Jazan's Valentine

      Fingers tapping echo in the hallways of the Qasalan Palace. King Jazan sits upon his throne, leaning on one polished stone arm of his throne. Staring out the window, he ponders, frowning.

     -tap tap tap tap-

     The tapping of his fingers is mirrored by the approaching clack of hooves. Down the corridor, his companion the Nightsteed enters the throne room. Mane brushed and horn polished, the Uni snorts in greeting.

     “Good morning, my King.”

     …the usual salutation is met with silence, and more tapping of fingers on stone. Jazan stares out the window at the cloud-specked sky, lost in thought. Only the twitch of one ear indicated he even heard his friend speak.

     Nightsteed quirks a brow, and tilts his head to one side, inspecting his liege’s rather downcast appearance.

     “My king, what troubles you this fine day? Your countenance is downright dusky. The sun hasn’t even begun to set on our mutual curse.”

     Jazan sighs, finally pulled from his reverie. He leans back in his seat, folding his hands together before his muzzle. Eyelids narrowed, he replies in a tone that indicates only the deepest of concerns.

     “Valentine’s Day.”

     “I- beg your pardon?” Nightsteed questions, tilting his head in the other direction. The Uni purses his lips in confusion. “Are you referring to that holiday introduced from Neopia Central, my lord?”

     “Indeed. So, you are aware of this celebration, also.”

     Valentine’s Day was not commonly celebrated in the Lost Desert. Being so secluded from the rest of Neopia, the Lost Desert was a self-contained, self-sustaining, and technologically frozen land on the continent. Modern technology- and thus, modern trends- had a difficult time traversing the sands and blazing sun to reach the oases of Sakhmet and Qasala. However, as with all things, enough time passes that occasional traditions crawl their way into the sandstone walls of the gilded cities. While Valentine’s Day had originated in ancient Altadorian history and customs, the yearly celebration of love and partnership was popularized via technology and magic, spread throughout the globe to the various lands. Like the Day of Giving from Terror Mountain, Valentine’s Day had finally breached the cities and spread among the people of the sands.

     “I must have it,” Jazan says, with the authority of a war general commanding his troops.

     “I don’t follow,” Nightsteed trails off, a seed of worry beginning to sprout that his king had skipped breakfast. Again.

     Jazan stands from his throne. His royal bearing shines through, golden jewellery glinting in the flickering torchlight.

     “This holiday- I must acquire it, for my Nabile.”

     “For the queen, sir? Why this sudden interest?”

     “Because she has taken a liking to this holiday – whatever a ‘valentine’ is, she has spoken of the upcoming holiday to me over the past three dinners, quite fondly. When she described what she’d heard from pages in the market, her face lit up with such excitement and joy. I enjoy nothing more than seeing my wife so happy, and if claiming this holiday for the people of Qasala would bring her this joy once again, then so be it.”

     Nightsteed snorted, tossing his head once as he eyed the king. “My liege, if I may be so bold as to speak my mind…”

     “Always, my friend. What are your thoughts?”

     “You have my loyalty always, and I can- and have- conquered kingdoms in your name. But I believe you’ve gone Queela loopy on this one. I don’t know much about it, myself, but one cannot take a holiday. Are you planning to reenact that winter story that was all the rage – the one of the Christmas Lupe stealing the Day of Giving? You would certainly be giving the court entertainers quite the stock of material to spin.”

     Jazan huffs from his nose. No, he wasn’t going to admit he was fighting a smirk.

     “You’re thinking in too literal terms, old friend. I don’t mean to pilfer a holiday. I wish to take the customs of this Valentine’s Day and present them to my Nabile. Are you aware of the traditions?”

     Nightsteed hums in thought, tapping one hoof against the throne room floor. One ear flicks as he scours his memories of vague, happenstance conversations regarding the topic.

     “If I recall... I believe Neopets exchange gifts to one another, as declarations of affection. Tokens, and the like. Sometimes put up décor, perhaps. It all looked rather garish, to me. Unnaturally bright reds and pinks, like a Djuti that fell into the royal cartographer’s ink pots.”

     Jazan nods. “It’s a celebration dedicated to the strength brought from love. Does that not make this holiday the most important one for me and my wife to observe? After all, it was her love that saved me. That saved you, and everyone else in our kingdom. We may still suffer the curse, but I have found I can live with the repercussions of my father’s actions, as long as I have the love of my queen.”

