Private Tales A Peacock's Posturing

[Jahára]

In the worn-down grandeur of the Palace of Embers, a figure entered, wrapped in the vibrant garb of a merchant prince, Ahmir. Tall and commanding, the elaborate turban atop his head showcased a bright and colorful folding of cloth. Polished conch shells, glimmering against the sunlight, adorned the edges, dancing gently with each step he took deeper into the palace.

Ahmir, an illusion crafted by Jahára's subterfuge, stood regal and confident, bearing the marks of opulence in every meticulously trimmed thread of his lush beard and eyes kohl darkened against the blistering desert sun. Gold rings adorned his fingers, a subtle display of wealth and influence befitting the facade.

Jahára hated to admit that she was nervous to meet this new sultan. But she was determined to see how trustworthy he really was and if their interests aligned, or if he was like the last Sultan. A tyrant who barely was worthy of the royal moniker. All the same, she had chosen to leave behind Taqi and Sarabi both, knowing they would disapprove of her plan.

A palace servant had guided Ahmir through the palace's ornate corridors, until he was ushered into a small yet lavishly appointed waiting room. The walls, adorned with stained glass panels, filtered the golden sunlight into a kaleidoscope of colors, casting a mosaic dance on the tired tapestries that adorned the room.


Lush greenery, carefully arranged to appear effortless, breathed life into the corners, where plush embroidered pillows encircled low tables, inviting repose amid opulence. Beyond the room's threshold, a courtyard revealed the bounty of various citrus trees, their branches laden with vibrant fruits, and if Ahmir closed his eyes and listened closely, he could hear the cooing of exotic songbirds in the foliage.

In this faded oasis of luxury and tranquility, Ahmir awaited to be called to the Sultan's audience, his keen eyes observing the exquisite details of the palace, silently gauging Rasoul's character from afar, all while veiled under the guise of the Gilded Peacocks' ostensible leader.

Rasoul Ibn Shahin

 

[Rasoul Ibn Shahin]

"And the shipment of marble?"

"It has arrived without incident, Your Highness."

The Sultan was glad to hear that the High Priest had kept to his end of the agreement. It was a matter of no small importance and weighed heavily on Rasoul's mind these last days. Restoration of Seluca to its former glory was proving to be a difficult task even when things transpired as expected. There were still many vacancies to be filled which meant the Sultan was handling much of the work himself. To toil for his people was a great honor but Rasoul was one man, and not a perfect one at that. He suddenly realized that the attendant had not yet left and cast a questioning glance towards the woman.

"The head of the Guilded Peacock's Guild, Merchant Prince Ahmir, has arrived." Rasoul's gaze hardened for a moment at the mention of the princely title. The attendant quickly cast her gaze downwards. The Sultan's expression quickly relaxed. Merchants tended to have a flair for the dramatic and the moniker was used throughout the ages. Still, it was difficult to ignore considering the precarious state of the city and his rule. Rasoul motioned for his guest to be brought to him.

"Munnun's blessings be upon you, Prince Ahmir," the Sultan said by way greeting once the merchant had arrived. Rasoul would stand and offer a hand to Ahmir before motioning for the other man to take the seat across him. They were not in the Palace's audience chamber but rather the Sultan's study. Time did not allow for all the pomp and circumstance that was usually merited.

"I hope you did not find the Palace's hospitality too lacking? There's still much work that needs to be in its restoration."

Jahára

 

[Jahára]

Jahára found the sultan's hand to be warm and surprisingly calloused in hers, his grip assured and confident. She grinned inwardly; surmising that their new ruler seemed to know more than a silver spoon. Releasing Rasoul's hand, Ahmir unbuttoned his vest and took a seat across from the man.

"And upon you, Your Majesty." His pointer and middle finger brushing his forehead and arcing away in a casual manner. A traditional gesture, even if for Ahmir he was only going through the motions of faithfulness.

"And please, it is just Ahmir in your exalted company. Especially if we are to speak business. That title was given to mock me and my ambitions within the last merchant council. But—," He fanned his hands outward, as if to draw attention to his obvious physical manifestations of said ambitions, "—as you can see. I don't do well with glass ceilings." His smile failed to meet his eyes. Instead, he shifted a calculating look at the tray on Rasoul's desk. The tray held a silver dallah in the middle, steam wafting from its flared spout and filling the air with the robust smell of roasted rich coffee beans and cardamom. A pair of demitasse cups sat empty near a plate of dried dates.

Now, the smile Ahmir had was genuine when he nodded to the traditional setup, "Ah, I see you have a taste for the coffee I bring into the city? I applaud your hospitality."

Rasoul Ibn Shahin

 

[Rasoul Ibn Shahin]

Casual words and easy smiles, Rasoul was very much dealing with a merchant. The Sultan took a moment to study the person across from him. They couldn't have appeared any more different, Ahmir's bright clothing contrasting heavily with Rasoul's sandy-browns. A person's attire could say much about them or be entirely misleading. That being said, it was only natural for a merchant to attract attention. Doing anything to stand out from the competition was a basic tenet of their game, or so he'd been told.

"That is so," he replied with a small smile. The merchant had wasted little time in demonstrating their value. "One of the many luxuries our people were deprived of during the reign of the Oppressor. Hopefully this marks the return of many goods that Seluca was once able to enjoy." It didn't take a Sultan to know that rebuilding a city was neither easy nor cheap. As one of the few ports east of the Seret, the city had been a vital hub for trade. The desert provided much and yet not enough.

He allowed for refreshments to be served, letting the coffee's aroma settle nicely.

"You spoke of business earlier, I trust all has been well with yours?" Another benign question and yet the Sultan was curious to the merchant's answer. The simplest queries often provided the greatest revelations.

Jahára

 

[Jahára]

As the Sultan's guest, Ahmir was the first to take demitasse in hand, the earthy smell of the coffee centering him with each waft of the rich steam he waved towards himself.

Sighing contently, the merchant grinned over the rim of his cup. "That depends if you're referring to the entire manner of goods that Seluca used to endeavor in before the fall of the Merchant Council." He scrunched his face and shooed away any following conjecture, "That is not to say that you are one to endorse the same brand of debauchery and hedonism as those men did. All of them, out of touch. It is in the city's favor that they are gone now." Ahmir sat back languidly, grasping his cup with his fingertips, a bemused brow raised. "Unless that is what his Majesty so desires? After all..." He gestured casually, "I am not one to judge on the endeavors of my betters."

He held up a finger emphatically, rings glinting in the light, "But, I would be remiss if I did not do my due diligence to my beloved city. So to answer your question, Your Majesty, yes, I am doing well." A toothy grin. "Yet I could always do better. So please, do not hesitant to ask of me something within my power that would aid in city's rise back to grandeur."

Rasoul Ibn Shahin