Enemies and Lovers

The Blood Moon

The festivals were celebrated in the town square. The shops in the bazaar closed early. And the decorations were put up. Food stalls popped up. The musicians and singers readied their stages. The wandering tribes pitched their tents nearby, ready to join the celebration and share stories. By the time the sun set, the place was full of people dancing, eating and drinking under the soft glow from the lanterns. People left their worries and their problems home and the place filled with carefree laughter.

Sarah walked through the town square. She had seen Zakir leave with Ava from the Handler’s place. She walked past a group of people that gathered around the story teller from the wandering tribes, and the singers dressed in clothes that sparkled under the lights of the lanterns. People smiled at her as she walked, and she smiled back. It was easier in her plain brown cotton tunic to pretend she was one of them. Her hair was coiled up and hidden by a turban. She tried to imagine herself to be a part of the festival, even as she scanned the crowd for Zakir. To imagine herself belonging there. There was a freedom in the revelry, but it all still felt foreign to her. The metallic taste of the shadows always reminded her of who she had become. A phantom who stalked the shadows. A murderess who didn’t even spare such happy places of her dark presence.

She spotted Zakir laughing with Ava by a food stall, a candied apple in his hand. They looked happy, in love, serene. They had looked that way even at the tavern, and it had made the place seem a little less gloomy sometimes. But she would take away the happiness.

She rubbed her eyes with her sleeves. The tears threatened to spill.

She watched the dancers twirl and jump around in abandon, and her heart dropped at the thought that she might’ve, at one time, felt such careless happiness. Such sweet joy. She couldn’t imagine it, even as her head filled with memories that had begun to feel like they didn’t belong to her.

How could the girl who smiled as she rode a bicycle with the wind in her hair, be the same as the murderess, stalking a happy couple?

She would give them a few more minutes, she decided. She sat on one of the chairs by the food stalls, keeping Zakir within her sight. The music, joyous and wild filled the entire space. She curled her fingers around the cup of hot tea she had bought.

“You really should stop hesitating.”

Sarah jumped to her feet, the cup slipping from her hand. She clutched her knife as she faced the prince. Her eyes darted to the smooth skin of his throat.

“I wouldn’t do that if I were you. The traders here hate trouble makers.”

He leaned in closer to her and tried to take her knife away. She stepped back and strapped her knife back in. He was right about the traders.

“Why are you here?”

“To celebrate, just like you.”

Sarah wanted to punch the smug smile off his face. She hated that he was toying with her, that every single man she had come across in the god-forsaken land had found her misery amusing.

She didn’t care how he had healed, or if he was simply a ghost.

“Then have fun, Your Highness,” she said.

Loud enough for the people to hear and surround him.

She pushed through the crowd and made way for Zakir. A public death would not be something she would’ve preferred, but the Handler would have to deal with it. She had her knife ready in her hand amongst the sea of dancers, and she edged close to Zakir, dancing with his eyes closed.

A hand gripped her and she spun around to see the prince's dark eyes. He pulled her closer, twisting her arm behind her back and his other arm around her waist locked her in. She tried to struggle out, but his grip around her hand tightened, and the knife fell. The sea of people moved, and Sarah wanted nothing at that moment than to kill the prince. She would make the death torture, a slow agonizing process.

“You don’t want to do this,” he whispered into her ear.

“You have no idea of what I want, let me go or this time I will cut you up in so many pieces there will be nothing to heal.”

He was swaying to the music, even as his grip hardened every time she tried to get out.

She felt exhausted and drained. Her wound throbbed.

She closed her eyes and let out a sigh, trying to let the soft music calm her.

She hated the place. Every time she thought the worst had happened, something more came up. When she thought nothing else could be worse than landing in a creepy medieval town, she had ended up becoming an assassin. And when she thought the Handler couldn’t get worse, he brought in even more ridiculous assignments for her. And then a prince decided to make things even worse.

“What do you want?” she said, not bothering to lower her voice.

