The Golden Threads Weaving Us Together - SCP Foundation

Love endures.

by Miss Lapis and Nonacherontia

Happy Pride

Whenever she visited Qaya-Ram, Rahima was awestruck at how different it was from Amoni-Ram: so much smaller, more compact, more labyrinthine. There was no constant roar of the vehicles, no ambient chatter, only the soft hum of the railway, the occasional scholar's footsteps, and trees, grass, shrubs… So much greenery.

The air whipped at her face as she dove through the sky, her headscarf and long purple gown fluttering behind her like the tail of a comet. The two tightly sealed bags on her were heavy with everything she needed for her extended weeklong visits there. So sharp was her descent that, were she not careful in securing them, their contents would have rained down with her.

The guards at the gate welcomed her with a salute. The procedure was familiar to her: she showed her visiting permit to them, waiting until they marked and signed it, taking it back from them with a thank you, and crossing the gates into the city proper.

She had two ways to get to the main academy at the maze-like city's heart: the train or her wings. Waiting for the train was tiresome, but flying was a spectacle, drawing the stares of all Qaya-Ram. Wings were much rarer there.

It took all of an instant before she returned to the air. What's the harm in their awe? It would not be long until her relocation application was approved. After that, they would see so much of her that her flying would be novel no longer. Moving from Amoni-Ram to here would allow her to spend more time with her love. Her beautiful, quiet darling with that lithe body and those gentle smiling eyes…

The bright sunlight reflected itself off the fuladh tiling of the academy's dome, probably the only other building in the Mekhanite empire to rival the beauty of the Great Palace of Amoni-Ram. Its stained glass windows and mosaics depicted Mekhane herself, schematics of various machinery (many of which she could recognize, thanks to spending so much time with Jawahir), or abstract, carefully crafted patterns. It housed knowledge, wisdom, scholars, being at the center of science and religion. Science was religion, and religion was science.

Her landing was so graceful that her footfall scarcely made a sound. The guard answered her customary bow.

"She's in the library on Floor Two." They had done this so often the question was already understood. The Academy's staff was very familiar with her, flying and destination alike.

The kindness warmed Rahima, and she repaid the courtesy with a nod and smile, "Thank you!"

The silence of the place was disturbed by her fuladh footsteps, each step ringing out with a sharp clink.

Scholars and clerks lazed around in the ever-quiet library with their blueprints and books. Those not sketching or reading were asleep or holding quiet discussions with their peers. A little old lady was napping at the front desk: Jawahir's mother.

In the far end of the library sat the girl herself, the light of her life, in the company of her friends. Unlike the corridor, a soft, fuzzy carpet covered the room's floor, muffling Rahima's footsteps while she tiptoed onward.

Her lips slid open in a mischievous grin. Reaching forward, her hands covered Jawahir's eyes. "Guess who?"

Jawahir yelped and bolted out of the seat in shock, and the tumult caused all of her scholar friends to burst into laughter. It took Rahima the greatest effort not to join them. When the girl turned around to spot the agent of her surprise, the shock was replaced with joy.

"Rahima!" Jawahir's voice was full of adoration as she joined to her in a strong, four-armed embrace. Rahima wanted to melt into the warmth of her body.

Her mouth inches from her lover's ear, her lips breathed, "Just the sight of you and my tongue is broken." She grinned as Jawahir shivered. "Every moon between us feels like a longing without end."

Jawahir gave a flustered giggle. "I wish I had your tongue for words. All my heart can do is scream…" Rahima nuzzled into her shoulders, inhaling her precious scent: a combination of the sweet, soft aroma of her perfume, the verdant musk of books around her, the sweet machine oil quickening in their embracing metal.

After a week apart, every second felt too dear to water down with restraint. They could not contain themselves to fit in the library's silence anymore. With a breathless farewell to the scholars, they giddily made for the door. Jawahir gave a quick squeeze to her mom's hand before leaving. The little old lady woke up and smiled at the two girls before dozing off again.

Once returning to the corridor, Rahima immediately ran into her love's embrace again with a happy squeal, who lifted her in the air with her four arms. She felt Jawahir's two flesh arms tremble as she carried her, and not from her weight.

