Though there had been some initial braying and bellowing and other noises of discontent, the camels had quickly quieted down when they were shown to the corral attached to the grand palace, finding it was fully equipped with a fountain of flowing crystal clear water and well stocked feeding troughs. Omid was admittedly still in a haze as he got all the camels situated, but he was just aware enough to notice several details that begged further questions.

First, there was a water source...up here. Omid didn’t want to fully admit to where he was right now, as it meant many things. Not the least of which was that he had no easy way to escape.

Second, there was food being grown in such abundance that there was enough for a team of camels. Fountains could be automated, magic used in their maintenance. But even if there was a mage to accelerate the growth of food, someone still had to harvest it. And Sareen hardly seemed the type who spent most of her time harvesting crops.

Third, the corral and stables seemed mostly well kept. The bluish green grass that grew there was something Omid had never seen before, but he had heard of no such grass that kept the stables swept. Even if Sareen had only had the one camel prior to this, she still did not at all seem the stable keeping type.

Fourth, there were just enough salt licks to be a display of wealth with the deniability of utility. That one actually made complete sense.

Still, it meant there was likely at least someone else here. More than likely several other someones. Someones who had been doing an inadequate job from the displeased frown Sareen was giving as she looked over the stables.

Curiosity won out over coffee and Omid couldn’t help but inquire. “Is something wrong?”

“Good help for keeping beasts is apparently quite hard to find, and seems to falter when unwatched.” The disdain in her voice was clear and no sooner than Omid had started to wonder what help Sareen had here, he was worrying for their continued safety.

Which was as good an opportunity as any to try his luck and plant some seeds of an idea.

“Hmm, that is quite the unfortunate problem. Perhaps I could help find a solution? I’ve read a good deal about animal care, and learned from the best when it comes to animals.” He suggested.

The best, of course, being Taljir. Who would of course be most able to serve while no longer a glass figurine. A part of Omid would feel bad if this did work and Taljir was now trapped with him on the moon, another part needed a friend to trust. He could only hope that his current existence was not a miserable one.

Sareen’s eyes looked to be considering the proposal as she removed her scarf, letting her hair down and tidying herself up. “Perhaps later, after I see what excuse Riz has this time.”

She waved Omid off from retrieving his belongings, insisting that the help would attend to that. It was then Omid’s turn to make himself look presentable, adjusting his braids as he went and fixing his clothes and trying to brush some excess dirt off of himself. Sareen seemed to be immune to such things, and her clothes still looked impossibly clean.

Just as he was figuring it was no doubt down to being an earth elemental, Sareen gently pulled his hand away and spoke the word of Control Earth as she lightly flicked her hand against his chest. Omid was hit with the strange sensation similar to being hit with a burst of air, minus the air. A small cloud of accumulated dirt, dust, and sand all fell to the ground. Even his skin felt noticeably cleaner.

“There, much better.” She said with a pleased smile and turned to walk towards the large doors leading into the palace. 

Omid had even further questions now, but at the moment he was thankful for his dark skin hiding a blush he may or may not have had now for some reason. Though if it was imperceptible did it even really exist? 

No, he told himself.

No and he should hurry to keep up because this woman was not the type to tolerate delays.

As he exited the stables and followed along to the main entrance, he gazed up at the high walls of the palace. They made their way into a long rectangular courtyard paved with flat gray stones, filled not with plants but with sculptures of people frozen in final moments of terror. All on pedestals that bore the same silvery white color that most everything else here had, though it seemed to lack the glow of the fine sand of the ground in this “stone” form.

Omid gave a small frown as they passed by all of them. “What was it that they did, so I know to avoid it?”

“Don’t worry, I am fully confident that you will have no problem avoiding such grievous errors.” Sareen said in that reassuring tone of hers that did absolutely nothing to provide any reassurance.

Whether or not she actually believed that, the message of having to walk past those who had angered her on the way into her palace was clear enough. Everything here so far had a similar style to the “guest house” Omid had been spending his nights in. Sharp corners everywhere, and the entire structure looking as though it was somehow carved out of a single piece of stone. Despite the much cooler air, he felt no hint of a breeze though echoes still being a thing as he marched on the gray stone floor kept things from being too strange. 

