The brothers had gathered themselves into more formal clothing. Cloth wrapped around them in patterns rare to this area, with greens and browns no less luxurious than the earth itself. Waist beads tucked around them tinkling lightly like heavenly bells. Even the beads themselves sparkled with small intricate designs drawing a gradient pattern across their hips.
The room flourished in various thick to thin fabrics flung on the walls with only cut-offs of sunlight peeking through from behind. Purples like the dark blooming calla flowers, pinks like the flesh of hands held in the sand, and yellows to bring the sun to shame. It was a temperate room even then and the two omega El Mahdys were unconcerned with heat as they whispered between themselves.
Hammid and Himmat were perched on the couch with the young Koloda in front of them crouched forward with his head bowed.
He had to have been in this position for quite some time as his body began to shudder, and sweat fell from his brows. It looked rather like a lesson in torture than the initial engagement meeting.
Finally, the younger twin, Himmat, sighed. Braids fell across his shoulders twisted into geometric shapes closer to the peoples' designs along the shorelines than their ancestors in the desert. His lashes fluttered over large oval auburn eyes hooded by thick curved brows as if to see right through Koloda like a bespoke lantern in the midnight hours. There was wisdom in his eyes that only slightly worried him.
Unaware of being watched, Himmat told Koloda, "I am a bit disappointed. You understand, don't you? We are to be married. You to me. The first jewel of El Mahdy to someone I've heard in passing from the complaints of an angry merchant."
With the bravado of youth, Koloda puffed out his chest and shed his previous humiliation as he replied, "We are to be married to each other. It will be like a well of water. If it dries out, then we all die."
"So says your lover outside then?"
The silence was heavy then, not much different from the fog that folds over the lantern lights in the morning. Koloda was speechless and did not respond. As his uncle, Lisib felt responsible and cleared his throat, bringing attention to his entrance.
And off of Koloda.
"The lover has run off. You are to be comforted by that."
But those lantern eyes sat unchanged. Instead, they curved upward, and Himmat said with a laugh towards his brother, who also reflected such a smile, said, "Oh, the foreigner? He did run off as if the waters would strangle him, but I speak of Zamora's heir--Goshiyya Nchama."
Lisib furrowed his brows, but at his nephew's paled expression, he realized Himmat had read Koloda as clear as the morning blue. He corrected himself, recognizing the name briefly, "Nchama is a bastard child to my knowledge. What is there to worry? Secondary spouses are not new." An uncomfortable laugh rolled out of his throat as the young omega's perusing eyes veered on him instead.
"Such a thing will not bring shame," Koloda spouted off. "The Nchama are respected."
"They are feared," Himmat retorted. He twisted around and regained his composure by the time his face reappeared. "You wish to marry mystics into my family's already desperate situation. Does your family know fear?"
He snatched his nephew by the nape with no less strength than a lion would their cub and said lowly, "What is going on?"
"I am in love," Koloda started. "A beauty with more visage than the carvings a whole party of scribes could devise."
Lisib huffed. "You have nowhere near the ability to marry a mystic's child. Even much less Zamora Nchama's."
"She has graced him with the golden tattoo as all Nchamas are before marriage," Koloda said bravely. "It has the wings of a hawk on it."
The Nchamas have a wicked history of murder and blood. They were notoriously known for their neutrality but, if roped into war, did not shy away from the deaths that would ensue.
Zamora Nchama is the most famous of all her clan. Her home carried hundreds of snakes ranging from all sizes, slithering up and over the crevices of her house. Although married three times prior, her new young husband had no fear of death. No one had ever seen a happier man. Perhaps it was his own bad luck with a family history not too far from Lisib's own that left him in the belief that there is nothing worse to life.
It was not a bad match. The more he remembered that Zamora Nchama had gained control of the river routes her second husband once patrolled.
"You are sure."
Koloda nodded.
"Omega Himmat," Lisib said as his grip loosened and held his nephew like a trophy. "I beg to gather that you have ambitions grander than the open world. Judging by your and your brother's interest in clothing and patterns, I do not believe it was a coincidence that your brother met my friend by chance."
Himmat's eyes tightened. "Do we have a problem?"
"My nephew here is only a romantic," Lisib clarified before shoving his nephew forward into the main view of the omega. "But he is dedicated. He's loyal. And most of all, his only ambitions lie in food and pleasure."
His nephew straightened his posture and cleared his throat as Himmat assessed him again like a rogue scarab.
"And the ambitions of Zamora Nchama?"
"Will be nothing you have to worry about."
There was a pause until finally Himmat turned to his brother who merely shrugged.
"Fine," Himmat said with a flourished wave. "I agree to this marriage. And I will allow Goshiyya into this family as a second. I will even add some gifts to his dowry as a peace offering."
Koloda bowed to his knees. "I will not disappoint you."
"We will see," is all Himmat said before sweeping out the room with the heavy tapestries billowing in his disappearance.
It was then he remembered there was someone else he had yet to meet and raised his voice, "When will we be meeting Behenu? The young heir?"
