The Fate of a Woman, Part 3

["Felizia al-Bahir" <felizia@angelfire.com>]

1/19/2002
Where the Great Houses vie for power in the Padishah Imperium....

Salon -- Bajazet Embassy (Kaitain)

        Open and airy, the private salon is a space geared towards creature comforts. The expanse of tiled floor is strewn with a kaleidoscope of Kilim carpets, soft and warm underfoot. Several ornate chairs are grouped with mother-of-pearl inlaid side tables, and a cluster of rainbow hued cushions, offering a quiet spot to unwind and chat. In the center of the salon is a long low ebony table, surrounded by more colorful tassel-trimmed cushions. Candles, several games, and a chess set are strewn casually across the table's surface, a gem-studded brass lantern hangs above, providing ample light. Hammered bronze braziers are interspersed through the various groupings of furniture, their glowing coals easing the sting of chilly nights.

Objects:

 Needlework Frame                                  

Exits:

 Golden Doors  <S> leads to The Seraglio -- Bajazet Embassy (Kaitain) 

 Arched Doors  <E> leads to Tulip Court -- Bajazet Embassy (Kaitain)

Ibrahim walks in from Tulip Court through the Arched Doors.

Ibrahim has arrived.

The salon, for a change, is not empty and silent. There is a flurry of activity, in fact, off to one side, though it soon dies down. Seated in profile to the door, just across the room, is Felizia. Comfortably settled in a small nest of cushions, and apparently freshly bathed, she watches as slaves set out a meal for her on the low table just in front of her. Next to her on her cushions are the veils she'll put back on, surely, when he hair has finished drying, though already many of the quicker-drying curls have sprung up around her head. And, too, she's garbed once again in her silken finery of before, and no longer wandering the Seraglio like a ghost in the plain shift she'd taken to wearing so soon after her return from the Palace. By her thinness, and the hollows that have pulled in her cheeks, this may well be the first real meal she's eaten in many days. Though she's not apparently in any great rush to dive in, though, as it's a small cup of coffee that she cradles in her hands for several moments to let it cool. The slaves depart, leaving her with her food, her coffee, and her thoughts.

A shadow figure appreoaches the salon with extreme caution, it is garbed in a black burnoose and walks silently, almost swiftly, form corner to corner, trying not to be seen and be visible at the same time, one would not believe this is the injured Bajazet Mentat. Ibrahim assumes an observation position from the area of the arched doors, his face tells nothing of concenqunse.

Serene of expression, the woman seems to have finally found some form of peace, though much of the light is gone from her eyes. A definite air of sadness is there in her eyes. It isn't a moment later, though, before the door to the Seraglio opens and one of the younger slave girls slips out. She heads straight to Felizia, collapsing to her knees by the woman in tears. Though not intended, her voice carries across the room, as the young slave whimpers though her sobs, "You're leaving us!"

The coffee is set aside, and Felizia gathers the young girl into her arms to let her cry her tears out against her. "Shhh, Farah," she murmurs over the girl's head, her tone gentle and motherly. "I am not leaving the embassy. I am merely leaving my post as Kiaya. There is a difference... I'll still be here. And I may still teach you to dance, if my successor approves..."

A small cough is carried through the air to announce the presence of the old master, a couple of footsteps ahed and he enters into plain view, "Such words are not approved in house Bajazet, not from a slave to a lady... At least, some of us do not approve them." He says, in a harsh, though quiet voice.

"Master Ibn-Elmahid is right, Farah. Here, up you go," Felizia pushes the girl away, then pulls from her sleeve a silken handkerchief. Carefully, tenderly, she wipes at the tears, one finger firmly under the girl's chin to keep her face lifted. "Poor dear. This is nothing to shed tears over. Allah has blessed you with much to be happy for. You must turn your thoughts from the unpleasant things, and focus on the good... our Sultan is wise and merciful. And you've a good place in his household." Though, Felizia's toffee eyes to lift to the Mentat, as she offers him a soft, apologetic smile. "Farah has been greatly upset... Nuala was a friend to her, and then, I disappeared. Much has happened to upset the Seraglio of late."

