Chapter Text
Over ten years passed before Jamil returned to the land of the Scalding Sands.
It wasn't a homecoming. This was never his home.
The hotel rose from the desert like a mirage. His balcony overlooked nothing but sand, but it felt welcoming all the same. The man who brought his meal spoke in a language he had never forgotten. His gold earrings were finely crafted, sturdy and strong. The embedded red stones glowed orange, natively found only in the eastern cliffs. He learned that at a lesson not for him.
The scent of cumin and cardamom met with the cinnamon in the curry, rising warm and fragrant in the cool night air. His spices were old. This would be an opportunity to replace them.
After, Jamil sat on the balcony, wrapped in the silk covers he'd stolen from the bed. He gave into the heaviness of sleep as he watched the sand re-form under the relentless desert winds. Silk City loomed in the distance, a new building in the skyline.
It used to be warmer with two.
–
The Arcane Institute quarters were quiet. It was relaxing after the past two years in the Queendom. He'd joined a defense organization, his latest assignment to help a family with a cursed lineage. It was a long job but they'd succeeded. Old curses took root in words, in conditions, often long forgotten. Add siren magic, and it just grew more tangled.
He'd had an idea that worked, and it was high profile enough that he'd done some interviews. The Arcane Institute extended him an invitation to write it up. Their curses division was located in the land of the Scalding Sands, naturally. It had some of the longest history in dark magics.
Jamil hadn't set foot in the Scalding Sands since junior year at NRC. For once, the idea of returning didn't fill him with dread, but something like restlessness, and he'd accepted.
He settled in and immediately redressed to take his blastcycle into Silk City. He needed spices and food supplies, he rationalized. He'd never forgotten the basic tenets - dress inconspicuously, keep your madols close. He could no longer credit most things in this city.
From the outskirts, the skyline had changed. It wasn't the place he had grown up. But the familiar scents of incense and spices wrapped around him as soon as he entered the marketplace. Even on the freshly paved streets, memories lurked around every corner.
It ached in his chest. He hadn't told Najma he was coming back. The familiar teal and gold palace loomed in the distance. He wanted-
-not today.
Jamil wasn't the same boy he was a decade ago. But it just wasn't time yet.
–
A week later, Jamil was entering the residential building when he noticed an unnatural silence. His senses pricked to high alert. It was usually quiet, this building used for visiting academics, but Jamil knew enough to follow his instincts.
He shifted his shopping to one hand, manifesting his staff when a solid weight barreled into his shins. He braced himself, stared down at the mop of light hair, the tiny fists knotted in the leg of his joggers.
A kid? This part of the building was closed off, secure access only. Probably a professor's, but he hadn't known any professors were here. He bent down, worried. "Hey, are you los-"
The little face looked up. Jamil's voice died in his throat.
Red eyes, a saffron undertone he never found in all his travels.
"Ba?" The child's brow creased in confusion. On a different face, it once filled him with frustration. Now, his stomach knotted. How many times did he see this expression?
There was no doubt who this child belonged to.
Groceries and staff forgotten, he slid down to his knees to stop looming. The child was small, unsurprising given his parentage. He stared at Jamil curiously, but didn't move away. Jamil could only look back just as frankly, fascinated. The boy looked well fed, glowing with health, his hair thick and curly. Unafraid at this age, as circumstances should have allowed but never did.
The sound of footsteps broke his focus. His heart sped. He shouldn't have expected anything else. There wasn't much time. He knew better than to become complacent. He drew his staff back, poised and ready.
"Oy, cub," a voice drawled. "What have we told you about running off?"
The rounded ears peeking out of those curls twitched. The little boy - Kalim's son - looked between Jamil and his father, then scampered back on all fours.
Leona caught the boy before he crashed into his legs with the ease of long practice, hoisting him into his arms. Behind them, Ruggie waved, flanked by lionesses. Royal guards.
"-ss Ba's," the boy said, muffled as he hid his face in Leona's chest.
Leona smirked at Jamil. A decade away hadn't made it any less irritating. "Got sick of you lurking, Viper. Aren't you going to welcome us in?"
