Page 78 of The Moon's Daughter
A tangible shock rippled among the council members. Disbelief and outrage mingled in the air.
Before the murmurs grew, Lord Ebrahim stood, his expression grim. “To make matters worse, Zephyria launched an attack at dawn on our southeast and northeast borders. We’ve split our forces to protect the villages on both fronts.” His voice was steady, but the underlying concern was unmistakable. “Significant casualties have been reported. I await more news from our scouts.”
Lady Mirah spoke next. “We must fortify our key villages. Holding them will give us leverage to push back.”
Queen Hadiyah, her brows furrowed, added, “Send messengers to our allies. Urge them to hasten their aid. Every moment counts now.”
Lord Ebrahim continued, “Shahbaad sends resources but no soldiers. They have their own political tensions. And Bilkaan will secure our coast should Ezanek attack by sea.”
The council turned their attention to the promise of Baysaht’s 250,000 men. The sheer number brought a glimmer of hope. “Baysaht’s army is mobilizing,” Lord Ebrahim continued. “However, it will take days for them to join our men in the northeast. We must hope our men can hold off the Zephyrians until then.” Lord Ebrahim’s final words were a somber reminder. “Your Majesty, the city awaits your address in a few hours. They look to you for reassurance.”
King Khahleel nodded as he addressed his council. “We face a trial that will test the very core of our kingdom. But we stand together.”
The capital’s city square, usually a lively hub, was tense with anticipation. A raised stand had been erected, a temporary throne for the royal family, who sat in dignified silence against the city’s backdrop.
Below, Zarian stood among the crowd, scanning the sea of faces for any sign of threat. The atmosphere was charged, a collective breath held in anticipation of the king’s address. Zephyria’s morning assault had sown seeds of unease, leaving the citizens frightened, their murmurs a restless whisper on the wind.
King Khahleel rose, commanding silence with his presence alone. “My beloved citizens,” he began, “before we discuss the war, let us first turn our attention to a rare event—an eclipse, set to grace our skies the day after next.”
“It is a spectacle of nature’s design, yet it comes with dangers. Our astronomers advise caution. Please, stay within your homes if you are able, and keep your eyes averted from the sky until it has passed.”
“Now, the grave matter on all our minds. The war. I know it has brought worry to your hearts and doubt to your minds. But hear me now: Alzahra will stand together. We will show our enemies the might of our unity!”
Zarian’s gaze found Layna. Her face was a mask of poise, every inch the future queen, a composed exterior that he knew concealed a raging storm.
“The Nahrysba Oasis has sent us 10,000 men,” Khahleel continued. “Shahbaad and Janta have provided ample resources, weapons and food, and Bilkaan has secured our coast. Together, we are stronger than ever.”
Murmurs of approval rippled through the crowd, but still, an undercurrent of unrest remained.
And then, Khahleel delivered the news that turned the tide of the gathering. “And now, King Nizam of Baysaht is dispatching250,000soldiers to aid us.”
There was a moment of stunned silence.
Then the crowd erupted in applause and loud cheers.
A voice began to chant, “King Nizam!” The name was picked up, echoed by more and more voices until it became a beat, “King Nizam! King Nizam! King Nizam!”
Khahleel remained stoic, his expression betraying nothing. Yet, there was a subtle lift in his demeanor, a hint of satisfaction that his people were reassured. His speech had successfully rallied the people, lifting spirits and reaffirming their unity.
Long after the crowd dispersed, the echo of “King Nizam” still lingered, a rhythmic pulse that seemed to synchronize with Zarian’s heartbeat. It reverberated through his chest, tightening a noose around his heart.
King Nizam.
King Nizam.
King Nizam.
Later in the day, Layna sought refuge in the hidden library beneath the palace. Descending the narrow stairway, the cool air of the underground chamber greeted her. Surrounded by the wisdom of the ancients, she felt a connection to her kingdom’s history, a thread that tied her to the long lineage of rulers.
Some nights, when the weight of destiny felt too heavy, she would lose herself in the texts until exhaustion claimed her. Zarian often found her asleep amidst the scrolls, her face pressed against the brittle pages. Layna marveled at the history hidden here, the secrets of the ancient Medjai scattered across the continent.
She pored over the texts. Which Alzahran king or queen had first allied with the Medjai? Did they know of the prophecy? Had a distant ancestor foreseen her role centuries prior, of a descendant destined to bring about something great, perhaps, catastrophic?
The library became her world for hours. Faded ink and dead dialects presented challenges. How much knowledge had been lost to time?
Again and again, her eyes returned to the shimmering lines of the prophecy, the mention of the “earthly moon” sending uneasy shivers down her spine.
Layna sighed heavily. Like every other night, she had learned nothing useful about the eclipse. The dwindling candlelight signaled it was time to retreat.