The two descended into the courtyard, serene and peaceful as always, filled with the rustling of the leaves and the sound of flowing water. Rahima felt truly weightless.

The courtyard of the Academy brimmed with lecturers and students, spending time together or alone, relaxing or studying under the canopies. Like much about Amoni-Ram, those were a compromise after the last tree in the yard got cut down. They would never fully be able to replace the greenery, but the shadow they provided was good enough.

Under one such canopy sat Rahima. Her Jawahir lay her head in her lap, tracing the patterns on her gown: golden constellations and geometric patterns painted on a nicely contrasting dark blue fabric.

"And that's Mekhane's Eye." The girl's voice was quiet and low as her fingers caressed one of the constellations on Rahima's chest. "I look for it in the stars before I sleep. The Goddess' watch comforts me. What say you?"

"Of course. At night, I see our Goddess's eyes amidst the heavens, and by day," her voice dimmed to a playful husk, "I see Her eyes when I look at my Jawahir, whether she is above or below."

This caught Jawahir off-guard. Big-eyed and flushed, she slowly wrapped her hands around Rahima's delicate neck and pulled her down, first touching her lips against those of her love, then sealing into their kiss with a passionate squeal. Breathless and panting when they fell apart, they looked at each other, breaking out in small giggles.

The bliss did not last long, though, the same way as a passing cloud hid the sun's rays within a moment's notice. Jawahir's face darkened, and Rahima knew the reason behind it. With Emperor Ansool's passing, many of their fellow woman-students shared one worry among them:

"Will we graduate in time…?"

"Before Emperor Qiqyn bars us from the Academy once again?" Rahima knew her so well she could finish her sentences. A tear flowed down her love's cheeks, and a sad, choked-back m-hm followed. The idea alone was too terrible for Jawahir, let alone the thought of having to say this out loud. Her scholarly career meant everything to her. In an attempt to comfort her, Rahima ran her fingers through Jawahir's short, beautiful, deep brown hair, caressing her with a gentle touch. Smiling down at the girl with sadness filling her eyes, she finished her thought. "Hopefully… He has only been on the throne for a couple of years, and this would anger too many people. He would need a lot more time to consolidate his position."

Jawahir's response was but a ragged whisper: "Even if I never make it to Qaya-Ram because—because of him… I'll always have you by my side. That's enough for me." A couple more tears followed, and then, after a shaky inhale, her silent crying ceased. She returned Rahima's somber smile, and her hand slowly drifted to her face, cradling it gently.

Rahima's cheeks got a little redder. They had been seeing each other for two years now, but her darling's affectionate touch never failed to make her blush.

Bathed in tranquility, she mindlessly played with the patterns on her love's clothes. Nothing as fancy as hers, just a simple red linen gown decorated with a golden stripe. Scraping her nails against the embroidery felt good. Definitely better than the painted-on stars on her own gown and headscarf.

The feeling of threads on linen was good, but on silk was even better. She could get Jawahir a silken scarf for their anniversary. Maybe even a full-on dress.

"What thought possesses you?" Jawahir asked with a small giggle.

Rahima didn't even notice herself zoning out. She responded with a truth: "You."

Always you.

The bell rang. The recess ended.

The courtyard descended into a flurry as the students and lecturers rushed to their classes for fear of being late. The multidisciplinary Academy held its courses in its different wings. Rahima studied literature, while Jawahir's field of choice was theological engineering. That meant they wouldn't see each other until the end of the day.

That was not a lot of time, but it felt just a bit too long for both of their liking.

Many couples parted in front of the main entrance or one of the side entrances. The luckier ones went to their classes hand in hand. Rahima and Jawahir exchanged one more quick kiss and embrace before they parted to resume their studies.

The courtyard's fountain was dedicated to Mekhane, its centerpiece showcased the Goddess in her battle armor and helmet, her beauty and glory. The rim, on the other hand, was covered in mathematical formulae, the likes of which Rahima would never understand in her lifetime, not even with her love's interest in it.