–
Five years ago, the engagement of Leona Kingscholar and Kalim al-Asim was all anyone was talking about. Jamil had been in a remote part of the Shaftlands - he'd been doing a potionology rotation, working with farmers specialized in medicinal plants - when the news broke.
The family hosting him was already interested in the Scalding Sands and his edited past, and the news was just fuel to the fire. Jamil spent extra hours in the fields to avoid the topic. He'd worked for Kalim's father's third through seventh weddings and never wanted to think about them again.
("You know it'll be expected of you one day," Jamil told Kalim. The ceremony was done but the party was still on the first day. The crowd was loud enough to obscure their sounds. At eight, they easily fit under the banquet tables, along with stolen appetizers and desserts.
Kalim's face fell as the realization struck. He tackled him in retaliation, or hugged him for comfort. It was hard for Jamil to tell which, but it ultimately didn't matter.
"Don't wanna," Kalim pouted into his shoulder. Jamil let up on the teasing, patting his back. It wouldn't do, to have Kalim cranky in the photos later. The grip Kalim had on his shirt was definitely going to wrinkle it, but at least he wasn't going to be in the photos.
"Okay, no weddings for you," Jamil agreed readily. "Less work for me."
Kalim paused thoughtfully, a little hum before he smiled at him. "Will just one be okay?"
"Now it's one?" he asked dryly.
"Only if I love them," Kalim agreed. "And trust them."
There had been an assassination attempt just last week. Kalim's third mother, who told them stories about heroes, then hired someone to kill him. Jamil had noticed they were being followed and they'd run when he stabbed them in the knee.
"I'm not sure you can find both in one person," Jamil said, worried. Love and trust didn't go hand in hand, especially not for someone like Kalim.
Kalim beamed at him then, inexplicable, which only made Jamil more anxious. The hand previously fisted in his shirt loosened to find his, squeezing tight. "You're being silly," Kalim proclaimed.
"Silly?" Jamil's brow darkened, stopped only by Kalim knocking their heads together.
"Yeah." Kalim's eyes shone with hope, with promise, unbeleagured by the realities that sat like stone in Jamil's chest. Jamil pressed his thumb to the corner of his lashes, as if he could touch that belief, hold it, steal it to slot beneath his ribs.
"I found you, didn't I?"
It would bother him later, because Jamil was given, not found.
But it didn't change the fact that they were together. It didn't change that it felt like a comfort.)
–
"You should come to the wedding," Najma told him when he visited her at school.
Her magic manifested much later than his, but she never had the impetus he did either. She'd gotten into a magical school in the desert region of the Sunshine Lands, and Jamil had taken the chance to visit her after his rotation ended.
They were supposed to be deciding what Najma would wear to the wedding. The computer screen was full of galleries and image boards.
Their whole family was invited as guests. His own invitation sat in his backpack, unanswered. Kalim's familiar scrawl on the edge. It would be great if you could come, Jamil!
On Najma's phone, Kalim was in red silk. The mirrored vest hugged him, cut so low he couldn't tell where it ended behind the knee he had pulled up to his chest. His tattoos disappeared into the off the shoulder net sleeves, merging with the white gold embroidery. The sun limned him in flame. It always did.
He jumped when Najma grabbed her phone. "Menna did a great job, didn't she? It went viral on MagiCam. She's drowning in bookings."
She was one of the servants of Najma's age. Another family in servitude. After the discussion with Kalim's father in their junior year, he'd whirled on Kalim, furious. Do you really think you'll be able to change a thousand years of this? He sneered. Would you even want to?
Jamil covered his eyes, as if it would quiet the unease carved so deep into him that even years later, it took seconds for them to fill in a surge. Was Kalim's face thinner? Or was it just the light? "Yeah. She did."
But they'd all grown. He had a last minute growth spurt after graduation too.
"Then come," Najma told him. "She's been wanting to dress you since we were kids."
Jamil remembered. She'd gotten in trouble for squirreling away discarded fabrics. Servants like them weren't meant for ambitions. They were born with collars and they would die in those collars, their heads too heavy to look up at the sky. Part of him was still waiting to feel the weight snap around his neck again.
