Spies, Thieves, and Revolutionaries

Prologue

Edited by @rkaspen

The blistering desert sun beat down on Dinah's back like a hammer as she sat
at her loom, finishing the tapestry. The midday heat was unbearable, but
there was work to be done, even for the Matriarch's daughter.

A tall girl with flashing green eyes and a confident smile walked up to
Dinah, carrying a water skin. "You've been out here for a while," she said,
handing her the water.

Dinah grinned and accepted it, greedily gulping down its contents. "Well, Sahar, some of us actually do our work instead of hiding from it. Speaking of which, aren't you supposed to be with the head cook right now?"

Sahar rolled her eyes and groaned.

"The air there is so stuffy, and the head cook doesn't know how to talk
without shouting."

Dinah laughed and stood up, taking the finished tapestry off the loom. She
hung it over her shoulder and headed back to her tent with Sahar by her
side.

They passed by colorful tents, small wooden shops, and working people.
Though the day was scorching, everyone was busy. The blacksmith was making weapons, the cooks were preparing meals, and the arts men and women were crafting beautiful pots, vases, and paintings.

But there was an uneasy feeling in the air that Dinah had wanted to ignore.
The blacksmith was injured from the last skirmish with the barbarians of
the Enthusian forests just south of the Tribal lands, and every moment
caused him immense pain. The cooks were pulling their hair out, worrying
what to do for the next meal, how they would feed a tribe of over two hundred people with the measly amount of food they had left. The artsmen and women were pouring everything they had into their work, because if they couldn't sell anything again at the market, the tribe would have almost no money left. Dinah wanted to close her eyes and block her ears out from the people's pain. Pretend that everything was just as it was twelve years ago. Pretend like her tribe, her home, wasn't falling apart before her eyes.

As the girls were walking silently, a little boy ran up to them. He had the
standard brown skin and black hair of the Tribal people, but he was very
jumpy, like he couldn't sit still for even a second. Dinah recognized him
as Kamil, the blacksmith's son.

"Uh, um, Dinah, the Matriarch is calling for you...she said to meet her in the main tent," he said in a hurry before running away.

Dinah and Sahar exchanged looks.

Dinah gave the tapestry to Sahar, "Take this to the healer," she said, and
hurried to the main tent, not bothering to see Sahar's reaction.

Her mother had only summoned her to the Receiving Tent twice. Once to try and salvage the frayed alliance between another Southern Tribe, the
Dahbari, and the other time to tell her that her eldest brother was dead.
Whatever it was this time, it wouldn't be pleasant.