     Nightsteed listened, chewing over Jazan’s words. So Jazan had not lost his marbles, after all. No more than usual.

     Nightsteed clops forward, so he’s next to the throne.

     “But my king, don’t you bring gifts and treasures for the queen fairly often? Every time you depart on diplomatic missions, you return with tokens and finery for her. Why, when you dealt with the Faerieland crisis, you brought home an entire satchel of Faerie jewels. This new holiday is no different.”

     “Exactly why you find me stewing in conflict, my friend,” Jazan sighs, pressing his temples with his palms. “I wish to present her with a gift that would stand above all others, as a testament to my devotion to her. But what gift would be so suitable? A magic necklace? A tiara, perhaps? The crest of a sworn enemy? Though, I don’t recall my wife having any notable nemeses.”

     “From what I’ve seen the gifts are far less expensive and elusive, my liege.” Nightsteed tosses his mane, as though to scoff at the idea. “Cards made from papyrus and glue, flowers, sweets.”

     King Jazan snorts. “Preposterous. I have given Nabile entire courtyards full of flowers, and a kitchen full of sweets. She does sit in the garden on occasion, but my queen is not the type for sweets. It must be something special, my friend.”

     “Well, the queen may be of royal blood, but her upbringing was not quite so royal,” Nightsteed ponders aloud, sitting on a nearby floor cushion. “She was born a peasant of Sakhmet- no, lower than a peasant. She bore the life of a street rat. Queen Nabile had to scrape her living from theft, and cunning. Perhaps a gift of power, and strength? A magnificent weapon, befitting of her new status?”

     Jazan sits straighter, a spark of inspiration in one of his gleaming ruby eyes.

     “Yes… a wondrous idea, old friend! It shall serve as a reminder of how she has risen above strife, and never need return to such woes. This way, I shall communicate to her my deepest love, as the sword that protects her from all oncoming darkness.”

     Nightsteed gives an amused puff from his nostrils.

     “You certainly wax poetic, my king. Perhaps you should write it upon a card crafted of papyrus and glue?”

     “Stuff it. Come- to the royal armoury!”

     ---

     Queen Nabile entered the corridor to her chambers with a smile, bidding the courtiers good evening. Brushing back her bangs with one hand, she sighs. Another long day of holding audiences with the citizens and speaking with palace staff on upcoming events. Sometimes it grew very tiring, though she enjoyed the work so. It was a far cry from racing through the streets, stolen Tchea fruits in hand, Horace and Tomo at her heels…

     But that was the past. A time no more. She had a bright, beautiful future, in her new kingdom. With her adoring subjects, and even more adoring husband.

     Inhaling a deep breath, she removes the key to her bed-chamber from her gown’s sleeve-

     *clink*

     Nabile pauses and looks down. Her foot had tapped something- outside her bedroom door? Kneeling in her magenta gown, she lifts a parcel from the polished floor. Odd. Packages of any kind passed through the palace mailroom, yet this bore no Qasalan stamp. The wrapping was simple and rather clumsy. If she had to guess, it was handmade. Likely a dropoff from one of the in-palace staff. Stuck atop the paper was a single folded note.

     She removes the small paper and unfolds it to reveal neat Qasalan script. The message is brief and answers none of her questions.

     “To be by your side in all things, is all that I wish. For your love, I would shatter stars.”

     There is no name attached. Curious. Sliding her forefinger under the string, Nabile pulled the bow apart and unwrapped the paper.

     Revealed within was a brilliant dagger. Forged from platinum and gold, with a well-oiled leather handle. Gems are embedded down the length of the fine blade, twinkling like tiny stars. Qasalan script was carved with a delicate hand into the hilt. Drawing on her knowledge of the ancient Qasalan texts, she can read it to say ‘Sun Piercer’… no, it couldn’t be. The Sun Piercer was- mythical! The fabled weapon of Vilhga the Cloaked, the most famous thief in Qasala’s historical records.

     But- why was it here? Wrapped and left on her doorstep, without a note? Nabile’s excitement comes to a halt as she ponders the potential implications. It didn’t come from her husband’s hands – he preferred to present her with gifts in person. For this gift- as she could only assume it was- to be on her doorstep, it had to have been someone within the palace walls, or a very skilled outsider. Curious.