"Should she even be doing any of this?" he asked before he could help himself. "If it went viral…" Scalding Sands was well connected to technology and social media. Plus, it was about Kalim. There was no way everyone didn't know.
Najma looked at him blankly. "It's great advertising?"
"Yeah, but she's still one of the servants."
"She was selected for the new startup program." She frowned at him. "I told you about it."
Najma had told him about it. An opportunity for the families in Asim's employ to secure investment and train, or start a business. It just seemed impractical for those who didn't have the time or energy to even look up. Well-meaning but ultimately ineffective, little more than lip service without the underlying system itself changing.
In their junior year, Kalim had been in tears in the face of Jamil's rage, but he hadn't backed down. You're right. I can't do anything yet. But it won't be that way forever.
"Kalim hasn't taken his father's seat though," Jamil said.
"Not the diplomacy part," Najma agreed. "But he's been managing the household since you left." She bumped her head against his shoulder, against the gold lattice cuff encircling his bicep - she'd given it to him for graduation and he hadn't taken it off since. "Which you'd know if you talked to him."
"I was dismissed," he reminded stiffly.
She gave him a look. "From service, not from being his friend. How else could you have done the things you wanted?"
He did so many things he wanted to. Covered half the known map and planned to cover more.
(Kalim's father had a role in foreign diplomacy and trade, so Kalim grew up learning about other countries. While Jamil went to school, Kalim was tutored, but he kept the documentaries of far off places for when Jamil came home. From the depths of Atlantis to the peaks of Olympus, they all ended the same way. Kalim's hand finding his, as if to contain his excitement. Jamil, we should go! And Jamil had never been able to quash the answering excitement in his own chest, even if it meant something like mastering underwater potions because he couldn't trust Kalim to anyone else's.)
No matter how frustrated he grew with Kalim, he had never dreamed of doing it without him.
But slaves were conditioned that way.
"A whim finally worked out in my favor," he muttered. "How could we be friends? I belonged to him. All I have is for his mercy."
It had been Kalim's mercy, to treat him exactly the same at NRC after his overblot. It set the stage for everyone else to put aside his plotting, his betrayal. After all, if the person most used and hurt forgave him so easily, why shouldn't they?
He hadn't been sure it was deliberate until break. Nothing had seemed to change at school after he overblotted, but breaks back in Silk City had been different. Kalim had practically disappeared when he had other servants and guards, a far cry from the boy who was once always underfoot.
To put his mind at ease, Jamil had started entering Kalim's room early just for the opportunity to dress him in clothes he could track. It showed Kalim was hiding in places Jamil wouldn't look - archives, the library, the treasure rooms, his room. He'd made sure to still call on Jamil when he spent time with his siblings, his parents, but that was about it. How ironic - he was the one to finally teach Kalim to be mindful.
Jamil only realized how tense he was when his sister hugged him. "I know all the pressure fell on you," Najma said quietly. "But Jamil, with Kalim - was it really just that?"
If only Jamil knew.
Jamil had never been able to stop checking the news and social media alerts about Kalim. Not a lot of news made it out, but social media was harder to scrub, and Kalim's status as the most eligible bachelor after the prince made him popular in several circles.
There were always videos of him - a movie premiere with Vil, by his father's side in interviews, dancing at parties.
Eighteen months ago: outside the burnt husk of a once-popular restaurant in the capital, soaked in the pounding rain, back bowed as he clutched his staff for support. The emergency response lights painted him in red and black, glinting neon off his jewelry. The video stayed online for over an hour. Things must have been bad.
Jamil paced in his room. His thoughts were a mess. He ended up packing and repacking twice. His chat was open to Kalim's last message - a picture of them at graduation, a blessing for happiness in the old tongue. There weren't any new messages. Najma was in school and called back right away, so she was safe, but could only tell him that the house was fine. She couldn't say the same for Kalim.
Kalim would call for him when he needed him. Jamil knew how to be whatever he needed. His guard, his cook, his tutor. The pillow for his careless head, the safety blanket for his anxious thoughts, the metronome for his panicking heart. It didn't matter how much time had passed. He knew Kalim to the marrow in his bones.
