DEAR ALIYA,

I received your letter! To be honest, I was really starting to get worried that my own letter had somehow gotten lost in the messengermens' hands. I was ready to run to Archaem, horse or no horse, stall or no stall, and give them a good beating. But I can't tell you how relieved I was when I read your message.

It's so good to know that you are doing well, Aliya. So good! And even more so to know that you've made a friend — I was so worried that you'd hole yourself up in your room at the Palace and never come out. But even more than the friend, I cant tell you how happy I am to know that you have a good impression of the Prince!

I know you were against it in the beginning, but you know that I would never do anything that would harm you. I'm so glad to know you're finally starting to see that. You must give me more details about the Prince. Is he smart? Is he kind? Have you had time to get to know each other? Are you now referring to each other by names? Do tell your Khale; I'm exceedingly anxious!

Again, there hasn't been much of a change here in Babylon. However, I do have to admit that I have really been trying to hold myself back from boasting to everyone that my goddaughter is in the Palace! She might be a concubine! Sometimes, I think that the weight of this secret is so heavy that I might just burst.

But don't worry — I have enough self control to know that this isn't something that you would want publicized, though I have to admit that I still don't know why. Any other person would be so proud and boastful to be in your shoes, Aliya. I can only blame it on your parents' good upbringing of you.

Speaking of your parents, recently, I've found a few more things that belonged to your mother scattered under the floorboards at your house when I went back to clean. I think she must have placed those there way back when. I didn't open anything in fear that it was private, but I also didn't know if you already knew about these things. If you would like them, I could certainly send you the things. I know you must miss your parents dearly.

Remember that I love you, Aliya, and that I'm so, so, so proud of you. I hope you write me another letter soon.

Your Khale.

I put down the letter and pressed a finger to the side of my head.

It had now been a few months since I entered the Palace — the exact timeframe, I wasn't too sure, but it must've been at least a little more than six to eight months.

It wasn't even that long of a period, and to be honest, it hadn't felt like that long of a time period until I received Khale's letter.

Over the past few months, we'd only managed to exchange, at most, six letters, and it was only now that the feeling of loneliness really started to make itself known.

I dearly missed Khale. I dearly missed home.

I dearly missed Babylon, even if there was nothing there that could compare to Archaem.

For a moment, I stared at the letter, wondering whether there was a way for me to go back.

Just pack up and leave. Go back to Babylon.

How nice that would be. And perhaps, earlier this morning, it might have still been a possibility to do so.

But not anymore.

For one, Prince Finn was still furious at the death of his butler, and I highly doubted that he would allow anyone, man or woman, maid or concubine or debutante, to walk out of the palace and allow the murderer to possibly escape.

Secondly, I was no longer in Prince Cairo's wing, where, at the very least, the terrain was slightly familiar. This was a completely different part of the Palace, one I had never been to before today, and I highly doubted I'd be able to pack up and leave without spending the whole night running round the castle, only to arrive back within my bedroom in the first place.

And thirdly, there was still something that was bothering me.

Slowly, I pushed the letter away and stared at the small, locked cabinet on my vanity.

It was still locked, still closed, just the same way as I had left it earlier this afternoon before I was called down to dinner, just after I'd finished staring at the photograph and stuffed it back in its place.

That necklace that Mom wore.

Why was it bothering me so much?

It was a redundant question. Obviously, I knew why it was bothering me so much.

After all, hadn't Mom once worked at the Palace? And hadn't Maria mentioned something much too disturbing this afternoon?

'Oh! There is one similarity. Ismal said that, for the women, all of them would either be stunningly beautiful, or wear a gold necklace.'

Mother was — even though Arabic, even though blue-eyed — stunningly beautiful. And, according to my photograph, she also wore a gold necklace.

The side of my head started to throb.

But it might have just been a coincidence. Almost every Persian household matriarch has a gold necklace. A lot of the maids in the Palace are also stunningly beautiful. You have no concrete proof that anything even happened while Mama was working here.

All of that was true, but none of it did anything to reduce the throb on the side of my head.

After all, I was a pessimistic person, and a suspicious one, at that. It didn't matter whether it was a coincidence or not; the point of the matter was that I didn't know.

I didn't know and I didn't like not knowing, and that alone was enough to bother me enough to make me want to stay.

"Miss, I'm done."

"What?" I blinked, turning my head.

"Didn't you just ask me to change the pillows? I already did," Maria said, blinking back. "I'm done."