     “Must have been a present from the palace staff… or it could be another hapless suitor,” she thought aloud, huffing and toeing the rug with one shoe. “Don’t they realize I’m married? So rude…”

     Without a note or tag of any kind, perhaps she would never know.

     “Oh, well. I’ll enjoy studying this item nonetheless! I must send word to the guards to find my mystery gifter, so I can thank them properly. Perhaps a money reward…”

     Humming to herself, Nabile opens her door, and steps inside her bedroom. It locks behind her with a *click.*

     ---

     “Gah- why didn’t it work?!” Jazan complained, keeping his tone a low hiss as he peeks around the corner of the hall. “She likened the gift to- a suitor’s token? That’s practically an insult!”

     “Well, you didn’t put your name on it,” Nightsteed says, leaning around his king’s shoulder with a dry expression. “How was she supposed to know the gift was from you?”

     Jazan pointed a finger in Nightsteed’s muzzle. “You insisted it had to be a secret! We dug through the ancient armoury chamber and hid behind the corner like schoolchildren for nothing.”

     “I’m only advising you from my limited knowledge,” Nightsteed adds. “After speaking with a guard whose daughter is studying in international traditions, they told me that the most heartfelt valentine tokens are called ‘secret admirers’ among the youth. and exchanged with no names attached.”

     “Yes, among the youth. No doubt literal schoolchildren.” Jazan pulls the hood of his coat over his eyes, huffing. “Ugh. I knew I should have put in more research. The attempt was wasted. But that’s not what vexes me most, my friend. She felt almost no joy from this ‘valentine’! Fascination, perhaps, but no affirmation of her sanctity, when armed with such a legendary weapon. She used the word nonetheless, and mentioned a money reward! So cold, no affection whatsoever.”

     “But wouldn’t you rather she didn’t feel affection from a potential suitor’s token? She is your wife.”

     Jazan gives Nightsteed a dirty look, then frowns at the floor. “No, of course not.”

     “Then all is not lost. We must merely find that which will capture her devotion, not just her interest.”

     “How are we going to do that? I spend most of the day in the courts and throne room, as does she. Personal time together is kept to the evenings, when we dine and read in the library.”

     “Then maybe all we must do is consult an outside source. The Sakhmet soothsayer might be able to give us answers to your plight with the queen.”

     Jazan thumbs his chin in thought.

     “….hm… you might just be right. I shall send a Crokabek to princess Amira. Hopefully, she will be more accommodating to my message than my first entrance to her city…”

     ---

     The clang of a brazier being kicked echoes in the royal halls of Qasalan palace. Ash falls and scatters in dusty grey piles on the floor, marring the fanciful embroidered carpets.

     Jazan, in a fit of frustration after a day spent in Sakhmet, sweeps into his bedchambers with a growl. His cape brushes aside some of the mounds of ash, tracking it behind him in a trail of soot. He doesn’t care. His anger burned so hot he just might raze Sakhmet to the ground yet again.

     “Blasted soothsayer! She gave me nothing!”

     Plumping his behind into a chair in the washrooms, he grumbles and rubs his temples.

     Serah, the wise and faithful Pteri attendant, approaches on the wing with a matronly smile. Settling atop a perch by his shoulder, she produces a brush. With a flick of her nimble wing, she’s dusting sand grains from his head and face. Jazan, pouting, puts up with the treatment.

     “Welcome back, my king. You seem very out of sorts, these past few days.” She speaks with an amusement underlining her old, raspy voice. Serah had raised Jazan from childhood, among the other attendants, in the absence of the previous queen. She’d witnessed many a temper tantrum and had endless patience for the young king’s many mood swings. “What’s on your mind? Goodness. You have sand everywhere.”

     “It’s the blasted holiday coming up,” Jazan growls, folding his arms as he looks at himself in the mirror of the vanity table. One eye squints as Serah moves over one cheek, moving up to brush sand away from his eyebrow. “This Valentine’s Day. I wish to provide a gesture, a gift for my Nabile, but I feel as though I’m failing at every turn. My secret gift of an ancient weapon didn’t go over well, and the soothsayer of Sakhmet was no help. All she told me was-” he tilts his pitch to mimic a cranky old hag “-‘your quest is foolish and misguided! Your inquiries shall lead to nothing more than a room full of scarabs.’ What a rude old woman! I should have demanded her head! But Amira only laughed into her hands, at the soothsayer’s prediction. I’ve never been more grateful she turned down my marriage betrothal.”

