Summary

Youssef returns to Camelot a day after his father's trial and dreading conversation with his twin, Yaminah.

Chapter 44 Last Sunrise Together

Youssef traversed the empty corridors and stairwells of the citadel, each step a reluctant march towards familial obligation. News of his father's arrest had reached him just beyond the border, far from his intended destination, yet despairingly had compelled him to turn back towards Camelot. Poor Yaminah – enduring this ordeal alone, he thought once again, clicking his teeth.

He might have sent a pigeon to her announcing his return, but his father's arrest had first stunned him, then infuriated him as it derailed his meticulously crafted plans. This unforeseen crisis had earned him his patron's ire too, deepening Youssef's own frustration at the abrupt shift in circumstances.

He paused outside the heavy oak doors, key in hand. The steward had informed him that Yaminah still occupied their rooms, and for a moment, he considered turning away, seeking refuge in some forgotten corner of the castle where he might postpone their reunion. He dreaded any interaction now with his ever-composed sister, especially given his current state. Weariness gnawed at his bones, his mind a fog of jumbled thoughts. In this moment, coherent conversation seemed beyond his grasp, his exhaustion threatening to unravel what little composure he maintained. Still, he yearned for the sanctuary of his own chambers and the warmth of his bed just beyond these ornately-carved doors.

Sighing, he inserted the key, exhaustion propelling him forward. As the lock clicked open, he braced himself, hoping for a reprieve before facing Yaminah's inevitable inquisition. Youssef stepped into familiar surroundings and scents, comforts of home that now felt strangely alien, his fatigue and inner turmoil casting the once-welcoming space in an unsettling light.

Closing the door gently behind him, Youssef's brow furrowed. An eerie quiet pervaded the space, giving it an air of abandonment despite subtle signs of habitation. The source of his unease dawned on him swiftly: his father's beloved icons, typically adorning the chambers, were conspicuously absent. He hummed softly, exhaling as realization settled. Yaminah, ever thoughtful, had likely moved them to their father's dungeon cell, allowing him the solace of his cherished relics.

Easing quietly around an ornate divider screen and heading for his room, the sound of soft footsteps from the adjoining chamber caught his attention. He turned, tensing involuntarily as Yaminah appeared in the doorway, her silhouette framed by the dim candle light behind her.

"Youssef!" she gasped, her delicate features lighting up with relief. She crossed the room in swift strides, throwing herself into his arms. As she pressed her head against his chest, he felt her trembling like a lone date palm in a sandstorm.

"Sister," said Youssef, disarmed immediately by her warmth and joy at seeing him. He relaxed in her embrace, guilt mingling with unease as she began to weep unrestrained. How truly difficult it must have been for her. He wondered if Ishka or even her valiant knight had been able to provide the comfort that he had not.

As she wept, he inhaled the faint scent of jasmine perfume emanating from his twin. Since girlhood she had coveted their mother's fragrance, dabbing the floral oil on herself to feel closer to a parent robbed from them too soon. Even now, amid chaos and grief, Yaminah clung to this delicate connection to their past. Youssef felt a twinge of envy; he had never found such a tangible link to cherish, nothing of their father to revere or emulate. Baba's stern teachings and unyielding expectations had left little room for sentiment.

"Tell me what happened," he urged gently. Dropping his bedroll and unclasping his cloak, he tossed it carelessly onto a chair. He then wrapped an arm around Yaminah and guided her to the chaise.

As they settled, Yaminah took a moment to compose herself, but the effort only brought fresh tears. Looking over her, Youssef noticed faint shadows beneath her eyes, signs of sleepless nights etched into her otherwise flawless features. Her resilience in the face of adversity struck him, stirring feelings of admiration and growing annoyance. While he pursued his own ambitions, chafing at the bonds of family duty, she'd predictably stood firm, shouldering burdens he'd gladly left behind. His quest for personal freedom and her unwavering commitment to their family's welfare reinforced his belief in the rightness of his choices, even as a small, unwelcome voice whispered of obligations unfulfilled.

"You cannot imagine," Yaminah began, her voice quavering, "the agony of seeing the man you adored all your life ripped away by the man whose affections you craved." Her words seemed to echo in the stillness, each syllable infused with betrayal and shattered dreams. Tears traced silvery paths down her cheeks, silently conveying her anguish. "In that moment, Youssef, it felt as if two pillars of my world crumbled simultaneously – Baba and the man I thought might be my future."

During her raw and bitter telling – the arrest, the knight's absence, baba's instructions and trial – Youssef found himself unexpectedly detached. He observed her pain with clinical interest, almost fascinated by the depth of her anguish. As she poured out her heart, he studied her trembling hands, the catch in her voice, the way her eyes glistened with tears. It was as if he were watching a stranger's grief, not his sister's. As she finished her account, he realized he'd been holding his breath, his jaw clenched tight.

