Arman leaned over the fire, carefully adjusting the pieces of firewood until the flames grew stronger, casting a warm glow over the small camp where he had set up to prepare his mother's medicine.
A soft, weak voice called out to him from the bed behind.
"Arman…" His mother's voice was faint. He had brought her outside to enjoy the sun's touch. She was settled in her usual spot beneath the old avocado tree, where the massive branches stretched out in a canopy, providing shade from the harsh rays. The gentle breeze rustled the broad leaves above.
"Yes, Mother…" he responded, turning his head to glance back at her, his gaze lingering a moment to make sure she was still secure in the makeshift bed he had prepared. He was careful now, always on guard.
Once, he had left her for just a moment and she had slipped, tumbling from the edge of the bed onto the hard ground. "It won't be long now; your medicine will be ready in just a few minutes." He gave her a reassuring smile before returning to the task.
But his mother seemed preoccupied, her gaze drifting past him toward the canopy above, where the dense, green leaves of the avocado tree blotted out most of the sky. Her expression grew distant, her thoughts wandering in a direction he couldn't follow.
She murmured something, barely audible, her voice thick with regret.
"It's not about the medicine…" she said softly, her voice trailing off. Her thoughts had turned to her children, and a deep pang of guilt settled over her heart.
She wished she could have given them a different life, a life unburdened by her illness or the hardship they were passing through. If only she had been more cautious, perhaps they wouldn't have had to bear the brunt of her mistakes.
She thought of her daughter, Leila. So clever, so quick-witted. In a different world, Leila's talents might have carried her to the palace itself. Perhaps she could have become an apothecary, renowned for her ability to craft soothing ointments, both for pain and for pleasure. Leila had a gift for blending herbs in just the right balance, and it seemed a shame that her skills might never be fully realized.
And Arman… he had a sharp mind for trade, a way of looking at the world that hinted at the makings of a successful merchant. He had the potential to become a great trader, perhaps even to build a thriving business if only life had granted them better circumstances.
"What is it, Mother?" Arman asked gently, noticing her distant gaze. By now, the brew was ready, a dark, earthy liquid swirling in the bowl he held carefully as he returned to her side. He sat on the edge of her bed, taking care not to let his full weight rest on it, cautious that the fragile strings might snap under the strain. Leaning forward, he slipped an arm behind her shoulders, helping her sit up slowly.
With steady hands, he brought the bowl to her lips.
"I just wanted to apologize." She muttered as she received the bowl from him, she had been bedridden for almost six years and now other parts of her body have been failing as well.
She could even barely see what her children looked like, but she would never tell them.
For it would be much better if she died.
"What are you apologizing for?" he asked as he spoon fed her the rest of the medication. "You have kept on apologizing throughout the night as well and I'm getting tired of hearing you say sorry."
He put the bowl away.
"If there is anyone who should apologize, it's the Shah, for putting you in such a pitiful position." Arman's gaze darkened as he was reminded of the inhumane torture his mother was forced to go through. "Those evil maggots, they are no different from the evil beasts banished in the forbidden forest, after everything they made you do, they abandoned as soon as you were no longer useful for them. They are the reason you're like this and I don't blame you Mother, you were only trying to protect us."
"Arman… ugh." She coughed her hands reaching for his face and Arman smiled sweetly at her.
"Don't worry Mother, I won't foolishly go after the shah, since I am so weak." He reminded her with a painful smile, the skin around his eyes wrinkled and he leaned in to kiss his mother's forehead.
"You should rest and let the medication do its work," Arman said softly, though he noticed his mother had already drifted into sleep, her face peaceful for the first time in days.
Leaving her side, he walked down toward the riverbank, where his sister, Leila, was crouched over the water, scrubbing their laundry against the smooth river stones. She was exactly where he'd found her that morning, the sleeves of her worn blouse rolled up, her arms moving rhythmically as she worked. At his approach, she glanced up, her brows furrowing slightly.
"Did Mother take her medication already?" she asked, pausing briefly to wipe the beads of sweat from her forehead.
"Yes," he replied, a touch of relief softening his voice. "She fell asleep right after." He stood next to her, his eyes tracking her every movement.
"Thank the goddess," Leila muttered, her shoulders easing slightly as she returned to scrubbing. But when Arman reached for the damp pile of clothes, she quickly intercepted, taking the laundry from his hands.
"Shouldn't you be sleeping?" she asked, giving him a look both protective and scolding. Her large eyes caught the sunlight, casting soft shadows from her lashes onto her cheeks. "You were up all night caring for Mother; you need to rest while you can."
"And what about you?" Arman countered, raising an eyebrow. "You spent all evening selling perfumes in the village. Not to mention that sprint you must've made last night when the wolves chased you." He teased her, a playful glint in his eyes, and Leila shot him a fierce look, her mouth curving into a reluctant smile.
"One of the reasons I find it hard to believe you," he said, smirking. "Running from a pack of wolves all night, fleeing from Shahkhur itself, yet here you are, fresh and full of energy!"
Leila rolled her eyes and let out a short laugh. "Believe me, I'm tired," she replied, slamming a drenched cloth against the rock with a satisfying smack. "But I have to keep going so that you don't have to. I'm your elder sister; it's only right that I lighten your burden where I can—especially since you've taken on the care of Mother." Her voice softened, and for a moment, she looked away, focusing on her hands as she wrung the water from the cloth.
"You may be the elder one, but I'm still the man of the house, and there's no way I'll let you do all this work just because I'm younger," Arman replied with determination, snatching another fabric from the pile despite her protests. "Father would turn in his grave if he saw me letting you bear this alone."
Leila groaned, rolling her eyes with a playful sigh. "You are impossible to argue with," she muttered, exasperated.
"I know," Arman replied with a smirk. "Guess where I got that from?" His gaze lingered on her hair, his expression softening before a curious glint entered his eyes. "You… fixed your hair."
Leila froze, her grip tightening around the wet cloth in her hands as her heart skipped a beat. She managed to turn back to him, masking her sudden alarm with a forced smile. "What do you mean?" she asked in an uneasy whisper. "My hair must've been a mess this morning, right?" She forced a light laugh. "I didn't have a mirror, but I did brush it."
"That's not what I mean," Arman said gently, reaching for a stray strand that had slipped loose. Leila instinctively drew back, clutching the cloth closer to her chest, her eyes darting nervously.
"What are you talking about?" she murmured, her voice barely audible.
"There's no need to be so defensive, Leila. I'm your brother." He held her gaze firmly, his voice a mixture of concern and warmth. "I know the secret you and Mother have been trying so desperately to keep from me."
Leila's mouth went dry, her hands beginning to tremble slightly. She blinked rapidly, a habit she couldn't seem to shake whenever she was nervous.
"I know you're… like Mother," Arman continued, his tone gentle but unwavering. He reached toward her hair again, this time with a delicate, almost reverent touch. "I saw it this morning. Your real hair. This is hair dye, isn't it? You may not realize it, but I have a strong sense of smell."