Flinching, Nadir replied, "She slapped me four times."
"Anything else?" Shafiq asked, and it was only the gentleness of his voice that kept Nadir from crying from the humiliation of it all.
"She took my poetry away, as she often does when she's angry with me, or catches me writing it instead of focusing on my studies or chores or helping my sisters."
Shafiq sighed, looking tired and worn for a moment before his reserve reasserted itself. "Steward Latif sent some people to speak with her, and found her with servants, ordering them about clearing out what seemed to be your room."
"I see," Nadir replied, sadness washing over him. His mother must bereallyangry to be clearing out his room, searching it for any perceived contraband, or maybe even preparing to send him away to a monastery or some such, tired of dealing with him once and for all.
"New rooms are being arranged for you, and a guard assigned, until this matter is concluded."
Nadir swallowed. "Respect, Your Majesty, but am I ever going to be told what exactly is going on? It feels like my life is in upheaval, but I'm the only one who does not know why."
"A more than fair request. Forgive me, all of us, our silence and vagueness. We are, to be honest, still learning just how deep the problem goes. It is also going to be exceptionally difficult for you to hear, and we did not want to do that sooner than we must."
"I think it best to get it over with," Nadir replied. "Respect, Your Majesty."
Shafiq waved the words aside. "As you wish, my lord. To put it simply, your parents are guilty of quite a few things: accepting bribes, abuse of staff, prisoners, and more. Unfortunately, the matter runs even deeper than that. After I sent you to Master Omid, he came to me with concerns that you were being abused. I had files pulled, to form a better picture before I brought forward such a serious charge."
"They don't—" Nadir stopped, because to say his parents didn't abuse him was stupid. He'd never really thought about it. Hadn't wanted to think about it. But right then and there, his face still sore, nothing but sympathy and worry etched into Shafiq's face, what was the point in continuing to deny it?
He dropped his head, pinching his eyes shut to ward off tears.
"However, when my clerks were going through your records to look for anything awry—medical stuff, mostly, but they go through everything for thoroughness—they noticed some oddities in your birth certificate. We are still investigating, however, we are all but certain that you are not their blood child, but a trafficked child. Worse, once we were pointed in that direction, it became clear your sisters are the same, and your parents are even more deeply entrenched than that."
Nadir stared. He wanted to scream. Cry. He was going to be sick.
The tumult of emotions jumbled together and spilled out as a sour, near-hysterical laugh.
His parents were child traffickers. He'd probably been their first foray into such things, and therefore posed the greatest risk to them. Indeed, it had been his records that had given them away.
The laughter turned into sobbing that he tried in vain to muffle with his hands, eyes burning as tears broke free, years and years of pent up anger and pain bubbling up and over.
Shafiq said something, but Nadir didn't catch the words. A moment later, however, a pair of servants were gently leading him away through the palace, led by guards who cleared the way. Nadir could feel eyes on him, but ignored them all, too lost in his own head to do anything but let himself be swept along and taken care of.
They took him to a room he didn't recognize, which meant it must be the new one Shafiq had mentioned. One of the servants pressed a cup into his hand and gently, but firmly, told him to drink. Nadir obeyed, and only minutes later his eyes grew too leaden to hold open, and he was more than happy to let the sedative have its way.
*~*~*
Three days later, the numbness from it all finally started to ease. The whole affair still seemed like the sort of sad farce that belonged in a play, or someone else's life, but as he was summoned to answer questions, give statements, and more, the numbness slowly gave way to resignation.
This debacle was his life, and that life was a lie. He'd likely never know the family he was taken from, if they'd lost him, sold him, or something else entirely. Did he have parents out there who might have loved him? What would he be now? A shopkeeper? A farmer? Was he some lost child of the Sands who should be covered in tattoos and fighting rival tribes?
Nadir laughed, because if there was one thing he was certain of, it was that he was not from the Sands. He was pure soft, spoiled Tavamaran.
He sat in the public orchid gardens, enjoying a break for lunch with some solitude and quiet that was hard to come by at the moment. He had not realized that siding against his parents in this matter would require so much talking. So much paperwork. So much saying the same things over and over, untilhe and probably everyone else in the room were sick of the words.
Since the encounter where his mother had slapped him, he'd not seen any of his family, not even his sisters. Given they were still quite young, and Nadir was hardly in any condition to take care of them full time himself, they'd been placed with another family until the matter was over and permanent arrangements could be made.
Part of that matter of course entailed finding out where he and his sisters came from. From what little had been told to him of the matter, his sisters' true families would not be hard to trace. His sisters were only a couple years apart—just shy of that, actually—and looking back on all of it now, Nadir felt stupid that he'd never put the pieces together. His mother always going away when she was 'pregnant' and not returning for nearly a year. So many other details that he couldn't stomach going over for the thousandth time.
He sipped at his wine, Afternoon Heat, and tried not to think at all, to give his poor mind a break.
Unfortunately, just as he'd nearly achieved that, a soft cough came from just behind and beside him. He opened his eyes and mustered a smile for the servant awaiting his attention. "Hello, Veler. What can I do for you?"
"A bundle of personal belongings was just delivered, including a bunch of papers, from letters to scraps, and the king's man seemed to think you'd want to know immediately."
"Papers?" He had all the papers he needed for the next few meetings and interviews. What would—