Other than a gardener prettying the trees with his built-in hedge trimmer, they had the place to themselves. He minded not their presence, waving at them and resuming his work as if nobody else was there.

The girls did not mind his presence either. This silence and solitude brought them at ease.

After they sat down on the fountain's edge, Jawahir's voice and gaze took on a serious tone. Looking in front of herself with furrowed brows, her voice was but a hoarse whisper. "How fares your household? What do your parents intend for you? Have the men stopped bothering you?"

Rahima shook her head. "They know I have been visiting Qaya-Ram but know not of my reasons. And as for my suitors… Yes, thank Mekhane, their interest has waned with time and more eager prospects."

She did not like how tense her love had become. In the same manner she used to do when they both were studying at Amoni-Ram's Great Academy, she pulled Jawahir's head into her lap and began to caress her hair lovingly. Slightly longer than her own, even with her curls. And it was framing her face so lovely… That beautiful tan face, with a skin so soft and delicate. It was a blessing to graze that warm skin with her lips.

"Under our care, the reactors grow more perfect." Slowly, the girl's tensions dissipated, with her now leaning into Rahima's touch with comfort. "In due time, they will be a suitable foundation for Empress Bileath's own reactor design, a leap into unseen heights of power-"

"Empress Bileath?" Hearing this baffled her so much she had to interrupt her lover's words. Squinting, her speech's tempo slowed as if she was busy trying to recall something. "Was it not Emperor Ansool who-"

"No," Jawahir slowly shook her head. "Empress Bileath. Emperor Ansool designed a share of the recent technology. Empress Bileath designed the lion's share of all of it. She was good friends with the academy… For her, no standard but the Academy's would do for her blueprints…"

And off she went, rambling on and on. Rahima loved it when she rambled, partly because her stilted, uncertain voice gained more confidence. Her beautiful dark eyes were almost glistening when she got oh so heated into explaining her favorite schematics or the history of Qaya-Ram.

But how did Rahima forget that? After Jawahir's words she began remembering it, but… Of course, Empress Bileath made the blueprints. Who else could have made them? Did Emperor Qiqyn do something?

"My love, what troubles you?" Jawahir broke her troubled thoughts, her eyes nudging toward Rahima's hands.

That was when Rahima noticed it as well. The golden embroidery of her dress was nearly scratched apart under her fuladh fingers.

"Qiqyn's grasp seems to be the tyranny of the body and soul." Rahima plucked what was left of a yellow shape torn by her wayward fingers. "Thank goodness it has not breached Qaya-Ram. If my resolve to move here was not compelled by my longing, it is forced by my necessity."

Jawahir's eyes lit up again. "To Qaya-Ram… You mean, with me?"

"With you, next to you, always! Though my specialization is literature, an academy is nothing without its texts. I will be able to make myself useful analyzing them, and then-"

As soon as she uttered those words, her darling immediately squealed and hugged her again.

"Promise me. Under the same roof. Eating at my table. Warming my bed. Please, promise me."

"I swear." Rahima laughed. "This was going to be an anniversary surprise, but…"

Now Jawahir squealed again, sliding her four arms around the girl. Rahima pressed herself onto her and she answered by wrapping her more firmly with her arms and body. Rahima could feel their heartbeats race, she felt herself glow.

Their anniversaries were always special.

The moonlight on their fifth anniversary shone just as bright as on their first.

Ever since they met in the last years of school, the two girls have been inseparable. Jawahir was always somewhat quiet, just quiet enough to start unsettling people. That was one of the reasons she dreamed of Qaya-Ram: silence was not a vice there but a virtue.

And even despite her off-putting quiet demeanor, there was one girl who saw through it, who perhaps even found it endearing: the endlessly kind and loving Rahima. The two grew close almost immediately after their first meeting. Following their graduation from school, they held a small celebration for their successful enrollment into the Academy, and that was when they first confessed their feelings toward each other. Their hearts bloomed in a union of friendship and love.

Rahima arrived at their meeting spot in advance, hoping everything would go perfectly. A luxurious dark red dress adorned her body, embroidered with the schematics of a pair of fuladh wings, and her long curly hair was freely swaying in the gentle wind.

