Disclaimer: Several characters as well as this Alternate History were created by Naomi Novik. I'm just a fan, imitating.
This story is set during book four, after Admiral Roland enlists Tharkay's aid in acquiring more feral dragons.
Farewell, Istanbul.
"I thought you were leaving forever?" she said.
Tharkay spun around to look at her, his silence owing more to surprise than his usual reticence.
"Sara," he said finally, and then offered her a very formal bow, "Miss Maden."
"Mrs. Praeger now," she corrected and he bowed again.
"Don't Tharkay," she said.
He stood there undecided, with his eyes focused and studying the bricks in the wall behind her. He ached to look at her face, to study those large honey-brown eyes that had so captured his heart. She was married now, some other man's wife, and some other man would kiss those rose petal lips; some other man would stare into those honey-brown eyes; some other man would hold her and touch her as he'd never done—and never would.
Someone else would dry those tears now sliding silently down her cheek. She sobbed and he met her eyes, only realizing then that somehow his own traitorous eyes had strayed from the market wall to study the face he'd once loved—still loved—and would probably never stop loving.
Tharkay swallowed a lump in his own throat and reluctantly, he tore his eyes away to study his own travel-worn boots and the gravel on the ground in the space between them—the hem of her abaya, where a few drops of mud had dared to splash on her garment and dry.
He crossed his arms.
"Say something," Sara said, not bothering to hide her emotion—although the shawl and veil of her hejab did most of that for her.
All he could see were those honey-brown eyes marred by her tears and the kohl starting to smudge and drip.
"I wish you the best in your new life," he said; cool, collected, and almost bored. He dared not share how he felt—it had never been his choice to be so ensnared. But then, he was no longer a boy, and the flaunting of such feelings were the stuff for boys and madmen. He was not going to be her Majnun.
His brows must have knit because she gasped a little and stepped back from him. She was a new wife with a good life ahead of her—a promising future; stability. She was not going to be his Layla.
Tharkay started to turn away and move back into the crowded anonymity of the market.
"Don't," she said and took him by the sleeve of his coat, "Don't leave me like this."
He stared at her.
Sara brought a hand under her veil and dabbed at her eyes with a handkerchief. Tharkay's eyes narrowed and he frowned—she was always a stubborn one.
"I should go," he said and he sighed and pulled further away from her, but his feet seemed mired to the ground and he could not make himself escape her presence.
Sara approached him again and put a hand on his arm. With the slightest pressure, she started him walking; not toward the market, but further into the narrow alley. Her touch was light, non-grasping and open-fingered. As if he were something that would burn if held close. If she had bound him in chains he might have had greater hope of escape.
Neither of them spoke as they walked, nor when she unlocked the building and led him inside. It was dark but the air was sweetened with the smell of spices and perfume lingering from some other encounter perhaps.
"What is this place?" Tharkay said.
"Barinak," Sara said, "Sometimes the women want to get away. There are quiet, hidden corners like this all over the city."
Sara closed the door, plunging them into pitch darkness. He stood still where she left him, uncertain; afraid even. He listened to her movements in the dark—a rustle of cloth; the whisper of her sandaled feet over the carpets. She opened a curtain, exposing just enough window to give them a shaft of light.
"No one will disturb us here," she said; opening cabinets and drawers until she found candles to place in the room.
"Sara," he said, "Why did you bring me here?"
She looked up from the candle she was lighting and the merest smile touched her eyes. She stood and started to pull out the pins that held her veil in place. Tharkay moved toward the door.
"Are you leaving?" she said.
She seemed surprised and he found that a painful disappointment. His Sara was ever a being of virtue and purity. She would never do this.
"I will always love Sara Maden, though she is gone and far away. So to you I say good bye, one last time. And farewell, too to Istanbul."
A/N: Thanks for reading!
This was sad little attempt at a bit of romance... I hope it wasn't too weird...