King Sahir's Arc

Chapter 12 of 17

The flare passed by the next week, but a new problem stayed. Every time Kūrush came to the palace, guards stood at the doors. Servants crossed the hall. Sadiq watched from the edge of the room. Sahir and Kūrush worked on the tapestries side by side, yet they were never alone. Their words stayed careful. Their hands never touched. Sahir felt the weight of it like a second crown. One morning, Kūrush set down his thread. "Back home," he said, "my grandmother and I wove in the courtyard. No doors. Just sky." He looked at Sahir. "Is there anywhere here that's only yours?" Sahir thought of the garden. Even there, a gardener trimmed the hedges. A guard paced the stones. "No," they said. "Not one corner." That afternoon, Sahir went to find Sadiq. The vizier stood in the hall, counting bolts of cloth against the commission list. Thirty years of service showed in how fast his eyes moved down the page. "I need a room," Sahir said. "For the weaver's work. Closed. No guards inside." Sadiq set down the list. "A king alone with a commoner. Behind a shut door." His voice stayed flat. "You know what the court will say." "I know what they say already." Sahir held his gaze. "I am asking anyway." Sadiq studied them a long moment. Sahir braced for the refusal. Instead the vizier walked to the window and looked down at the garden. "There is the old loom room," Sadiq said. "Above the east wall. It held the last king's weavers. It has been empty twenty years." He turned back. "Dusty. One door. No windows the yard can see." Sahir blinked. "You would allow it." "The commission needs a workroom. That is the reason written in the ledger." Sadiq's mouth was a straight line. "What happens behind the door is not weaving. We both know this." He paused. "I have watched you carry this crown eighteen years. You have earned one closed door." Sahir's throat tightened. "Thank you." "Do not thank me." Sadiq picked up the list again. "Keep it quiet. If the court hears, I cannot stop what follows." Sahir climbed to the loom room that evening and brought Kūrush up the next day. Dust covered the old frames. A bench sat under the slanted roof. Sahir shut the door, and the hall sounds fell away. No guard. No servant. No watching eyes. Kūrush grinned and dropped his roll of cloth on the bench. From his bag he pulled a cluster of desert flowers, bright petals already wilting at the edges. "For the room," he said. "To mark it ours." Sahir took them and sat. For the first time, Kūrush sat close, knee against theirs, and no one could see. The quiet felt like a held breath finally let go.