“You were very hard to find, I almost didn’t recognize you, you don’t want to kill that man, no matter what kind of murderess you think yourself to be, that guilt ridden face becomes easy to spot.”

“No, I don’t want to kill him, but some of us don’t have the luxury to do what we want, not when fate decides to deal us a poor hand, so just tell me what want from me.”

“I want your help and maybe to help you a little.”

“I won’t murder for you and I don’t need your pity.”

“It’s not murder, can we talk without you trying to bite my head off now.”

A prospect for a job that didn’t involve murder sounded tempting. She didn’t trust the prince but she saw no harm in listening to him.

They walked away from the celebrations, the music barely a low hum.

The streets were empty. Sarah like the town at night, with the torches burning low and numerous stars in the sky.

Sarah stopped at the corner of the street and watched as the prince entered a tavern. He held the door open for her, and when she refused to enter, he grabbed her arm and pulled her inside.

“For someone who murders people for a living, you are surprisingly well mannered.”

She rolled her eyes and decided it would be easier to simply follow him, and hear him out.

A man came by their table and placed two glasses of water in front of them.

The prince offered him a silver coin and the man scurried away.

Money could always be trusted to buy privacy.

Sarah leaned in her chair and crossed her arms, waiting for the prince. She hadn’t really completed the stage of job interviews at her school.

They stared at each other, sizing up one other. Sarah could sit still for hours, it was one of the things Layla liked about her. She never fussed when Layla was applying khol on her eyes, or dabbing away shimmery powder at the cheekbones.

“You’re like one of the marble statues we have at the palace, so cold, so flawless, so still,” he said, bending forward.

He seemed to pulse with life, every movement, sharp, controlled, and yet there was an endearing quality to his movements, with their grace.

“What is the job?”

“I want you to be a personal guard for my sister.”

He wanted her, a girl who had tried to murder him, to join the royal guard? It sounded ridiculous, even for a creepy town in medieval times.

“I’m sure the princess already has guards, and are you even authorized to do this, shouldn’t there be like some minister or someone recruiting soldiers?”

He laughed. “

I don’t want you to join the royal guard, you will work for me, you will answer only to me.”

“Then I’m not sure anyone will let me near the princess.”

“No one let you near me, and yet I remember being quite close to you, you were wearing much less clothing then.”

He had the audacity to wink at her.

She didn’t understand what he meant, with his stupid word plays.

“You want me to work as a spy, for you.”

“Yes, but you will need a new identity, something less terrifying than a guilt ridden assassin.”

“I don’t need a new identity to spy on people.”

“But you will need it to live at the palace, you don’t seem like you belong here, your manners, your accent, so we’re going to tell everyone that you’re the daughter of a noble man from a foreign land.”

“You realize that you’re helping an assassin gain free access to your home, I’m not a very nice person, I can’t promise to not murder you.”

“You can murder me all you want, but I believe my sister’s life is in danger, my mother’s death was not an accident and I fear for her, but I cannot trust the royal guard, I need someone discreet and you seem nice enough to me.”

“You think there’s a conspiracy behind the palace walls.”

“There’s always a conspiracy behind the palace walls, and who better to keep an eye on my sister than you.”

“Your Highness I-“

“Razah, my name is Razah, you said you didn’t want to murder on command anymore, and I respect your wishes and you have my word that I wouldn’t force you to do anything against your wishes, not many assassins are as skilled in blending with the shadows and as quick with their knives and have compassion and would fit into the role of mysterious beautiful foreign noble woman.”

Sarah sighed.

The whole thing felt too good to be true. Leaving the Handler behind to actually protect someone’s life.

“Okay, I will do it, would your sister know about me?”

He nodded.

“She does, and she is waiting for you now, you will ride out the town in secret with her, and then come back together as a friend she met on her travels.”

The gates of the town had been a sacred boundary line for her. The thought of going past them, and then living in the palace excited in her a long forgotten childish joy. Joy that focused on the happy parts, making life into an adventure.

**