Her gift was tucked away in her pockets: a scroll decorated with meticulous care, holding a poem she wrote for Jawahir. Each stroke of her pen and brush contained a piece of herself: her heart, her soul, her love.

She was never going to let the precious girl go.

No matter what Emperor one was born under, traditions and politics were strong in Amoni-Ram. Those rubbed off on her family as well. They had slowly begun their attempts at finding her a suitable husband. Those men, her suitors, were nice and handsome. They would certainly make some other girl happy.

Not her. Her heart belonged to Jawahir and Jawahir only.

"Rahima!"

Her darling's voice shook her back to the present. The time of their meeting was approaching even while she was lost in contemplation, and now the girl was nearly there, waving from just a couple of blocks away. Two of her hands were clearly behind her back, most likely in an attempt to hide something from her. The thing she was holding — a box — was just a bit too big to fit unnoticeably. Rahima couldn't help but giggle a bit at the sight.

Making sure she dressed for the occasion, Jawahir came wearing the silken scarf her love gifted her, as well as a dress she commissioned from her own savings. Yellow, with a translucent lower half. Hardly luxurious among the nobility, but within her own circles, buying something like that was quite the flashy endeavor.

Rahima waved at her, and she returned the gesture — not with her two hands hidden behind her back, but with her free third hand. One of the perks of being a theological engineer was the ability to get frisky with augmentations. Which Jawahir did, with an extra pair of arms that she crafted for herself as a graduation gift.

She joked that she got them to embrace Rahima with twice the force. Only Rahima knew this wasn't entirely in jest.

While Jawahir was nearing the meeting spot, one crossing away, Rahima couldn't help but think back to her husband-candidates. Worry filled her heart, bringing the mental image of her nice and handsome suitors harming Jawahir in retaliation, all because she got in the way of their marriage. She could very easily see them stooping this low, especially Al-Wadim, the most determined of them all. It felt as if he had made it his life's mission to make her his and would spare no expense or effort. She tried to ignore him and his advances, and, to her relief, so did her family.

Her joy was marred by dread. If the men so much as laid a finger on Jawahir, Rahima would never forgive herself.

It would not come to that. It could not come to that.

When Rahima offered herself as Jawahir's ride home at the end of the day, Jawahir's dark eyes lit up with excitement. She loved being flown by her darling almost as much as her darling liked to fly her. They snuggled in the air as though draped over each other on a chaise lounge.

Since excitement tended to loosen Jawahir's stiff tongue, they were not long in flight before she filled Rahima's ears with a history lesson. "Habibiti, Qaya-Ram's design was not without purpose. The architects-"

"-conceived the style from the enigmas of a holy algorithm." Rahima winked down at her love, and the girl stared at her with awe. She did her homework — now it was her turn to impress. "Quoth Scholar Sabiha: 'Mathematics are prayer to Mekhane, the Ever-Intrigued. Those who consider construction and invention identical honors to Her mislead themselves, for both require an infinite and perfect foundation to save them from their imperfection. Mathematics is that very foundation.' Master Sabiha would then become one of the three forebearers of the Mekhanite mathematics."

"She would become one of the three forebearers of the Mekhanite Mathematics, and by her own logic, became a prophet…" Jawahir quietly repeated and completed the last sentence, nodding to herself.

Rahima saw the awe bubble in her love's open-mouthed awe. The effect on her was incredible. She looked at Jawahir with a satisfied smile, and when saw her love's realization of what she'd said grow in her eyes, she knew the rapture was more than worth the effort.

"Did my Rahima anticipate and memorize what I'd say for this occasion? You little schemer!" The girls began laughing, pulling each other into their embrace tighter. It was not long until they arrived at Jawahir's apartment, beaming with joy. They entered through the balcony, its door left unlocked, maybe on purpose, maybe out of forgetfulness. Scholarly knowledge stuck to the girl's brain more easily than the mundane, much to her dismay.

"Go, make yourself at home. I'll prepare some drinks. Coffee, tea?"

"Tea, please."

"Four sugars?"

"You know me too well."