There at the end of the courtyard flanking the entrance to the palace proper stood a group of guards in formation. They bore spears of an all metal design, and their uniform resembled a much less opulent version of Sareen’s general sartorial choices and instead far more militaristic and practical. As they approached the guards, Omid’s eyes focused in on the now apparent fact that they were not so much men but constructs hewn from the same stone as what he was walking on. They had eyes atop what could be considered a face, but even The Old Men had more claim to a human visage. These “faces” of these guards were stylized almost like that of an expensive doll or a mask. White glowing orbs stared past Omid as he and Sareen approached, the guards standing at attention in perfect eerie unison.

“Am I correct in assuming that they are not the help you have for the stables?” Omid asked, craning his neck to look at the guards while passing by.

“Oh of course. They can patrol and observe and hit things. But anything requiring a finer touch or a more discerning eye and they’re no good at all.” Sareen said, sounding slightly disappointed at that fact. 

Omid estimated they had to be quite strong to heft around solid metal spears. “And determining friend from foe is a not so discerning task?”

Sareen laughed. “I know exactly who is welcome here at all times, and if they see anyone who is not on that list then they know what to do with them. An extension of guardian will. Such a thing does not exist for a desire to keep things clean and or maintained. Believe me, I have tried.”

Omid’s attention was grabbed by the sound of the large, dark metal doors swinging open before them with hardly a creaking sound that one might suspect from them. They revealed a large entrance hall, lit by the same pure white light of the sconces of the guest house he had become so accustomed to, with a group of several dozen servants waiting there with downcast gazes and neutral expressions. By appearance, they were from all the lands The Great Desert touched. Most in simple yet neat servant’s clothes, a few holding their heads higher allowed the colors that Sareen and her guards wore. 

One such well dressed servant, an older balding man of tanned wrinkled skin, green eyes, and meticulously styled mustache stepped forth and gave a bow.

“It is my pleasure to welcome you back, Princess Sareen.” He said. “I trust that your journey was a fruitful one?”

What was that he called her?

Omid’s eyes started slowly growing wider.

“Exceptionally so, Toryal.” Sareen said with a hint of pride as she kept her head held high and questioned the man. “Is there anything to report of matters while I was gone?”

The old man finally met her gaze with a stern look. “Hayla has managed to nurse your prized mango tree back to full health.”

“Hayla, step forward.” Sareen commanded

At an instant a young lady in the drab colors of the common servants stepped forward. Her medium brown skin tone had her lost in the earthtones she wore. “Yes, Princess?”

There was that word again, and the increasing feeling of having made some grand miscalculation overtaking Omid and causing him to clench his jaw shut.

“You have proven yourself well.” Sareen said with a heavily restrained praise. “You may see Soma for some proper attire once you are all dismissed. In the meantime, Toryal I believe you had more to tell me?”

The young lady shrunk back into the crowd, eyes cast downward. No one managed to hide the pain well when Sareen implored Toryal to continue.

Toryal cleared his throat. “Riz was...injured, which prevented him from completing his tasks as needed-”

“Is this true, Riz?” Sareen asked the crowd in a firm tone.

A young man of lighter skin and blue eyes limped forward, eyes to the ground as he bowed. “A thousand pardons, Princess. I made a mistake and twisted my leg. I had not been able to-”

“This is Omid.” Sareen said while placing a hand on Omid’s shoulder, rousing him from trying to process this ‘princess’ word that he was double and triple and quadruple checking for accuracy. He gave a lost stare to the crowd. “He is my apprentice and as such his orders are to be followed less you invoke my wrath for obstructing my will.”

Omid felt a single drop of sweat emerge from one of his pores and slide down his forehead. Despite the echoing main main hall adorned with opulent tapestries and carpets, he would swear he could hear the sound of that sweat drop oozing down his skin and echoing off the walls while his eyes shot open.

“You are to follow his orders until any such point that they would conflict with my own.” She said in a commanding voice. “In such an event you are of course obligated to tell me.”

Though she spoke sweetly and gave a smile to match, Omid could feel her grip on his shoulder tighten ever so slightly as she made every thing as clear as the finest glass to him. 

“And now, Omid shall give a brief speech.” The actually evil Kirzallan proclaimed.

Omid froze and his throat was dryer than The Great Desert could ever dream of.

“H-” Whatever word he was trying for dried and died into a hoarse whisper while his eyes darted about for some manner of sanctuary or solace as Sareen burst out laughing.

The crowd of servants kept their eyes down as Sareen’s laughs echoed through the palace, her hand never leaving his shoulder.

