The Ruke and Kanisa

A knock at the heavy wooden door disturbed the quiet of Kanisa’s study. The delicate touch of brush on paper jarred and the ink blurred at Kanisa’s surprise. A mild curse escaped her lips while harsher ones flew through her mind. A scholar did not curse out loud.

She bade the intruder enter and was even more surprised at Jaddah bearing a tray of dinner many hours before dinner.

Or so she thought. The light in the window burned gold with the sunset, and her stomach grumbled loudly. How many times had that happened without Kanisa noticing?

Letter ruined, he put aside the parchment and smiled at Jaddah. She wore the heavy frock of the village, the brown linen a far cry from the softer and more varied colors of the city. But her hair was covered by a vibrant red shawl, a color worn and displayed proudly in the village.

Kanisa learned the color represented knights of the past who had settled the village after helping the king defeat invaders from the sea. That was a long time ago, before t
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