Bastien's Arc

Chapter 9 of 9

Morning broke pale over the desert. Zain rolled the bedroll and saddled the horses while Bastien folded the tent. They rode without speaking much, the night still warm between them. By midday the road climbed a low ridge, and Ashur spread below them like a carved bowl. White houses crowded the slopes. Date palms leaned over narrow lanes. A well at the city's heart drew a slow ring of women with clay jars. They passed through the gate. Children ran beside the horses. Merchants called from their stalls, then bowed low when they saw Zain's face. Bastien understood then how careful Zain had been with him on the road. Here, every eye knew the prince. Every back bent. The palace rose at the city's high end, pale stone and a dome bright as a second sun. They left the horses at the outer arch and walked into a wide courtyard. A tiered fountain stood at its center, water sliding down its carved basins into a round pool. The sound cooled the air. Cypress and date palms threw long shadows on the tile. The sultan waited beside the fountain. He was tall, white-bearded, his orange robe heavy with gold thread. A red jewel hung at his throat. Zain knelt. Bastien moved to kneel too, but the sultan raised a hand. "Not you, healer." His voice was low and even. He stepped forward and took Bastien's hands in his own. "You returned my son to me. This house is yours for as long as you wish it." He looked at the leather band on Bastien's wrist, then at the matching one on Zain's. His eyes did not change. "Come. We will eat, and then we will speak of what brought you here." Bastien followed him beneath the arch. The fountain's sound faded behind. He had reached the palace. He had been welcomed. And now, walking the cool tiled hall at the sultan's side, he understood the welcome was not the end of the road — it was a door, and it had just closed behind him.