Kingdom of Tabir
The whisper roused Ziyaeddin from a dream of a sky all gold and saffron and fire and striped with migrating birds. The birds flew out of the flames toward a brilliant blue sea, in haste yet steadily, with the great rhythmic flapping of a thousand wings.
Ziyaeddin rolled away from his sister’s voice to reclaim the image, mumbling to her to hush, that she mustn’t be here, that she took too great a chance always coming to borrow his books while his tutor slept nearby.
“Awake, brother,” Aairah whispered again, more furtively. “Men with torches come. They are shouting in Turkish. Mother says we must go at once.”