No reply.
Lisib turned to Hammid who merely shrugged again. And then the other brother paused thoughtfully before he said, "I don't wish for you to be alarmed."
"We're not," Koloda retorted.
Hammid ignored him and then dusted his robe. He continued on, "Most people are unaware that Zamora Nchama is good friends with the Empress. They are distant cousins whose mothers were close friends. There are business contracts and land deeds that correlate to this being true."
Although he could hear every word, the words were baffling to Lisib, so the man replied, "You may need to ask your informant to dig better. It's more than a little impossible that the Empire would be with the bloodline of mystics. "
"My informant is one of the Empress' consorts. Take with that what you will," Hammid ended their conversation just as quickly as it began with a little backward glance, leaving the way his brother had.
Contrary to what Lisib had said earlier, he did not believe that he could handle Nchama, much less her precious child. What he had presumed would be easy to handle were arrogance, avarice, and the ambition of a master who was easily displeased.
If the Empress had in any way manipulated things into such a situation, was it better to bow now or break later?
He shook his head and clapped his hands on his nephew's shoulder, guiding him back to their camels, where he would send the young man home.
Should the need arise, his nephew would be no help in protecting his family's livelihood. Lisib was even unsure if he was up to the task.
But, as in all things, you reap what you sow.
Koloda had remembered clutching Goshiyya tight as he uttered those words. Everyone, young and old, poor and rich, local and foreign; knew of the Demoness. Snakes curved on the skin in the markings reminiscent of an old temple no one could remember the name of, and with priestesses, no one was brave enough to meet. Zamora Nchama was the last practitioner of the old magic--Death magic.
Truly, she was nothing but the byproduct of shifting politics and beliefs under the previous Pharaohs. When Pharaohs turned to Empresses and Emperors, their way of life had changed to fit the needs of their people. To many who practice the old ways, like Demoness Zamora, they had abandoned their ancestors to make peace with a warring people.
And Koloda wasn't sure he could disagree.
Aligning with anyone in a relationship parallel or adjacent to Zamora was akin to aligning with rebellion.
The exact kind of thing his uncle said not to do in the days leading up to the wedding.
"Ah, sweet silence," the fortune teller, Goshiyya Nchama, child of the Demoness, drawled. His long lashes peered at Koloda again and a smirk settled on his lips. "You have nothing to say now?"
In the moonlight, Goshiyya was somehow more beautiful. His uncle was prone to exaggerating Koloda's flirtations but for the first time he was hesitant to disagree. It had taken moments for Koloda to find that Goshiyya and him both should never have met but that he would've regretted never meeting him once in his lifetime.
They treaded up the sand dune slopes and stood over the desert port, where campsites, makeshift housing, and merchant boats perched weaving side to side in the waters. Goshiyya hoisted his camel along the nearest post and waved him over by a makeshift camp. The small square settlement large enough for five people was a lush spot. Bodyguards were posted around them that Goshiyya nodded at as he led Koloda inside.
"The dunes and the waters will be rough soon," Goshiyya gestured to one of the folded blankets in the corner of the tent. Food was already placed on the purple and green painted tables built of superior craftsmanship. "You may sleep here for the night. And yes, I see your beady eyes on the fruits there. You can have half. Don't get greedy."
Koloda was disquieted and felt incapable of speaking. Instead, he ambled over to the table and began to cut the fruit into pieces, while Goshiyya set up his sleeping blankets.
"My mother is not so frightening, you know," Goshiyya faltered. They hadn't said anything since he told him his mother's name. It was right to think that was the reason why. "But if she wasn't frightening, she would've been killed a long time ago. Omega women like my mother are either prized or feared."
"Too much power."
Goshiyya smiled, and then his face fell. "Yes, too much power." with a flip of the blanket curled inside of it and didn't speak again.
He was sure in that exact moment he had said the wrong thing.
The inner politics of the palace were not of his interest. He knew the Empress was said to be insatiable but there was nothing wrong with knowing what you want. He knew the Empress was said to be callous and quick to action but there was nothing wrong with decisiveness.
He hoped to be the same.
Goshiyya had said he was a descendant of royalty, yet somehow, these descendants were not special or valued as important. Perhaps that was why his uncle was so strict. To be of a great bloodline and carry no purpose was the greatest waste.
Was he to be a continued waste in the line of his bloodline?
When he finished eating the bites of melon and picking grapes, the sun had risen again. Licking his lips and brushing his hands clean, he crossed his legs and waited for Goshiyya's eyes to open.
Those black, blue eyes flickered open and, like a candle, came to awareness.
Before the fortune teller could speak, Koloda kneeled forward and said, "I wish to request your hand in marriage, Goshiyya Nchama child of Zamora Nchama to I, Koloda Sarakh, child of Clan Sarakh."
Goshiyya yawned and then leaned on his elbow to his knee. With an open grin, he said, "I was afraid of that."
But Koloda didn't ask why.
He already knew.