“Oh you should have seen your face!” She said between laughs and tears. Omid would seethe harder right now if fear did not currently grip him and the realization of a princess title hitting him like the weight of an entire mountain.

Once she stopped laughing enough she removed her hand from his shoulder and waved to Toryal. “We have new camels, see that their belongings are retrieved and placed in our rooms. Omid is to be given the grand southwest room. Take him there after he is shown the baths.”

Omid was now very conscious of his level of cleanliness but not at all surprised after such a long spell in The Great Desert. He did his best to not breathe too consciously for fear of having his concerns confirmed over layers of sweat and dirt.

“Yes, Princess. Anything else, Princess?” Toryal asked.

Sareen pulled the flower in the jar from her back, cradling it in her arms with utmost care. “No, but I am not to be disturbed for the remainder of the day. See that Omid is comfortable.”

And with that she gave a smile to Omid and walked off at a brisk pace down a hall leading off into the massive palace.

Her crowd of servants bowed to her as she went before quickly dispersing as Omid was left with Toryal politely waiting for him to stop being so thoroughly stupefied. 

“Still adjusting, Master Omid?” The old man asked.

Omid took a moment to shake himself back into reality, blinking hard several times as he did so. “Was it that obvious?”

“Always is, Master Omid.” He plainly stated, eyes showing just a hint of resigned acceptance.

Omid sighed. “Just call me Omid.”

“I am expressly forbidden from doing so, Master Omid.” Toryal’s voice betrayed a certain remorse, sympathy apparent in his eyes.

Omid frowned. “For me specifically?”

“No, for anyone held in such regard by Princess Sareen as to be her apprentice.” He said.

To Omid, that almost sounded like an insult managed by Sareen while she wasn’t even here.

He was led through a series of hallways filled with masterwork tapestries hanging from the walls, not to the baths as he thought but to a room filled with bolts of cloth, spools of thread, dyes, and everything one could desire for textile work. The entire room looked more vibrant and multicolored than any rainbow Omid had ever witnessed and taking it all in almost hurt his eyes. Toryal knocked at the door frame to get the attention of a thin young woman looking dreadfully harried as she worked, and an old woman hunched over giving her instructions. 

The apprentice wore the drab colors all the other rank and file here seemed to wear, her face hidden behind a curtain of wild dark hair. She only quickly glanced to Omid before returning to her work, sewing some design onto a dress. In direct juxtaposition to this, the old woman now giving a withering look to Omid as she looked him over was dressed in the second finest attire he had seen in the palace thus far to the point of having a long and flowing headscarf bearing an intricate pattern. He could imagine that she was afforded certain privileges for seeing Sareen’s fashion choices come to fruition, though he could also imagine Sareen’s demands that no one outshine her.

The old woman said nothing as Toryal ushered Omid into the room, only staring intently and circling around Omid several times. The crinkles in her dark complexion creased as she narrowed her eyes, looking up to a still horribly confused Omid. “Boy, where did you find that scarf?” 

“It’s from my homeland. Yes yes I am aware it’s r-”

The old lady cut him off. “It is a good color. Toryal, who is this?”

“Well I’m-” Omid tried to speak but was sent another withering glare.

“The Princess’s apprentice.” He stated, unblinking.

The old woman gave an affirmative nod and walked to the wall of cloth and started making some selections.

Omid looked to Toryal for answers, who first nodded for him to follow and only spoke some ways down another hall. “The Princess has a certain aesthetic preference, Naanti is the latest in a line of seamstresses trained to cater to such desires. They tend to end up...hmm, obdurate. Or skittish like poor Raha.

“Good to know…” Omid said, taking notes if this was to be his prison for some length of time. “I will be getting new clothes then?”

Toryal snorted, leading Omid around a corner towards a stone door with a simple yet elegant design carved into it. “You somehow managed to impress The Princess. As troubling as that may be you are now something that she would want to show off. That works best when you are not in rags.”

Omid frowned, brows pressing together before his eyes looked down to contest such a claim. They found only a few holes in his tunic and trousers, really just from taking a few tumbles and a respectable service life. And his boots were not the most worn they could be.

Failing to have any grounds to contest that, he asked after something else that had raised some concerns. “You mentioned this was a troubling situation. Troubling how?”

“I have yet to see such a thing, nor hear of it.” He stopped in front of the large stone door, pulling at a handle and letting it swing open effortlessly. “New situations are hard to prepare for.”