And if it made Jamil's own sleep more peaceful, it was the upside in how he'd been raised. There was very little trouble Kalim could get into when he was close enough to be mistaken for a part of Jamil's own body, their magic inseparable.
There was news of a press conference a few hours later, a statement from the prince. Kalim was silent in the back, eyes lowered. Jamil replayed it. He looked fine, not a scratch on his exposed skin. His posture was perfect. He was physically unharmed then, probably, but -
No missed calls, no messages.
His magic thrashed in him like a nest of hornets. He'd been dismissed, but he and Kalim were bound together in the tradition of their families, a bond, a curse that had lasted hundreds of years, dozens of generations. He belonged at his back.
That Kalim hadn't called meant he was the only one who felt that way.
But he'd always been the one trapped in duty. Kalim could do anything he wanted when Jamil was the one paying the price.
He was free of it now. He was free of Kalim.
He couldn't erase the vulnerable curve of Kalim's soaked nape from behind his eyelids. When they were younger, he had pressed his fingers there when he held Kalim's face to his pounding heart. The only one who mattered while his signature magic burned itself out of him and he met the eyes of the men who'd dared to try and take his master from him.
The years hadn't touched that memory. A series of brutal missions and months couldn't erase the pit in his chest left behind. It gave him an outlet, but he didn't know who he was angrier with - himself, because of course Kalim couldn't trust someone who'd betrayed him; his parents, who tied history and tradition around his neck like a noose; Kalim, who he could still read in the carry of his head, the clench of his fingers, who was shaken but doing his best to hide it. He would have once sought shelter in Jamil's room, curled up close because none of them could sleep otherwise.
Some things would never change. It was calming to hold his sister. This desert still felt like home.
He wasn't sure Kalim counted among those things anymore. It felt like a battering ram to the dam in his chest, a foundation he'd only been able to ignore but never uproot.
Najma sighed. "You need to be more honest with yourself, brother," she said with a wry smile. "Don't come back until you're ready."
–
The wedding was televised in Briar Valley. He'd been traveling at the time, in an inn with other strangers, a rickety old place at the corner of an enchanted wood.
They didn't know his history, but they could see he was from Scalding Sands. It was enough to make him the de facto narrator.
He should have declined.
The sofreh aghd was the same one he'd helped arrange many times. Gold painted eggs encrusted with jewels gleamed on a bed of nuts - it was only commitment to tradition that allowed Jamil to distinguish them as real.
The mirror was new. Wrought in gold and crystal, it was as ornate as expected for the first child of the Asim family. The candelabra stood tall and were surely charmed, flame and light wreathing the air like a living thing.
Then they entered, and Jamil couldn't find words in favor of the adrenaline flooding his blood. The canopy shone a vivid green, embroidered in golden thread and matching jewels. Leona wore a deeper verdant shade, magic stone woven into his mane. Jamil had expected boredom, disinterest, but his eyes gleamed like he'd only seen in the heat of battle, the field of Spelldrive tournaments.
This was a battleground. A show of power, of wealth, of unity wouldn't go awry. But Jamil hadn't expected someone as lackadaisical as Leona to acknowledge it and make the effort to weaponize it.
The Sunset Savanna and Scalding Sands shared a border in the desert, but they had fundamental differences in how they approached their governance. Lack of agreement in how to develop the land on the border led to continuing paucity of resources. Skirmishes were common, worsened as disparities grew.
The wedding could be a symbol that the countries were ready to negotiate. Jamil had suspected interest in this match from both families when they were in school, but he never expected Kalim to agree, much less Leona.
The Asim family wealth and influence could give Leona power to rival his family if used effectively. Sunset Savanna was also resource rich but undeveloped, fertile ground for the Asim family.
It had to be a political match. But Kalim had turned down every arranged marriage offered to him, and being the spoiled child he was, his parents always capitulated. Relentlessly romantic - Jamil didn't know what could change his mind. He didn't want to think about it.
