A THUNDEROUS CLAMOR echoes off the walls of the palace courtyard, grating on Zakkai's ears. This celebration for the fiftieth anniversary of Queen Jokuye's birth has proven a noisy affair. Shouts and songs mingle together in the air, accompanied by the sizzling of rainsticks, jingling of tambourines, and banging of drums. The incessant noise is more exhausting than exhilarating, though considering the pure elation on the faces of countless celebrants, the exiled prince must be alone in his irritation.

Despite the chaos currently reigning supreme in the courtyard of the Zafanyan queen, Zakkai appreciates the intricate beauty of its architecture in a way only a fellow royal could. Made up of a crisscross of pink and tan tile paths around a series of shimmering ponds, the space is shielded from direct sunlight by a dome overhead. The carved pillars holding it up allow for rays to filter down and light the space well, all while maintaining a cool temperature.

On a raised platform to one side of the courtyard, Queen Jokuye stands with her husband and throng of fashionable well wishers. Zakkai watches her chatter with her guests from the shadows a ways off. She occasionally plucks a tidbit off a nearby platter and nibbles at it between bouts of conversation. The Esrayan continually contemplates striding up to the platform and introducing himself, but something holds him back.

He ponders how strange it is that he, a fellow royal from a faraway land, has lived within her borders for months, and yet she has made no attempt to initiate contact. His suspicion is that the Rukisu leadership must not have notified her of his presence, an oversight bordering on treasonous. As men sworn only to do her bidding, it would be treacherous indeed if they had consciously chosen not to inform her of such a significant presence on her soil all this time.

A hand clasps Zakkai's shoulder. He jerks in surprise and spins around, identifying the newcomer as none other than Rafi. The two exchange a brief smile.

"There you are! You wandered off." Rafi accuses good-naturedly. "Always a loner, you are."

"I am simply taking it all in," Zakkai replies. "Have you ever been to anything like this before?"

"This is a first for me, too. Before joining Elder Okafor, I never had a reason to be invited to anything so... high class."

"I see. Back home, I attended my share of celebrations and ceremonies, but we do things differently out east. Less noisy, for one."

"How does one celebrate quietly, I wonder." Rafi says. "That hardly sounds like celebrating."

"One hardly needs to beat a drum and stomp the feet to show enthusiasm. Gifts and pleasant conversation should be enough."

"I suppose so. You must admit you can feel the joy pulsing through the air here, though."

"I feel a headache, too."

"That would definitely sour the experience, I understand."

A pause lengthens between the two, but Rafi lingers at Zakkai's side. The prince waits patiently for him to leave, to no avail. As the drummers crescendo, the throbbing in his head grows.

"Where is Jabari?" Zakkai asks, peering into the crowd while pressing his forehead. "He is a hard man to miss."

"He spilled wine on his new clothes."

"Already? For heavens' sake—"

"I almost spilled on myself laughing at him," Rafi admits, grinning. "But he, Ejike, and Nika went back to the market to get him a new shirt. I stuck behind so as not to leave you alone."

Zakkai squints. "You should have went with them."

"I now realize that. I suppose I will leave you to your solitude as you wish."

Zakkai watches Rafi amble away, relieved despite the tinge of guilt rumbling in his gut. The man's unwavering love and loyalty are welcome at times, but at others, it can be overbearing. At least he had the sense to dismiss himself with grace this time.

Returning his attention to the queen's platform, he seeks out a glimpse of her in vain. Her husband remains where he had been standing, but his wife had slipped away somewhere else. Then down the steps of the platform, a ripple of blue and gold reveals her joining a group of dancers. The queen's movements in her dazzling dress are mesmerizing like the flutter of a peacock's feathers.

Staring is impolite, Zakkai reminds himself, so he strolls along in the shadows to the edge of the courtyard, eventually making his way to a cart of food and drinks. He takes a plate of cubed meat and vegetables in one hand, a glass of wine in the other, and continues on, watching the festivities from as far away as possible. The rainbow of colorful cloaks to one side of the courtyard gives away the presence of the Rukisu council of elders, all present except for Okafor, of course. They converse with animated gestures, hardly the stoic and dignified figures they ordinarily portray themselves to be.

All this time, Zakkai has been a silent observer from the sidelines, but suddenly, his instincts scream he himself is being watched. He scans the crowd. Everyone minds their own business, celebrating in their noisy and disorderly way. Even Rafi has joined the festivities, learning a dance from a group of better dressed youths his age.

Then, under an arched doorway against the wall several paces down, big brown eyes meet Zakkai's. Peeking over the rim of a wine glass, a striking woman wearing green and yellow studies him. Her dress hugs her body elegantly, sloping into her waist and then flaring out above a pair of toned legs. She stands with one crossed over the other, exuding an air of poise and elegance.

Zakkai stares right back, sipping from his glass as he does so. Her continued stare is a silent invitation, and its unwavering nature indicates a measure of boldness he cannot help but respect. All the same, the exiled prince would rather be alone with his thoughts, so he peels his attention from her and turns away.