Omid saw the old man’s eye twitch slightly as though he were holding back his true feelings. Given that this steward had made it to this age and not incurred Sareen’s wrath, it only made sense that he would be adept at hiding his thoughts behind several layers of politesse. 

“I’ll try not to be too much trouble.” Omid said, desperate to hold to that himself.

As he had been focused on trying to gain any information he could from the old steward, Omid hadn’t paid much attention to the room within. It held his attention, and he hardly noticed the old man speaking.

“The attached bath is off to the left, your belongings have already been delivered and there is a robe for you to wear as you wait for proper clothes. Pick out some slippers as well. Tap the red crystal by your bedding if you require anything.” Toryal said with a small bow before leaving.

Omid didn’t remember walking into the room, but the stone door shutting behind him with a heavy thud brought him back to reality. It was possible that the coffee from so long ago was finally starting to wear off, or possibly the adrenaline. Perhaps both. He took little notice of the room, shucking off his clothes with little care as to where they fell and making his way to the bath. Through yet another stone door letting out a wave of steam was a large room comprised of the finest stone and tile centered around a pool of steaming water fed by a fountain in the wall and draining into a grate at the opposite end.

He only barely remembered climbing in the water, sitting with all but his head submerged and staring at the wall. The room was quiet except for the gentle sound of water flowing in and being carried away, echoing off the walls. It was a smart design, Omid thought to himself while counting the tiles, to prevent water from stagnating and always remaining fresh. How did it work and how was there so much water...up here?

A Mirzallan would have no trouble flaunting this much water, but Sareen? Had she struck some deal? Did she dabble in other magics aside from her native earth? Perhaps it was some unknown beast bound at the heart of the palace that bleeds water, kept prisoner here forever as an amusement.

Like Omid, who was the lucky one.

Not Taljir, currently a glass figurine. Nor the row of formerly human statues, nor the servants who looked as though joy was a commodity more rare and precious than the water Omid was now taking for granted.Because Sareen found him the most interesting, though all that could vanish in an instant.

He splashed some water onto his face as he felt his pulse quickening.

Perhaps she had some grander designs for him? As ridiculous as that sounded, grand designs for Omid. Though he wondered if there could be any grander than finding a woman in the desert who took him on a wondrous journey and offered to teach him magic.

Steam filled his lungs as he breathed deep, soothing his lungs as the hot water worked to relax his weary muscles.

Sareen seemed to...like him, Omid thought. As what? Purely an amusement? Some kind of actual ally? She seemed determined to repay some kind of debt to him. She had killed for him...and he had killed for her.

Omid rubbed at a days old scrape, watching dried blood flow away in the water.

“Was it meant to be that easy? My life was in danger, and that woman wasn’t listening to reason. So Omid had every reason to do what he did. No reason to feel bad about having to do something necessary, even Sareen would agree to that. She would encourage it, and give the biggest smile. Because she understood. Just like she understood what a wonder magic and all of the supernatural was. Something to be feared as it was to be admired. And really who better to embody such feelings than a woman as terrifying as she was beautiful.”

Omid blinked a few times, slumping lower in the water.

“That same woman who had taken so many people as captives and turned my friend into a curio. First friend I had had in awhile, really only going a little bit crazy. He just needed some sleep. And what would he say to all of this? Hey Omid it’s neat you found a girl and she’s really great and all but I WOULD LIKE TO LIVE AND BE FREE ONCE MORE! But you know, do as you will because I’m your friend and I support you even if you were doing something stupid like going after a Kirzallan who’s trying to turn the world to sand. But you’re not, are you Omid?”

He was talking out loud again, and the echo in the room asked a pointed question.

“No, of course not. I’m simply biding my time to put a daring plan into action. Just getting to know her better to know how to keep myself alive and eventually escape. It’s not affection. That would be absolutely insane and of course I’m better than that.”

The statement echoed back to him, and his pulse was quickening almost loud enough to hear that reverberate too.

He dunked his head in the water and screamed as loud as he possibly could, returning to the surface and gasping for air as he started to feel overwhelmed by too many pent up emotions trying to drown him here and now. The water on his face may or may not have been tears, and whether or not they were from anger or sorrow. There was no longer any putting it off until later, and worrying about feelings at a later date. No running for your life at every corner. Just sitting here, soaking in a prison that Omid had walked into willingly with nought but a vague plan to escape “later.” Always telling himself that he would process all those many thoughts at presumably the very same “later.”

Later had come.

And Omid dunked his head beneath the water to scream again.