Kalim's face revealed nothing as he looked up at Leona. He glittered in the firelight, smile warm and open and relieved in a way that slid between Jamil's ribs like a blade.
The artists had lined Kalim's tattoos in gold and crystals. They merged seamlessly with the henna adorning his skin. Leona rubbed his bare arm, tracing the sparkling designs as the official read. It was mesmerizing. Maddening. A masterpiece shouldn't be so carelessly touched.
The contract was signed. The crystal goblet fit in Kalim's hand like it was made for him, golden honey dripping from his little finger as he pressed it to Leona's lips. Leona's fangs gleamed when he smirked, tongue dragging obscenely over the digit. Their eyes locked. Kalim's smile was unaffected, but there was reddening at his throat, hard to distinguish between warm firelight and heavy gold.
Leona covered Kalim's hand on the goblet instead of taking it from him. He dipped his little finger in the honey. Kalim tilted his head up expectantly, lashes shading the scarlet light of his eyes, mouth soft.
He wouldn't-!
-Crack!
The television at the bar flared white and blinding before the lights extinguished all at once. There were sounds of confusion, of shattered glass, but Jamil couldn't hear them. He rose from the bar, burying his bloody, burning hand in the pocket of his hoodie. It was easy to leave amid the hustle. It was a ramshackle old place. The electricity was probably unstable to begin with. The glass holding his drink was just cheap.
The darkness followed him.
(They were fifteen and at Kalim's father's eighth wedding. He was invited as a guest this time, and Jamil had made the mistake of letting Kalim help choose his clothes. He was in vibrant reds and golds. Like the sorcerer, Kalim chirped, sitting at Jamil's feet so he could run his fingers over every fabric the tailor draped on him, rejecting nine of every ten. Truly the heir of an empire started in silk. Where was this patience when it came to his own wardrobe? Jamil had to bribe him to not run off through his own numerous fittings.
But maybe Kalim had learned something at his father's knee. The fabric was light and easy to move in despite the embroidery along his torso and neck. The shimmering black lining swirled imperiously behind him as he walked but was cut far enough back that it didn't tangle in his legs. Jamil did like it, even if part of him quailed at wearing something so expensive.
He was starting to get used to it. It had nothing to do with Kalim, who had thrown himself at him. Jamil, you're so beautiful! He had to turn away as heat rose in his face.
Kalim's earnestness was always difficult. It was worse with Kalim being good for once, staying close, as if all he needed to tether himself to his side was for Jamil to not be his servant, to be able to meet him as an equal instead. It fed the resentment in him.
But the room was full of Asim family members, and that felt more important now. Most threats to Kalim came from within. Betrayals from the mothers and uncles of Kalim's little siblings when all he tried to do was dote on them. He angled himself at Kalim's back and Kalim threw a smile at him, taking his hand. He couldn't bring himself to mind.
There was so much wealth in the room, a concentration of power in the luxury fabrics, heavy jewelry adorning hands that never saw manual labor. He recognized the royal family members from when Kalim was drilled in his lessons. Jamil had attended these events since he was young, but it was different in the midst of things. It was different by Kalim's side, eyes on him too. Servants were overlooked, but he wasn't a servant for today. Kalim's father had insisted. Kalim took it to heart, introducing him to everyone he spoke to.
Which was practically everyone - Kalim couldn't go anywhere without being drawn into conversation.
"Sana was saying your magic is impressive," Minister Irfan told Kalim. The man was one of the sultan's advisors and Jamil could see why - he'd recognized Jamil but went along easily with Kalim's introduction, inviting them both over to a luncheon at the Marwan Gardens, a place that wasn't typically an acute security risk due to its proximity to the historical sites, but still had the animals to keep Kalim's attention.
It was only then he slid in the mention of his daughter, who was apparently an expert in animal communication - of his son who was a little older than Kalim, already in college, but he'd been traveling during break, had Kalim seen his pictures on Magicam?
It was the third matchmaking attempt they'd run into on their way to the dance floor. Better done than the first two, but it was still pissing Jamil off. He rubbed his thumb into the center of Kalim's palm, a way to get his attention since they were kids - a two finger tap meant be wary, a sharp prod meant drop, so he hoped Kalim didn't mix them up.