With that, she left the kitchen and opened the door to the living room. Even the interiors here were different from both Amoni-Ram and Ulma-Ram. The design was much more open, with the windows taking up the entirety of the outer wall.

In the capital, most of the window space was occupied by wall decorations: sandstone carvings of geometric patterns, ancient battles, quotes from the Scriptures, or Mekhane, depending on preference.

Ulma-Ram had no decorations at all, with the city being so bulky and oppressive that after her one visit, Rahima lost all desire to return there again.

The light blue walls of the room were also different from the other places' dull orange or yellow. A lot lighter and easier on the eyes, giving the interior an illusion of spaciousness together with the large window. Many scholars even opted to paint them or to inlay them with mosaics. Jawahir did both. The wall next to the entrance had a mosaic pattern started in the corner (with independent pieces laid out on a newspaper, waiting to be glued on), and the one opposite to it depicted a mural of two Mekhanite maidens floating downriver in a boat, their faces almost touching above the pomegranate slice shared between them.

Walking to the shelf, Rahima opened her larger bag to retrieve a beautiful mechanical sculpture. When she pressed its button, the harmonious clanking noises of a wind-up mechanism sounded out, cogs turning in synchronicity to collapse and refold the statue into a heart. These beautiful sounds and the transformation process alike tickled her senses in the best possible way, always leaving her fuzzy and giddy. Sometimes, while analyzing scriptures or working on poems at home, she would find herself absentmindedly opening and closing it.

A poem was inscribed on the unfolded heart:

Was this how Bumaro felt when He first gazed upon Mekhane?

Was this how Hedara felt when she first gazed upon her husband?

With heavenly nectar my heart overfills when I think about you,

Seeing your body brings me peace and warmth

And hearing your speech is akin to being filled with the blessed voice of the divine.

Jawahir, my own crown jewel.

She chuckled to herself when she read it. It was nearly two years ago, back when they still lived in Amoni-Ram unbothered. She agreed to combine Jawahir's anniversary gift with hers and allowed her both to etch her poem into the mechanical heart, and to place the scroll into the little compartment on the back. It was in Rahima's possession for long enough. Time has come for her to pass it on to her love. She won't be parting with it for long either; after all, she will be joining Jawahir soon, right?

A gasp was heard from the doorway. Jawahir was holding the tea can and the little tea cups on a tray, and her mouth was hanging agape.

"Rahima! Is that-"

"It is, for it belongs with you, in my home and yours. Just like you're mine and I'm yours."

Her love set down the tray and embraced her softly.

"You're so wonderful… this means everything to me!"

This mechanical heart was the favorite thing she ever made, and when she was forced to leave Amoni-Ram and this sculpture behind, she felt like she'd abandoned her actual one. But, like everything else dear to her, it returned to her now.

It all happened so fast. In the morning, she was enjoying a cup of tea with her mother. In the evening, she got arrested and detained.

No trials were held for her, for they intended to bury the whole affair in Ulma-Ram. And now here she was, sitting in the prisoners' cart, being transported. She didn't even know why she was detained in the first place. Not that it mattered. The charges had to be contrived.

It was hard not to cry. She was sprawled out on the floor, defeated, trying to wipe her eyes free of tears through her chained hands. Her hair stuck to her face, wet with her sweat and tears.

The saddest of all was that she would never see Rahima again. She knew very well how trials in Ulma-Ram went. They would bring her in, list what she was accused of, beg her to make it easy on herself, and when the begging failed, the beatings would take over until she broke and confessed to whatever, and they could use the confession to lock her up, never to see the sunlight again. Certainties were everything in Ulma-Ram. If they weren't sure, they made sure.

A soft thump on the roof of her cart shook her out of her thoughts. Knowing the road they were passing through, it was not unheard of for small rocks to be falling here and there. She curled back up and continued weeping.

Was Rahima even aware she was being taken away? There was no doubt it was arranged by one of the suitors — maybe even more of them. She knew what they were probably going to tell her. Something like "Oh, Jawahir ran away without ever telling you! She probably hates your guts! Let's get married, you and me, and strengthen the bonds between our families." And she would not be able to prove them wrong.

