As a multiethnic kid, Keon Wesley has always had to straddle two worlds. He just never expected that metaphor to become a literal reality.
Ever since his dad left five weeks ago, he's struggled to adjust to life in a single parent household. When a...
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Aslan's weary eyes, tired from days of ceaseless travel, stared up at the glistening marble walls of Midnah-Dogu. Logic told him the Marble Mynds had their gazes fixed on the horizon, looking for any sign of an assault. But he felt every one of their cold, chiselled eyes leering deep into his soul. There, they'd find that snivelling twelve-year-old kid, curled up in a ball on the floor of his subconscious, too afraid to even lift his head. His thoughts flashed back to the night he left, triumphant at the public besting of his father. But now, what did he have to show for it? Two of his best soldiers dismembered by Mysts. His defeat at the hands of an Unlit Torchbearer. And no Asya. How could he even face this without Asya? He dug his feet into the dust in hope that the ground would devour him.
Ruslan's heavy hand landed on his shoulder.
"Come on, As," he said, urging him forward.
He and Baris shuffled ahead, leaving their reluctant Kaptan in their wake.
Aslan held his stare as they passed through the colossal flanking towers of the Golden Gate. He once welcomed their embrace, but now he longed for the corridor to stretch into eternity. The arabesque patterns lining the walls and ceiling had always welcomed him with wonder. Now, they leered over him in judgement. As they passed into the marketplace, he dipped his head, the hood shielding him from the searing daylight. His stomach rumbled at the scent of grilled meat and fresh bread dancing in the air. Perfumes and spices blew his mind back to soft, crimson pillows, luxurious bathing rooms and the laughter of his anne as he and Asya played in the palace.
The market stools grew quiet as he passed, the only sound the tiny, twinkling mirrors, clinking together on strands of twine. Word had clearly spread; how the son of the Rayiys, the Kaptan of the Walls, had defied his father, vowing to bring back his wayward sister. Now, the stillness of their stares closed in around him like suffocating walls. Nausea bubbled in his throat, threatening to overflow and soil him in what little pride he had left.
The overcrowded market finally gave way to the open square of immaculately cut grass filling the central courtyard. At least the shade of the palm trees offered some welcome respite. Then he lifted his eyes and he saw the great fountain in the midst of the square. He stopped, staring at the waters trickling down the central spread of the stone book, their path lined with a strip of gold. His gaze swept to the far-left side of the square where the gate to the Bedesten broke through the wall like a long throat falling into a deep void.
Baris and Ruslan suddenly drew to a halt. The path out of the square was blocked by eight Masabih holding ceremonial spears.
"Kaptan Koyun!" one of them said, stepping forward. "By order of the Rayiys, I am to escort you to the palace. He requests an audience with you immediately."
Aslan swallowed; his mouth clamped shut. Then, he looked ahead and walked towards his escort.
Aslan entered the opulent marble portico of the palace pavilion. Remarkably, little sign of the Torchbearer incursion remained. The breach to the Western Wall had long since been repaired. The grass in front of the palace, however, still bore the scars of the explosion that had marred it. Inside, his attendant stood in front of the giant cedar council doors, a black kameez folded over his arm. Aslan shook his head silently. He would face the Rayiys in full regalia.