It would have been easier to intervene as a servant. Claiming his father was calling him always did the trick.
Kalim pressed a little closer to Jamil, smiling up at the man as he extracted himself with a surprising deftness, promising to be on lookout for the invitation, to check them out on the app. When they were further away, Kalim squeezed his hand. "Jamil, is everything okay?" he asked, worried.
There were at least four families eyeing Kalim like a piece of meat even now. It felt oppressive. He wished they could still disappear under the banquet tables. He leaned in until he was the only one reflected in Kalim's eyes. "We can make it before the next song if we take the servant exit," he whispered, tilting his head to the tapestries by the banquet tables.
Kalim broke into a beautiful smile. "I'm really hungry," he said loudly, tugging Jamil behind him as they went against the direction of the crowd, to the buffet table still set up in the back. As if he'd let Kalim eat anything dated, but it worked - no one was going to get in the way of a spoiled heir and his food. They made it out easily, and Kalim threw himself into his arms.
"Ahh, Jamil is so smart!" he exclaimed.
"It's common sense," Jamil said exasperatedly, tugging Kalim to the side to get out of the way of the staff, taking the lead to weave them through the kitchens.
"I didn't think about it!"
"What do you think of?" Jamil asked flatly.
"Dancing!" Kalim was in high spirits, radiant as he spun around him, dizzying if Jamil wasn't used to it. "We never get to dance together at these! You always say no."
"Because I'm working!" Jamil eyed Kalim narrowly. He'd been finding him without fail wherever he chose to dance, much to his frustration. "Besides, we dance together enough."
Kalim seemed to think, then shrugged it off equally fast. "It's not the same."
"It's better without so many people," Jamil said darkly. Anything would be better without those people who looked at Kalim like so much chattel. He pulled Kalim out of the way of the patrolling guards, who bowed to them, receiving Kalim's smile in return, a hope they could enjoy the festivities. Kalim clung to his arm throughout. He turned to Jamil easily when he didn't immediately continue their path. The smile Kalim turned on him was brighter.
"It's fun dancing with just us," Kalim agreed. "But I want everyone to see how amazingly Jamil dances!"
A warm flush prickled Jamil's cheeks. Instinctively, he slunk into the corridor's shadows.
"I'm just a servant."
"You're my best friend," Kalim said cheerfully, sinking into place in the darkness beside him. He was warm against his side. His scent was fragrant, frankincense and amber in addition to his usual sandalwood as his hair brushed Jamil's. "And you're our guest today! Baba said I needed to show you a good time. But I was gonna anyway."
It was odd how invested they were in this, but Kalim and his father were two peas in a pod about some things. And yet, Kalim was put in so much danger. It frustrated Jamil.
"Then we'll go back to dance, but we're leaving after," Jamil decided. This party would last until the next evening at the least. He had worked enough of them to know.
"Okay," Kalim agreed readily. "Do you want to fly out to the oasis?" He lifted two fingers, indicating he had his magic carpet on standby at his whistle. Planning a quick escape. Jamil narrowed his eyes, suspicious, and laced his fingers in Kalim's, too complex a hold to easily break free.
They'd clearly lingered too long if Kalim was already so restless. He guided them back to the ballroom, Kalim trotting along at his side, whatever he was plotting forgotten. "I'll decide after we dance," Jamil countered, the sound of the musicians and the crowd growing louder. His blood stirred with anticipation while he mentally braced himself - he got all of ten seconds before Kalim got impatient and grinned at him, wide and excited, before pulling him onto the dance floor.
Kalim was like this when they were children too, before Jamil knew he would be tied to him for the rest of his life. Jamil had followed him to his classical dance classes, dropping to the floor in the mirrored room while he watched. Kalim was clumsy but he had moments of grace, light on his feet even at this age, matching the quick music in a way that made Jamil's stomach swoop with something like giddiness, his own feet so restless he had to sit on them.
Kalim had caught Jamil trying to copy the movements by himself later. The next day at dance class, he'd tugged Jamil onto the mats with a smile he still remembered. I want to dance with Jamil!