The doors to her cart began rattling, startling her into a near heart attack. Was somebody from the guards here to check up on her? Most likely not. The checkups happened once every two hours and never while the vehicles moved. Robbers then? Most likely. She was half-hoping that some criminals hijacked them. That way, she will at least be able to tell Rahima she was alive and well and was taken against her will and that she would never leave her of her own volition.

"Jawahir?"

She nearly jumped up from the voice. Was it…

"Rahi-"

She could barely contain her scream of surprise, so she hid her face in her pillow.

"It is me," her love whispered, quietly walking in and closing the door behind herself, pulling her into her embrace and… wrapping her wings around her?

"How did you… When did you…?"

"We do not have much time. Listen to me, please." Rahima began unlocking her chains, with what Jawahir assumed to be a built-in lockpick. Then, she withdrew a shield from her pocket and showed it to her: "Two minutes until I approached the cart on wings. Half a minute until I made it inside. We will have the same amount of time after we depart. And once we fly to a safe distance…"

Rahima pulled out another shield from her gown and handed it to Jawahir.

"Use this to get to Qaya-Ram undetected. I have arranged everything, there will be people waiting for you. You will be free, and you will live happily and be a scholar as you always wanted to."

"But what about you?" Jawahir asked with her eyes wide. It was unbelievable that Rahima really made it here. Was it really her? Was it a mirage? The way she was holding her, it felt very real. "Won't they punish you for breaking me out?"

"They will not know. I will be back in Amoni-Ram by the time anybody has the chance to notice, and I will take off my wings. As for the guards… I do not know what they will do, but I doubt they will turn to Qaya-Ram. They know not your dream is to become a scholar there, right?"

That was true. Jawahir didn't really get to tell anyone she was aiming for Qaya-Ram. She either kept forgetting or nobody asked her, and she wasn't one to share her heart without being asked unless it was with Rahima.

She chuckled to herself. Just this once, her unsettling silence was beneficial.

"Thank you…" she squeezed Rahima's hand. "I don't know where I'd be without you."

"We will be moving now. The pleasantries will have to be saved for later, is that fine?"

Jawahir nodded and pressed herself close to her. The shield turned on, and Rahima moved the two of them out of the cart. After making sure the door was locked close, they leaped off the cart's platform and were soaring high in the air within a moment's notice.

Before their shield ran out of charge, they landed behind an off-the-route dune. The abrupt landing left them laying face-first in the sand. After coughing herself into shape, Jawahir rolled into Rahima's arms and let her tears and sobs flow. Those of relief, of joy.

"I thought I'd- I'd never see you again!"

"My beautiful Jawahir… You are safe now."

"But why the wings? Since… since when did you have them?" This question had been on her mind since she entered her cart, but she didn't feel like asking it while there were more pressing issues.

"Do you like these?" The girl flexed them with a proud smile. "I made them myself! I have been working on them for weeks now, wanted to impress you! But I was forced to finish them earlier because of…"

She gestured at Jawahir's handcuffs.

And she was right! Jawahir was impressed. A poet learned to craft a pair of wings this good! And it was not just any run off the mill poet. It was her poet.

"This is incredible… You're incredible."

Just being in each other's presence after such a sudden hardship was enough for them. They both wanted to know they were safe, they were together, they were there for each other.

"Please… Take your shield and go. We will meet again in a month, for I will want to ensure you are doing well."

"Do you know who was responsible for my arrest?" Another important question Jawahir felt like she needed to know the answer to.

Hearing this question, Rahima's face fell.

"Some of my suitors… Al-Wadim, Ihab, their circle. They thought they could pull some strings and arrest you on some false pretenses!" She shook her fist at the sky in anger, then sighed. "My beautiful Jawahir… This is all my fault… If I did not confess my love to you, my suitors would not have bothered you, and-"

Jawahir interrupted her with a kiss, pressing her charred from crying lips against her love's soft, delicate ones.

"Rahima… You aren't the one at fault. It's them. And their jealousy… What happened happened. You went all the way to rescue me. Even built yourself a pair of wings! All for me. I'm blessed to have you. I don't know how many others have a love who'd be willing to risk their life as such."