"Hmm... And that gives her the right to upset the forms themselves?" Ibrahim says and takes a few steps closer to the former slave, "You, most of all should know and appreciate the finer issues in these matters." He says and changes subject all together, "I take it you are feeling well, all things considered?"

Felizia strokes the girl's hair slowly, having released the chin which lowers immediately. So much like Felizia used to be, the girl's head lowers immediately. Softly, the slave murmurs, "Please forgive me, most cherished Lady, for my outburst. And Master Ibn-Elmahid, I humbly beg your forgiveness for my display, too."

With brow arched, Felizia glances up to the Mentat in silence. The mark of her teaching is plain on this one, clearly now.

"Do not give me that look child! I am not the Emir of Malarca that you can bat your eyelashes to and get whatever you want!" Ibrahim says and continues to advance towards Felizia, "These things are sometimes necessary. Both you and I know it, do you think I don't remember my days in the slave market? They are etched in my memory, more than anything else."

Felizia re-settles her gaze back on the slave, nodding slowly, but jerkily. "Farah.. see to Halil." 

As the slave bows and scurries off, Felizia again looks to Ibrahim. But it is not until the girl is gone that Felizia finally speaks. "She is so young, though... she is just upset, Master Ibn-Elmahid. It is not her usual behavior in the slightest." The coffee cup finds its way back into her hand, and she sips at it slowly while regarding the food spread on the table before her. Softly, she murmurs, "They always bring me too much. I cannot eat all of this. I cannot even begin to eat all of this. Will you join me, then, Master Ibn-Elmahid?"

"There is not the spirit within me to eat right now, neither does my body demands it at this time, I will sit next to you, as long as you wish me as company," Ibrahim says and perform, sitting on the floor next to Felizia, "The tides have spoken ill words of late, things about you and our Sultan, things that might have connection to the son? Or both of them?"

"Of course I would have your company, Master Ibn-Elmahid. Tell me what words the tides speak, and I will tell you if they are true," Felizia replies smoothly, selecting a grape from the tray in front of her and slowly working its peel off with her teeth. It seems she's not much of the spirit for eating either, as slow as she is with actually ingesting something.

"Suspicion, death, animosity, rivalry, all the usual things we are used to hear about this and that, only in larger quantities and more venomous." Ibrahim says, "You do seem pekish today, is anything wrong?" Ibrahim says and smiles.

Felizia pops the grape into her mouth, chewing thoughtfully while pondering her response. She swallows, her eyes lowering to her lap, as she murmurs quietly, "Then the tides speak true, for once."

"Hmm... Interesting," the smile never fades from the Mentat's face, the stain on his lips show the burden he has had to carry his whole life, a mark of wisdom and a mark of warning, depends on how you look at it, "Do, elaborate."

"The story is simple, really," Felizia murmurs, plucking another grape from the tray, and then a piece of cheese. "Nuala killed herself... but admitted to me the night before she did it that it was her hand who helped the Sultana to her death. I... became ill, from my grief over it, and His Imperial Majesty insisted I remain at the Palace to regain my strength. Master Muradin fetched me from the Palace, and, upon my return, we discussed my future. He does not wish me for a concubine, and so, I am no longer his concubine. And I must resign my post as Kiaya of our Sultan's Seraglio."

One would think that this story would bring surprise to the Mentat's face but nothing, not one muscle moving from it's place, "And what did the Sultan say about his son's descision? Did he agree or did history repeat itself and the son and father had no common ground to tread upon, like all Bajazet familes of the old?" He asks calmly.

"Our Sultan is not troubled by it. The parting was mutual... Master Muradin does not love me," she says quietly. "He mentioned... perhaps giving me a small estate, and a household. At least, Master Muradin has his heir already."