Another memory caught. Kalim's face was wet. It was raining. Kalim's voice shook as he extended his hand. Dance with me, Jamil! Jamil hadn't wanted to take his hand for a reason he couldn't remember, but Kalim didn't hesitate - where they clasped each other, the water ran red into the sand.
Kalim glowed then too.
Jamil planted his feet. Kalim swung around, looking at him quizzically. He was looking at him now - only him. When Jamil reeled him back, Kalim spun into him with a joyous laugh, following his lead, mirroring him without a second thought.
Something warm bloomed in Jamil's chest. Over the years, he overheard complaints from social climbers trying to corner Kalim and use him. It was well known that Kalim would end up on the dance floor at any party. Just as inevitably, he flitted from person to person like a butterfly in the garden, unpredictable and difficult to catch.
But Kalim always returned to him. He tried to match Jamil in a way he didn't with the other students his dance teacher tried to pair him with.
It never failed to tick Jamil off that Kalim intruded on his private dance time. He made a point of refusing to change his style when Kalim was the interloper, hoping he would give it up like he did so many other things. It was well known that Kalim's mother was a classical dancer when she caught his father's eye, and that's what Kalim was taught. The raw power and athleticism of modern dancing that drew Jamil's gaze, that Jamil had taught himself on that foundation, was not the same.
And Kalim did struggle, collapsed breathlessly on the grass - Jamil would later scold him as he massaged the soreness from his limbs. Kalim kept looking at him with admiration and praised Jamil so effusively it made him blush even as it made him want to get better, elevate his dancing to a level Kalim could never reach and take from him, however unintentionally.
Things never worked out in Jamil's favor. Kalim only kept getting back up. He kept improving and kept cheering him on so naively that somewhere along the line, practicing with him became less intolerable. In the private, shaded groves of the Asim garden, away from so many words that mattered, he was a light that didn't burn.
In this garden of serpents, the most influential people in the Scalding Sands, his smile felt like salvation.
Jamil was losing track of time, each moment marked out by the swirl of Kalim's gold threaded sashes, the power of his form weaving with his but never touching. The santuri chords crescendoed, echoing Jamil's wavering heart. His breath was raw in his lungs, not from exertion. He was acutely aware of the filthy, covetous eyes on them. Kalim always stood out, the most valuable treasure gilt in white and gold. He was a magnet for wanton greed. Jamil had protected this body since before he knew how, a directive written into his blood and breath.
On the next song, Jamil's steps curtailed Kalim's movements deliberately, before his excitement could make him flit out of Jamil's reach. Kalim startled as he avoided stepping on Jamil's feet, only to brighten as he felt Jamil's palm at his back.
"I didn't know there was a pair dance like this!" Kalim said cheerfully.
There wasn't. Kalim, drilled in every dance a couple could be asked to perform since he was small, should know.
It didn't matter. Kalim sparked with energy everywhere they touched, an unlikely but ideal counterpart for the composition of steps only in Jamil's head. This was proof. The way Kalim danced with him wasn't his childhood lessons at work. It was Jamil's efforts, overwriting all those years of muscle memory into something that was theirs. Jamil smirked, unreasonably pleased.
Kalim stumbled then, predictably clumsy and wide-eyed, his sheepish apology becoming a bright laugh on glossed lips when Jamil lifted him instead. His bejeweled hands grasped at Jamil's shoulders, perfectly trusting. His heart was a pounding thing, known better to Jamil than his own.
Everyone else needed to disappear from Jamil's sight. His magic, untrained as it was, unfurled from within as if trying to grant his wish. He could tell Kalim felt it; as soon as his feet hit the ground, he stepped in close, familiar with the threatening aura of Jamil's magic used in his defense, his own a soothing wash to Jamil's agitation, ready to help. But there was no way to just vanish.
They weren't so far from the balcony. Jamil whispered into his ear, feeling him shiver as his heavy earring swayed. "Time for a magic carpet ride?"
Kalim lit up, a mischievous grin to match his own.