Moments of silence passed. Jawahir rested her chin on her hands; she had to contemplate. There was no turning back now. If she ran away to Qaya-Ram, like her love suggested, it would have amounted to her exiling herself. She most likely would never be able to return to Amoni-Ram and would never see her mother again.

After some further thought, she found it to still be favorable. The alternative would have been her getting subject to horrific interrogation and then being left to rot in a cell for the rest of her life. Here though, in Qaya-Ram, she would be able to live her life on her own terms. Not to mention setting her feet in the city was one of the biggest dreams in her life.

She just wasn't prepared for it to happen like this.

"Well then." She stood up, dusted off the sack-like dress they gave her when she got detained, and squeezed Rahima's hands. "Thank you for doing all of this for me. For saving me… I'll go now, alright? I'll go, so your efforts to save me wouldn't be wasted. We'll meet in Qaya-Ram in a month."

"We will meet there in a month…" One last hug between the two as Rahima stood up as well. "The city is a half hour from her on land, even less on wings. I will fly you there, for the sun is far from rising, and the night will shroud my return."

Eventually, Jawahir fell asleep, wrapped in tangled sheets, sweat, and sweet dreams. Rahima tried to fall asleep with her but soon surrendered to her restlessness and tiptoed to the balcony, letting her eyes settle on the view of the Qayan desert. The chill creeping through her skin was not just from the cold air of the desert. Dusk approached her very own heart.

Her warped memories loomed large in her mind. Just a year ago, Qiqyn's mere disposition emboldened her suitors — all of whom had as much reason to assault one another as they had to attack anyone else — to work as one to destroy her beloved. That such a man may hold sovereignty over her memories was a nightmare Rahima chose to set aside.

"Mekhane would not burden a soul beyond that it can bear," she decided.

The laws and customs of their covenant with Mekhane stopped Qiqyn's shadow well short of the walls of Qaya-Ram, but those laws were made to restrain an Emperor. What of a monster?

A harder truth had wrapped its coils around Rahima's heart ever since she liberated her precious and, in moments like this, would squeeze it tighter. What if I had failed?

When she first succeeded in freeing Jawahir, Rahima felt charged with both joy and pride at her grand design. Reflecting on it now, she felt a pang of guilt for just how many fragile cogs and brittle screws were in her bold conspiracy, how many ways her Jawahir could have been brought to harm. It felt like blasphemy to so greedily depend on so many of their Goddess' miracles. It felt like betrayal to stake the girl's life on Her granting them.

What have I done? Am I her lover or destroyer? What if Mekhane's patience with me runs out?

Something akin to a warm blanket wrapped around her, something not unlike a tender zephyr tickled her neck and lobe. "What troubles you, habibiti?"

"I feel like I've turned your life into my gambling parlor." Rahima swallowed the lump, which suddenly gathered in her throat. "I made you the object of my suitors' rage-"

"Sweet desert spring-"

"-I might as well have signed your arrest warrant myself-"

"Darling-"

"-you are a fugitive because of me! I could have gotten you killed! You're a prisoner even now, whether to spend the rest of your life here or end it in Ulma-Ram!"

Jawahir's voice grew unexpectedly bold. "Rahima!" Her racing thoughts were quelled. "I knew loving you could ruin me." She felt the most pleasurable ache as Jawahir's teeth playfully grazed her ear. "I made my choice with that in mind. So, too, did Mekhane, the Irrefutable, when She chose to Fall. Was it the desert who gave Her to us, who gave me to you?"

"The only reason we yet live is Mekhane pardoning my reckless stupidity. When will She collect on the many miracles I've asked of Her?"

Jawahir laughed. "Is Mekhane a Goddess or bank? Do you believe Her to be so short-sighted? To waste Her favor on someone unworthy of it?" She kissed Rahima's cheek playfully. "It's science. Mekhane believes the world is far more interesting with us in it."

This time, it was Rahima whose doubts melted under Jawahir's charms. An abyss may lay ahead, but we have clawed back our lives from it for a time. That may be enough for me.