Yaminah reached into the folds of her gown, producing a crinkled piece of parchment. Her fingers trembled slightly as she handed it to him. "I will see to baba's comfort for what it is worth," she said, drying her tears as he read a note hastily written by their father. "We leave for the Northern Plains when all is settled here. After the Sabbath."

As he looked at the words, Youssef was struck by how uncharacteristically messy the handwriting was, coming from a man who had often cracked his knuckles for less than perfect penmanship. He scoffed, clicking his tongue against teeth once again, though he didn't lose the deeper meaning behind the scrawled script.

Youssef was relieved all responsibilities had fallen to her, leaving him free to pursue his own desires, while her entire world splintered around her. With baba imprisoned and his hard scrutiny of Youssef's absences diminished, he only had to contend with Yaminah's disapproval now.

"He has since written a few more instructions for me," Yaminah said, her voice soft. "But this one… I can't explain it, Youssef. Having it close somehow keeps a part of baba with me. Foolish, I know, but..."

He scowled, a flicker of annoyance passing through him as he realized he wasn't mentioned in the note, but it quickly faded. After all, hadn't he proven himself unreliable in family matters? The brevity of the message spoke volumes about baba's limited time and priorities too. It said more about his father's character – and perhaps his own – than any flowery sentiment could have. Part of him felt a twinge of – regret? resentment? – at being so easily discounted, while another part reveled in the freedom this exclusion granted him. He passed the note back to his sister. Yaminah gently folded it, carefully returning it to its hiding place.

"I know you will make baba proud as the new matriarch of our house."

Yaminah's hazel eyes hardened, piercing him with reproach. "Matriarch?" she scoffed, straining for control. "Our house is accursed. Baba will languish in the dungeon for five years. Will you not fulfill your duty as the only male heir? Despite this note, surely the responsibility to care for him and our home falls to you. Or will you forsake us for your adventures away?"

Youssef lowered his gaze, a muscle twitching in his jaw, knowing she was shouldering burdens that should have at least been shared between them. "I deserve your anger, sister," he conceded.

"That does not answer my question," she countered, her voice level but unyielding. "You vanish for months on end without a word, then return as if nothing has changed. But this time, calamity struck. Baba and I needed you."

He inhaled deeply, choosing his words with care. "How could I have foreseen such a disaster? You know I never wished for any of this."

"Your wishes change nothing, Youssef." Her calm reasoning, delivered without raising her voice, cut deeper than any shout. "As matriarch, am I to expect the same of your behavior? Tell me where your loyalties truly lie, brother. What force has torn you from your family?"

Youssef bristled at her use of 'matriarch', irritated by how quickly she'd embraced the title he'd bestowed upon her mere moments ago. The word rankled, regardless that he'd willingly relinquished responsibility and authority over to her. Still, he shifted under her scrutiny, unable to fault her for demanding answers after enduring such solitary grief.

"I cannot say," he muttered, the words tasting of betrayal, the bitter truth coiling in his throat like a venomous serpent, poised to strike. Even though her new role demanded it, Yaminah stood vulnerable as she tried to draw out the secrets he harbored.

"You will tell me, brother," she said tightly, her hazel eyes glinting. "Does my new role not command the same respect as baba's?"

Youssef stood and turned away, fingers raking the thick and unkempt growth on his chin. Memories flickered of countless interrogations – a dance he had perfected over the years. Yaminah and their father would start with gentle inquiries, their concern barely masking their curiosity. As his evasions persisted, their patience would fray, baba's voice rising in frustration while Yaminah held to her usual grace. But Youssef had learned to hone his defenses.

With a disarming smile here, a well-placed half-truth there, he'd weave a tapestry of mystery that left them satisfied, yet unknowing. Deflecting their questions with charm, his charismatic lies soothed their worries without ever revealing the truth. No matter their approach, gentle or heated, his secrets remained his own, locked safely behind a wall of carefully crafted ambiguity.

"Where do you go?" Yaminah rose from the chaise and stepped into his line of sight. "To a woman, perhaps?" she ventured, her tone a blend of concern and disappointment. "Whose honor you protect?"

"No, sister. My affairs are far more consequential," he said, diverting his gaze, a hint of disdain coloring his tone. Her composure, usually so admirable in the past, now grated on his nerves.

"Then what?" she pressed, searching his face. "A mission of some import? For whom?"

Youssef felt the familiar dance begin again. With a practiced smile, he turned to face her, his voice smooth as silk. "Yaminah, you know I won't discuss such matters. Let's just say I'm involved in a delicate situation that requires the utmost discretion and it's best if I keep the details to myself."

But Yaminah had grown weary of his evasions, it seemed. Her eyes narrowed, unconvinced. "What could be so vital that you'd shut out your own family? I worry for you, Youssef. As does Baba."