"When the line is secure, it doesn't really matter how it is brought up, hmm?" Ibrahim says, more to himself than anybody else, "It is good to see how you advanced in life Felizia, very good to see indeed." He says, "A small estate and a household, perhaps even elevate you to the position of house Minor? Perhaps if you'll marry right..."

"Perhaps, though it is in the diplomatic offices that my skills will be used now," she says with a small shrug, nibbling on a piece of cheese. "If it is Allah's will that I marry... then so be it. We will cross that bridge when we come to it, hmm?" Her brow furrows though, despite her trying to pass the statement off so lightly. The future, to her, seems a long dark road.

A tag of laughter followed by a serious face, "Diplomatic offices? A very wise choice indeed," a rap on the floor with his hands, "Did you request it or did the sultan decide on your future proffesion on his own?"

Felizia's eyes indeed darken, and her chewing stops. Slowly, she swallows, the motion an effort. "I asked for the executioner's blade," she murmurs in a near-whisper. "He refused it."

"Beware with such requests, they often perform themselves to deadly accuracy. You are lucky our sultans has seen past revenge and grief and allowed you the disappointment of life." Ibrahim replies.

Felizia sighs quietly as she nods. "As he refused when I asked that he take back the burden of freedom as well."

"Burden, my child? You wish to return to the shackles of your womb? You miss the comforting knowledge that you have nothing to decide and nothing to bear? No authority nor responsibility?" Ibrahim sighs, "Tsk, tsk and there I thought I taught you better."

Felizia ceases her attempts at eating, and even pushes the coffee - now cold - away from her. "I don't even know how to act, or where to go. I have nothing to my name, and had no way to support myself. It was the only choice, aside from the most comforting.. Why can I not make you, Alei, and our Sultan understand? I was happy when I was a slave. To serve, and to please, it is all I know, and I was content with it."

A shake of the head, "I more than understand and yet I fear these words, coming from your mouth. Your name can sustain you well enough, Felizia and if that does not do I shall give you mine and adopt you as a daughter, is that is not enough for you and you still wish to render yourself a slave, then all you have done in the last year has been in vain." Ibrahim says and with that he stands up, his burnoose flows around him as he straightens.

Felizia's eyes lift, widened and round. "If our Sultan grants what he is considering, my ability to sustain myself economically is assured. But... Master Muradin... has made overtures... of... friendship. I did not understand before, but, the veil has been lifted from my eyes. Now I understand, Master Ibn-Elmahid, that I cannot go back down a road that has already been traveled. Allah has other things in store for me now, and it is better that I grow... Master Muradin has promised to help me in this, so that I might finally learn what it is to be free. And now you offer, too. I had thought myself unwanted, for being passed off from father to son as I was, and then released from being a concubine by the son. It was the pain of that that moved me to ask my first request of the Sultan. I.. am seeing it is not so, now."

"Perhaps there is hope for you yet, then," Ibrahim says, "You are truely, a diplomat." A grin on his face.

Felizia blushes modestly as she plucks at one of the fragile-looking veils, lifting it to flutter down across her hair. "I must admit... I am looking forward to being out in Kaitain once more. And to seeing those who I have met with before.."

"Then go to it... You are free now and in the service of his Sultan as a diplomat... Hmm, should I address you as Vizier now?" Ibrahim laughs, "It has a nice ring to it."

Felizia chuckles as well, shaking her head. "The formal announcements have not yet been made.. and I do not know when our Sultan will see to them. Until then, I sit and wait..."

Ibrahim nods, "I see... Well, eat girl! You need it, you seem a mere ghost of what you once were." He says, "My attention is needed elsewhere, I am sorry to leave but duty does call..." A smile, "If you need help, or consul, you know how to find me."

Felizia bows as well as she might from her seated position, her smile light upon her lips. "Ahh... duty. A pity, Master Ibn-Elmahid, but I understand. Perhaps, later, I will bring you coffee when you are ready for a break."

"Like the old days," Ibrahim says and turns quickly his form vanishes through the doors and on through the tulip court...



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