My emir

Chapter 2

Aria watched with detachment as the children played in the sandbox. Simple games. Scoop yellow grains into a plastic cylinder, pat them down with a little shovel, and — here comes the crucial moment, ta‑ta‑ta — flip the bucket over. The act of inverting it, like a magic trick or a daring twist in life. Difficult, thrilling, and sometimes… tragic.

The mother of the little girl who was now performing this ritual, puffing out her chubby cheeks in concentration, had died in a car crash a month ago, along with her husband. Yet this miracle remained. Like a bucket missing something essential.

The summer heat was just creeping into the square courtyard, framed by an arch and an entrance on the opposite side. Aria sat on a bench, thinking it was time to call the baby home before the sun began to sear her skin. She would promise they’d come back in the evening, closer to ten. She was about to call out — but didn’t get the chance.

A Jeep roared into the courtyard at high speed, followed by a dull thud. Like a ball, misjudging its trajectory, slamming full force into a door. It was hard to imagine — cars in their quiet neighbourhood never moved this fast in the courtyards. Everyone knew: children were everywhere. And their coordination was poor. They ran, shouted, got carried away, often not looking where they were going. So it might not have been a ball after all.

The sound was too heavy, too wet. Like a sheet torn from an upper floor by the wind. A tomato or a raw egg, hurled with precision at late‑night loiterers.

Aria didn’t see any alarm in Yulia’s eyes. The little girl played peacefully, pouring sand from her bucket. Aria turned, scanning for the source of the noise. The car sped in a circle, heading toward the arch. In the morning courtyard, all street sounds condensed around the rumble of the powerful engine and the whisper of tyres — no children’s shouts, no birds, no wind, no chatter of passers‑by, no distant music.

She glanced back at the car. It braked sharply, and from it, with the grace of a hero springing from a casket, leaped an athlete in a business suit and glasses. He hit the curb with a jolt, jumped over, and moved toward the sandbox with swift, practiced strides.

Just a few seconds — like flipping a child’s bucket. Aria cast a glance… Strange! A chill settled deep in her gut. Not fully understanding, wondering if she was imagining things, she pressed herself into the corner and craned her neck.

He was tall, two metres high, fair‑haired, dressed all in black. Moving toward the children’s sandbox. Toward her Yulia!

And over there, on the other side of the playground near the sixth entrance, stood a man. He hadn’t moved from the open doorway, and at his belt, a scabbard gleamed, holding a large sword with a prominent hilt.

Her first thought: a cosplayer? But she dismissed it at once — the panel high‑rises of their city weren’t popular with eccentric types. That was more for the capital. And what would he be doing in a morning courtyard?

Of course, someone might be celebrating a birthday or heading somewhere — but where? The man drew the blade slowly, as if in slow motion. The tip glinted grey in the courtyard’s shadow.

Or maybe a junkie? At that thought, her head spun, her limbs trembled, and her stomach tightened. Such people didn’t come to their courtyards. And junkies with swords didn’t loiter by entrances. Nonsense!

Next, a galloping suspicion struck her: not a thief, but a madman.

Meanwhile, the other man from the car had reached the sandbox and lifted Yulia into his arms.

“Oh, for heaven’s sake, what are you doing here, just relaxing?!”

Her heart leapt up, lodging in her throat, pounding in her ears. Her mind screamed in shock. Snapping back to reality, she darted under the bench, quietly pulling out a metal rod. Uncle Yura had hidden it there when chasing junkies and drunken brawlers from the courtyard. And she knew exactly what to do with it — she’d won a regional fencing cup in sport sabres.

He’d always joked it would be handy for fending off bandits — bounce off the front door and dash to the bench. And here it was, the rod, hidden just so. By the first entrance, a sturdy bat leaned behind a trash bin, all alone and waiting. Too much joking…

Frozen, Aria licked her lips. Her slender hands gripped the handle, as if it were a replica of a Cossack sabre from the century before last. The courtyard was silent. Not a sound. Even Yulia was quiet in surprise.

For a second, as her heartbeat slowed, a dizzying thought flashed through Aria’s mind: “It was nothing!” Hallucinations! It happens to everyone.

She glanced at the first entrance. At the car. Licked her lips again, and barked:

— Put her down! The child. Back in place!!!

She saw his face shift. There were plenty of madmen these days. But how often did they appear in a morning courtyard? She should call the police. But her phone lay in her backpack, on the bench.

As long as he stood there, hesitating, she could block the path from the playground to the car. Scream for the neighbours, pound on doors, raise a ruckus. But what if she didn’t reach Yulia in time? The child was light — he could push past with her in his arms, one shoulder, in a single move.

Taking a couple of steps to cut him off, Aria, keeping her eyes fixed on the archway, held her ground. With one foot, she kicked a child’s toy out of her way. It landed with a soft thud against the car’s side. Inside, the door handle clicked open with a hollow sound.

Aria whipped her furious gaze back — to the face of the brute holding her child.

Slowly, he set Yulia down, clearly gauging how badly the blonde woman in summer shorts and a T‑shirt, clutching a metal rod, was shaking with fear.

Yulia wasn’t stupid either — she realised something was wrong. Slowly, she stepped away from the man, who was drawing a short sword. Aria hadn’t even noticed it at first.

— Go to Aunt Galya, — she growled sternly, hoping and praying that it was just a cosplayer standing by the entrance — not another madman. And from sheer tension, she closed her eyes for just one second, one damned second.

The man lunged at her in the narrow path between the children’s climbing frame and the flower‑filled tyres. Attacking, he sliced the air with his sword. In the next moment, blade and rod clashed with a ringing sound, screeched, and sent a vivid spark flying into the air.

The stranger staggered back slightly.

«Didn’t expect that», flashed through Aria’s mind. He didn’t suspect he’d meet resistance. He attacked again — aggressive, swift. Somewhere in her solar plexus, fury was born; her heart pounded with tripled force.

Blocking the strike, she launched a counterattack — a blow! Another! She pushed the startled «guest» toward the sandbox. His technique was unfamiliar to her. A thought raced through Aria’s head: “This isn’t a thief, not a madman, not a junkie — this is a killer! He came to kill. And to take Yulia!”

There was no time to watch the cosplayer or the car behind her — only with her peripheral vision did she track Yulia’s movements. The man shifted tactics: he stopped retreating and skilfully parried her attack, now forcing Aria toward the car. She didn’t mind — there was more room to manoeuvre there.

Another narrow spot! Another thrust! He was pressing her back. Now the car door! Behind the door. Along the edge, almost to the first entrance.

A sharp turn, a sweep of the leg — and with a powerful blow, he knocked the rod from the girl’s hands. It spun in a somersault, grazed the climbing frame’s post, slicing through the old paint down to the rusted surface, spreading a web of reddish cracks — and fell to the ground with a dull thud.

For a second, calm of a summer morning settled over the courtyard in the sudden silence. “Now he’s going to kill me”, Aria thought.