Had I actually asked her to change the pillows? I couldn't remember.

Honestly speaking, I had probably done that to get her out of the room and allow myself space to think.

"Oh, yes."

Maria blinked again. "Therefore... Would you like to go to sleep, Miss?"

"Now?"

"Yes. When else? It's already quite late," she said, and as she spoke, her eyebrows pulled together into two tight, thin lines. But even when frowning, Maria had a lovable face.

In the back of my mind, I couldn't help but think that if only she was a little bit older, then she certainly wouldn't be living in the palace as a maid, but rather as a concubine.

For some reason, the thought made me quite sad.

"Miss, are you alright? You've been in a daze ever since you came back to dinner. Did something happen?"

"What? Oh, no. Nothing. I'm just a little tired." Even I could tell that I didn't sound quite as convincing that I usually did, and by the slow nod Maria gave, she had picked up on it.

But to her credit, she didn't continue to pester. "Then, would you like to sleep now, Miss? Or would you like to stay up."

"I'll sleep now," I said, before pausing. "Actually, on second thought, bring me a piece of paper. I want to write a letter."

Maria nodded, and as she turned to rummage through the bedside drawers, she asked, "Is it a letter in response to the one you got today, Miss?"

"Yes."

"That's good. It's very rare to see you write letters. You actually write them much less compared to the other women in the palace," she said, passing me some paper and a little coal stone. "The other ladies write them nearly every day."

"That's because I don't have many to write to," I muttered, bending down over the table. The candles Maria had lit cast a hazy, heavy glow over the paper, dim enough that it was impossible for me to attempt to write without squinting, but I didn't tell her to light more.

Dear Khale,

I'm glad to know that you're doing well, and I hope that you continue to do well. How is the stall? Are there new customers? I hope you miss me coming there every week or so.

I don't know if I've made an impression on the Prince — that was a lie. I certainly had, but I didn't think it was either of what Khale nor I had in mind when we first arrived, and I didn't think that an 'impression' was very much the right word for it — but he's definitely made some form of impression on me. He's very different to what I'd thought of him to be, more different than what you might be thinking.

I have been well here in the Palace, so don't worry about me. Thank you for not telling the other customers — I don't think I'd be able to calmly write this letter if you had. Stay safe and healthy, Khale! I love you.

Yours,

Aliya.

P.S. Please do send Mama's items. I miss her just as much as I miss you.

As I folded up the letter, somewhere behind me, I heard Maria say, "Why don't you just write a letter to your mother as well, Miss, if you miss her so?"

I paused. "Were you reading over my shoulder?"

"No! Well, no, not really. I only saw the last line, Miss. I didn't do it on purpose," she said, and even without turning I could hear the panic in her voice.

In a sadistic kind of way, it was both cute and funny.

"It's okay. It wouldn't matter even if you had seen it on purpose. There's nothing important there, anyway," I said, turning around to pass the letter over to her. "Mail this over as soon as possible."

"Just this, Miss? I thought you said you would write a letter to your mother as well. Wouldn't you like me to mail that one too?"

I paused again, and it was only after two seconds of complete, frozen silence that I looked down at my hand and realized that half of the note had already been crumpled under my fists. "No. It's not necessary to mail it."

Maria blinked. "Huh?"

"It's not something I'll mail," I said. "It's not something I'll write, either."

"Miss, I don't understand."

"My Mama is dead."

Silence ensued.

"I apologize, Miss." Maria's voice came out quiet and shaky. "I didn't know."

"What are you apologizing for? How could you have known? There's nothing you could have said," I told her. I wondered if Maria could tell that every word I said cut a little part of my heart open — unseen, maybe unnoticed, but unrelenting.

"Still," she whispered. "I apologize. I'm sure that she's in a good place somewhere up there, along with my father. I'm sure that she's in peace."

Again, I paused, before I said, "I'm sure she is. Hurry and mail that letter first; I'm afraid all the messengers will have already left if you take too long."

"Yes, yes, Miss. I will be right back."

When Maria finally slipped out the door, closing it with a loud thump behind her, I turned and looked at myself in the mirror. The dim glow of the candlelight and the bronze, copper plate distorted my face, and when I tried to smile, I could only see the outline of myself wrinkling, as if being pinched together.

I looked as if I was suffering.

Strangely enough, I couldn't help but laugh.

How ironic.

I wonder if Mama really is at peace.

KAY ©️ 2020.