and dancing, men drinking their wine, feeding on the despair of the hearts, believing their wealth could protect them from everything.

"Do not hurt my people." She only answered.

With slow steps, Amir walked back to the main room where the governor was laughing and screaming, hands filled with wine cups. 

Everyone looked at Amir coming in silence, standing in the middle of the room, wondering who this masked man. He looked around before he smiled behind the white veil. "A nuba, if you will. The eight one of the day." He muttered to the young man playing the lute who looked nervously at Zumurud who sat back on her wooden stage.

A nuba was a music genre very popular in the noble class where men would come to the qiyan house and listen to music sung by twenty four people different, for twenty four hours in a day.

She nodded, holding her knee closer to her stomach, her eyes turning to look at Amir. Without waiting, the sound of the instrument was flowing through the walls. The governor put down his cup, clicking his tongue in annoyance before he rose from his seat.

"Who are you?" The governor asked as Amir was humming the song that was being played, his thumb tapping his finger, enjoying the song before he drew his sword. "Who are you?!"

"A bastard from Grana,"

Before the governor could say anything, Amir sliced his throat.

Eyes widening, his lips parted in a painful moan, Abderhman gripped Amir's veil with one last strength, yanking it down, wanting to see the face of the man who murdered him. He didn't expect it. The face of a man whom he believed dead for a long time. Amir smiled, amused and before he could say anything, Abderhman coughed blood on his face before collapsing.

Screams were heard, the men searched for their weapons but remembered that it was held outside. A trap.

But who would want their death?

Has the Sultan heard about the rebellion?

No, it was the anger of a man, the despair of a woman who couldn't take the disgusting thirst of rich men who believed themselves above the rules, who enjoyed the suffering of women and young children. Amir would make them pay all.

Their hearts started to beat faster. The lute started to be louder. Faster. The throats were all meeting the same fate as the governor; Amir moved so fast, like he was dancing. Shoulders up, shoulders down, the lute kept playing while the room was bathed in the blood of treacherous bastards who enjoyed their wealth and gold.

Amir's head slammed against one man before plunging the tip of his sword deeply into his heart, breaking the neck of another one before turning around to where Zumurud and the young guitarist were sitting.

One knee against her stomach, Zumurud stood silent as her eyes looked at the governor's lifeless body. Heat grew between her thighs, softly pressing against her stomach before running around her heart. Happiness. A feeling she had forgotten she was able to have. 

Liberation, she thought as her shiny eyes looked at Amir, his bloody face, his chest heaving as he took a step towards her. She didn't speak, words weren't needed after a situation like that. She simply held his look, his black eyes saying everything. Zumurud had always wondered what kind of expression he was hiding behind his veil. The young woman never thought she would see it like that, filled with blood, a delirious look, his thick brows meeting together.

"Zumurud, daughter of the Unknown, you owe me a debt." Amir slammed his sword against her head. 

°❀⋆.ೃ࿔*:･°❀⋆.ೃ࿔*:･

2k words!

I wanted to publish something for my birthday so here we go.

Hope you will like it and tell me what you think!