"I cannot say," he insisted, skin prickling. "Please, Yaminah. Let it be."

"No, Youssef. Not this time. No more secrets."

At her words, something within him fractured. His shoulders tensed, jaw clenching so tight a muscle twitched visibly along his cheek. When his eyes met hers, they burned with an intensity that made Yaminah take an involuntary step backwards. Gone was the charming brother she knew, replaced by a stranger whose gaze cut like shards of ice.

Why couldn't she leave well enough alone, as Baba had eventually learned to do? Too late now. He silently agreed with her demand, his eyes boring into hers, his gaze intense and unflinching. His patience, worn thin by years of deception, finally unraveled. With Baba imprisoned, the old need for secrecy suddenly felt hollow, meaningless. Why maintain this exhausting charade?

Yaminah's whole body seemed to tremble as she witnessed his transformation and she edged away from him. The air was thick and oppressive, as if the realization of years of deception had suddenly materialized between them. Good, he thought, as he straightened his shoulders and lifted his chin. Let her uncertainty bloom into fear. He was done crafting pretty lies to soothe their delicate sensibilities.

He took a step towards her. For too long, he'd played the role of the dutiful son, tempering his true nature to appease their father. But now, with that watchful gaze locked away, why continue the facade?

She wanted to know his priorities? Where his true loyalties lay? Very well. He would reveal the creature their father's oppression had truly created – a being of ambition and vengeance, no longer fettered by false notions of familial duty and pious restrictions. The caring brother she knew had been a construct, a mask he'd worn for their sake. A bitter smile tugged at his lips as he took another careful step in her direction.

Poor Yaminah, clinging to her illusions – his adventures, baba's nobility, even her foolish infatuation with that knight. Indeed, it was time to tear away those comforting veils and show her the harsh realities of the world. As the matriarch, she was no longer a child to be shielded, and he was done coddling her.

"I was on a mission," he said advancing toward her, his voice low and dangerous. "For a king."

"What...?" Yaminah's brow furrowed, confusion etching her features. "For King Arthur? But he's the cause of baba's disgrace. How could you possibly—?"

"Not Arthur," Youssef interrupted.

Yaminah's eyes searched his face. "I don't... What do you mean 'not Arthur'?"

Youssef advanced another step, savoring her bewilderment. Each word fell from his lips, deliberately provocative. "As it sounds. Not... Arthur."

"Then who?" Yaminah's voice quavered, a tremor of fear creeping in. "Youssef, why are you—?"

He cut her off, his words sharp as a blade: "The king I serve is Lot. I am his… magician." A surge of triumph coursed through him as he finally spoke those words aloud, watching Yaminah as the truth sank in.

She edged backwards, her eyes wide with shock and dawning horror. "Youssef," she whispered, her voice barely audible, "why would you say such things? Lot? Magician? I don't understand."

Youssef paused, studying his sister's face. The disbelief etched in her features seemed to please him, a cruel satisfaction flickering in his half smile. He tilted his head slightly, as if considering how best to shatter her remaining illusions. When he finally spoke, his voice was soft but tinged with contempt.

"You're right, sister. Our house is cursed thanks to our father." His gaze drifted to the delicate jewel dangling between her breasts, a predatory glint in his eyes. "Your pendant," he murmured, resuming his stalk towards her, "and my signet ring – they're not mere heirlooms. They're shackles binding our magic."

She grasped the diamond pendant, her mouth opening and closing, but no sound emerging. A choked gasp finally escaped her lips, her features a maelstrom of confusion, anger, and burgeoning dread.

"We have magic, Yaminah," he said tightly. "Baba suppressed our innate powers and concealed the truth of what we are."

"You lie," she insisted, her voice trembling despite its measured tone. Water brimmed her eyelids again, her features contorting in anguish as she keep space between them.

"Five years ago, I discovered the truth," he said, relishing her distress. "I began to notice Baba's… secretive trips into town, hushed conversations with strangers. It's a long and frankly tedious tale, but suffice it to say, it took years of careful observation and investigation to uncover his deception. At first, I thought it madness, but curiosity gnawed at me as more pieces fell into place."

His eyes gleamed with the memory and he held up his hand, his signet ring glistening in the candlelight. "Each year, as we grew, he would replace my ring and your chain, adjusting them so that they better fit us, all the while imbuing them with a binding spell."

The tears fell down her cheeks and a cruel smile played on his lips, the exhilaration of finally shedding his mask intoxicating. No more lies, no more pretense indeed – he could revel in the raw truth, heedless of the pain it caused.

"The day I finally slipped it off... for good… Yaminah, it was like awakening from a lifelong slumber. By then, I had already replaced the 'heirloom' with a replica and destroyed the original. A few days passed, but then I could feel it. Magic surged through me, raw and untamed. Surely, you have felt it, sister?" he taunted, "when you've removed your pendant for a time? A strangeness at your core that you did not understand?"