He may be able to avert his gaze, but the gravity of this woman's stare still tugs at him. It is as if her mind has somehow reached out to his with barbed tendrils, snagging his thoughts and preventing him from ignoring her forever. All he can do now is wonder who she is and what she wants.

Finally, Zakkai caves in, squinting in her direction, only to realize she approaches of her own volition. He had refused the invitation, but she struts over regardless. The grace in her walk betrays royal upbringing, and the question races into his mind whether she is a daughter of the queen. Even so, her dress is less ornate than those worn by the ladies closer to the queen. An enigma to be sure, sparking a hundred questions he hopes will soon be answered.

Once in earshot, the lady's full lips ease into a playful smirk, her eyes twinkling with mischief. "I do hope your conversation is better than your manners, young man."

"My apologies. Where I come from, staring is bad manners."

"As it is here. So you should not have made me stare."

"I suppose you have a point."

With a huff, she blinks her dark eyes at him. "My name is Furaha, thank you for asking. And you are...?"

"Zakkai. Son of King Dahudi of Esraya, former heir to the throne."

"Ah... as I suspected."

"I beg your pardon?"

Furaha gingerly sips from her wine glass. "I have heard your name repeated often these past few months, but have never had a face to put to it."

"Good things, only, I should hope. Who would you have heard my name from?"

"Are you acquainted with Elder Desta Ayodele?"

"I know who he is," Zakkai says. "Who is he to you, a brother?"

"Close enough. I serve under him."

"You are a Rukisu as well?"

"Your voice reeks of disbelief," Furaha jokes. "Yes, I am."

"I meant no offense. You simply carry yourself with a certain poise... a nobility more befitting a princess than a warrior."

"If history can teach us anything, those two roles hardly exclude each other."

Zakkai shrugs. "Fair enough. Out of curiosity, what have you heard about me from Elder Ayodele?"

"Only good things, I assure you. He holds you in very high regard."

"Is that so?"

"Quite so." Furaha shifts her stance so she stands alongside the Esrayan instead of face to face. "The other day, he and I were discussing the peculiar times we are in. As long as I have been with the Healers, I have never seen so many new initiates join one cell at the same time. Elder Enu must have his hands full."

"He also has much untapped talent in his hands, the way I see it. I was with him when he discovered Mejanno was taken. I would very much to be with him now as he retakes the city."

"Yet you are stuck here drinking wine and rubbing shoulders with nobility while he risks his life in battle. You have been dealt a terrible hand."

Zakkai glances over sharply. "You mock me. I have been born for greater things than this. I merely bide my time until allowed to prove as much."

"I have no doubt that opportunity will soon come. After all, if I recall correctly, Elder Enu is promoting the readiest of you in a month or two, is he not?"

"Two months and eighteen days, to be precise."

"The competition must be fierce." Furaha tastes her wine again. "I will have you know we are spectating this contest with great interest. Elder Enu and Desta speak often on the progress of your class, and Desta shares everything with me."

"I see. So you are aware five of us just forged true swords?"

"I had heard that. Desta said he was impressed watching the progression in a few short months."

"I do wonder, since you say our competition is a matter of great interest, is there speculation on who will emerge victorious?"

Furaha giggles. "Most certainly. The exiled prince grappling with the nobleman's brat... it is a struggle one could immortalize in literature. There are some who foresee one outcome, some another."

"What outcome do you foresee?"

"I make no attempt to predict the future. I hate to be wrong."

Her answer strikes Zakkai as evasive and a lie, but he chooses not to address it. "Does Elder Ayodele share your sentiment on the matter?"

"Not exactly."

"Well, what are his thoughts?"

"Desta believes you are the fulfillment of Queen Ayo's final prophecy, and he wholeheartedly anticipates you emerging victorious. Elder Uda scoffs at the idea, given Desta said the exact same thing when Elder Enu joined the Rukisu years ago."

"So he has been wrong before."

Furaha's lips purse. "Interpreting prophecy is somewhat of a precarious endeavor. Which is exactly why I avoid the gamble altogether."

"Well, I can assure you putting bets on Ejike's victory would be a certain loss."

"Only time will tell."

"Mark my words, I did not come all this way to be bested by a bastard and a brat who cannot control his temper." Zakkai raises his glass in a toast. "To my upcoming initiation."

Furaha laughs and taps her glass to his, downing the rest of her wine afterward. "With that attitude, he stands little chance. Pleasure making your acquaintance."

With that, she slips back into the crowd, leaving Zakkai alone again. To his surprise, solitude is less welcome than it had been before she had spoken with him. Maybe her outgoing yet enigmatic demeanor had drawn him in, or perhaps the insight into Rukisu gossip is tantalizing. At any rate, his heart now surges with renewed determination to beat Ejike down and rise to the top of Okafor's class. He will become the next full-fledged Bladesman in the coming months.