Across the banquet hall, the candelabra from the ceremony spilled over with colorful light, throwing off an array of sparks. Exclamations spread through the room. Kalim whistled, and Jamil held a shushing finger to his lips as they ran past the guards posted at the balcony. Carpet caught them as they stepped into mid-air. A tug at a tassel sent them up above the clouds.
Tension unspooled in Jamil, the oppressive pressure of the crowd fading. Kalim was a heavy sprawl on him as they giggled together from sheer adrenaline. "Ahh, Jamil, that was fun!" He looked up into Jamil's face as he moved to sit up. His eyes glittered like precious stone, silvery moonlight streaking a deep crimson hue alongside the familiar golden glow. "Your magic is so-"
Jamil reeled him back in and kissed the amazing off his smiling lips.
It was a dry, awkward thing, lasting only a moment before his nose knocked against Kalim's soft cheek. Kalim startled but let Jamil cup his face in his palm to make sure he was okay, to realign them, his other arm locking around his waist. He looked stunned, stunning, pliant and secure, uncertain but trusting. Jamil's chest was a live wire of anticipation but his stomach was settled, his instincts calm.
The next try was better. He could taste the gloss. He didn't do Kalim's makeup today. He never used this brand since he didn't like the scent on Kalim. He huffed, a little irritated, flicking his tongue at the seam of his lips. Silvery lashes fluttered against his thumb. Kalim's mouth parted. There was only a hint of sweet sobia left. The rest was just Kalim, his soft ah as their tongues met, firm against the tender pressure of their lips.
He heard the tinkling of jewelry as Kalim's arms wrapped around him before they parted. He pressed his tongue to his lips to learn his taste. Kalim shivered, entrancing.
"Jamil." Kalim's fingers were tight on his shoulders. His mouth shone, wet, that awful gloss gone. Jamil's teeth ached. "Is this okay?"
Was okay even a strong enough word for what Jamil was feeling? It felt like freedom, like power, the proximity from earlier no longer enough against those who would take Kalim from him. In the moonlight, Kalim was luminescent. Jamil's grip tightened, as if he could enclose him in his hands. Would that be enough?
Kalim shifted and Jamil loosened his grip, but that wasn't what Kalim wanted, climbing astride his lap instead. They were level now. It would be easier to kiss, Jamil realized with a flush. Under them, Carpet adjusted to the reallocation of weight, content to cruise above the clouds in the chilly night sky.
It would be warmer in Kalim's room. His bed had an ornate canopy he refused to use unless Jamil crawled in with him. It would be private, a den to keep Kalim in all night, press kisses to his mouth, to his skin, until they were imprinted so deeply in each other that everyone would know, just as they did tonight. He thumbed Kalim's throat, feeling his fluttering pulse.
Kalim's lips parted. Jamil should kiss him again. "Jamil, can I kiss you?"
They were in step here too.
Jamil couldn't help the wry smile - as soon as he nodded his agreement, he had his arms full, Kalim's exuberance, his focus, entirely wrapped up in him. Something like exhilaration gripped Jamil, showing in Kalim's brilliant smile too. Kalim didn't leave his arms the entire night, not even when they made it into his bed and he let Jamil have free rein.
His mouth was tender as a bruise when he got up the next morning. It was nothing compared to the bruises smudging Kalim's skin, dipping under the straps of his undershirt. His clothes would cover them but part of Jamil recoiled at the thought of needing to do that - the wedding celebration was still ongoing, and it would be fine to stay in today.
Kalim woke up when he untangled himself, sleepily watching Jamil redo the same hair he'd taken down hours before. It wasn't knotted; he could still feel Kalim's careful hands as he removed his hair ornaments. Jamil stayed until he dozed again. Breakfast wouldn't take long.
His parents were waiting in the kitchen.
When he returned, Kalim nuzzled into his arm as he helped him up, soft and sleepy. Jamil yanked away. Kalim flinched, confused. It only took a few seconds for him to apologize with a carefree smile. Oblivious as always.
Jamil's invitation to NRC came a week later.)
–
Jamil rose to his feet and inclined his head to his uninvited guests. He sketched a short, formal bow. "Come in. May I offer refreshments?"