"No," she whispered, her frightened gaze flickering away from his while trying to keep her distance.

Youssef's eyes narrowed, noting the thin veil of denial upon her face, the slight tremor in her voice. He recognized her poor attempt at deceit and grinned, his pulse racing as he watched her composure continue to crumble.

"That first spark of power for me was just the beginning. I began my travels to other places where I could learn about magic – my magic. If you could only comprehend what I'm capable of now... It's beyond your wildest imaginings. Candle flames dancing at my command, whispers of the wind bringing me secrets, the very earth trembling beneath my feet."

"No, it cannot be," Yaminah uttered feebly.

Youssef's jaw clenched, her continued denial igniting a fresh wave of fury within him, and in two swift strides, he closed the distance between them, his hands gripping her arms. The gesture, so unlike their usual gentle interactions, seemed to startle them both.

"Listen to me, Yaminah," he insisted, his voice gruff and intense. She flinched, trying to pull away, but his grip on her tightened, his fingers digging into her flesh as he held her fast. "You've always been perceptive. Look beyond your grief and our family's stifling traditions. See the truth that's been hidden from us. Remove this curse from your neck and feel the magic and power within you."

His sister's eyes, wide with fear and confusion, darted across his face, perhaps searching for any trace of the brother she once knew. Finding no familiarity, she tried again to pull away, her breathing ragged. He could feel the warmth of her rapid exhalations on his face, sense her growing panic.

Uncaring, he gave her a slight shake, emphasizing his point. "He bound us, Yaminah," he continued, as she flinched at his words, her body tensing under his grip. "Can't you see? Baba feared and hated magic so deeply that he was willing to cripple his children with pretty trinkets and lies."

Youssef realized he was trembling, years of suppressed rage coursing through him. He loosened his grip on Yaminah but maintained contact, as if severing their physical connection might shatter this moment of revelation. Steeling himself, he pressed on, determined to make her understand.

"Consider this," he said, his voice strained with forced composure. "Those endless hours of study, the rigorous adherence to culture, rituals, and our faith – it wasn't nurturing, nor was it out of love. It was containment, molding us into vessels for his beliefs – distracting us, rather than allowing our true selves to flourish." He released her with a slight push, his hands quivering. Yaminah stumbled backward, her eyes wide with horror.

"And you, sister," he continued as she wrapped her arms around herself, as if trying to shield her body from his words. "You've always strived so hard to please him. Your ceaseless efforts to be the model daughter – did they ever truly satisfy him? His approval always seemed just out of reach, didn't it? Because at his core, we disgusted him. He dreaded what we might become if left unchecked and the jewelry were tools to keep us from discovering our true nature."

Yaminah flinched, her eyes squeezing shut in shock and pain. Her lips parted, but no sound emerged, his revelations seeming to render her speechless.

Stepping back from her, Youssef's tone softened, pity and frustration tinging his words. "We've both been living a lie, Yaminah. It's time to see baba for who he truly is – a man so blinded by his fears and biases that he'd sacrifice his own children's potential."

Youssef looked away, angry, frustrated – he couldn't stay now. His eyes darted to where he'd tossed his cloak across a chair earlier. He moved to retrieve it, the stiff fabric grounding him as he clasped it around his neck. He lifted his bed roll not far from the chaise, draping the strap across his shoulder.

As he turned back to Yaminah, the sight of her utterly struck him. Gone was the poised, elegant sister he'd always known, whose grace and smile could captivate both men and women alike. In her place stood a small, fragile figure, her face streaked with tears, the proud fighter he'd admired retreated behind devastating truths.

"Brother…" she choked out, her lips quivering, her mouth struggling to form words. When she finally spoke, her voice was barely above a whisper, cracking with emotion. "Please, Youssef... do not go. Not like this. Do not leave us in ruins..."

For a moment, he felt a flicker of his old affection, a desire to comfort her. But the bitterness that had taken root in his heart quickly smothered it. "There's nothing left for me here. I'm sorry." He paused, the words tasting sour in his mouth. "This family, these secrets... they're poison. Perhaps someday I'll mourn what we've lost, but not today. Good bye, sister."

Youssef straightened, resolved. He would forge his own path now, unburdened by his father's fears and restrictions. As he turned to leave, he allowed himself one final glance at his twin.

Yaminah remained motionless, her fingers clutching the pendant between her breast – the very symbol of their suppressed heritage. The sight only reinforced his determination.

Without another word, he strode from the chambers, the door left ajar, sounds of the castle stirring with life and giving way to the morning. The sharp click of his boots on stone echoed through the corridors, a fitting requiem for the family he was leaving behind. With each step, he felt the ties of obligation and shared history unraveling, falling away like shed skin.

Ahead lay freedom, power, and a legacy of his own making. He didn't look back.