     Serah pauses in her brushing to let out a croaky laugh, cupping her beak with one wing.

     Jazan tilts his head, looking at her with a raised eyebrow.

     “Do you mock me as well, Serah?”

     “No, no, I merely find your antics amusing, my king.” Serah gets back to brushing, her beak turned up at the corners into a doting smile. “And you’ve always had quite the hot temper – remember that you must curb it, if you wish to keep the peace. In the meantime, your struggles with this new holiday are unfounded, my king.”

     Jazan throws up his hands. “But I have nothing to show for it! I spent a day scouring the excavated armoury for a legendary weapon to bestow my learned wife, and demonstrate my desire to be by her side and protect her from all things that would wish her harm! Only for her to write it off as nothing more than a well-wisher’s gift. And the soothsayer scorned my quest to prove my love! Is pure love not the greatest thing for one to seek? This hag is a vile sorceress, to turn away such a request. The holiday is nearly upon us – I have only one day left before I must present my token, or accept failure.”

     Serah set down the brush, having cleaned off the king’s face and attire of sand. Her expression is reminiscent of a grandmother attempting to teach her grandchild to bake – patient, a pinch exasperated, yet entertained.

     “These ideas came from Nightsteed, didn’t they?”

     Jazan side-eyes Serah.

     “…yes.”

     “Of course they did.” Serah runs one wing down her face. “My king, I understand your loyalty to your companion through the cursed years holds strong to this day, but you have learned time and time again that Nightsteed has poor judgement when it comes to socialization. He’s not the brightest Lightmite in the Faerie lantern. And have you asked the queen herself what she might enjoy for such an occasion?”

     Silence.

     Serah can see Jazan’s ears slowly droop and pin to the sides of his head, his eyes avoiding her gaze.

     “…no. I have not.”

     “There’s your problem.” Serah puts her wings at her sides, hopping to a different perch. “Your majesty, your focus has been on how you can prove yourself to your wife. Queen Nabile chose you for your heart, even in the throes of your curse. But have you listened to your heart in this decision? Instead of fixating on what you would like to give her, why not instead look into what SHE would like to receive?”

     Jazan, tired of tone, but smiling in gratitude, stands from his chair.

     “Thank you. As always, Serah, you have proven to be a very wise council.”

     “I should hope so! You don’t live through several wars and survive a curse in the desert and come out a spring Pteri on the other side. I’m too sunbaked and filled with sand.”

     “Don’t forget the heaping helping of salt,” Jazan adds from the doorway with an impish grin.

     “Oh off with you, you royal beast!” Serah squawks, flapping from her perch and cawing after him. Despite her toying outrage, she’s fighting a smile of her own. Jazan just manages to close the door as she lobs the sand brush after him. It clinks off the door and hits the ground. “And stop taking ideas from the Nightsteed!”

     ---

     “Nabile?”

     Jazan raps his knuckles against the door to Nabile’s chambers, listening to the faint echo of the wood.

     “My queen? Are you here? I have something I would like to ask you…”

     …

     Silence.

     “Hmm…” Jazan frowns, thumbing his chin in thought. Reaching out, he grabs the handle and gently pushes on the door. “My queen?”

     When he opens the door, he peeks inside. Nobody’s home. How disappointing – now he had to hunt for her throughout the palace.

     Although… from here, he can see Nabile’s favourite study desk is already littered with notes in her shorthand. The dagger he gifted her sits sparkling next to several open tomes and a feather quill. Hm. Perhaps she’d gone to the library to find more research on the weapon? It would definitely be in character for his wife. She must have consumed all the available research in her room, where she was in the process of restoring several historical Qasalan texts. The Qasalan people adored their queen who treasured their history so much.

     …hold on.

     Jazan could see there was another book he didn’t recognize on her table. The cover was plain, but the binding was styled with the traditional Sakhmet lotus. This book wasn’t from his libraries, or the excavation site.

     Curiosity getting the better of him, Jazan enters Nabile’s empty chambers, and approaches the desk. Lifting the unknown book in his hands, he turns it over, then opens the cover. He is greeted with lines, paragraphs, pages of his wife’s shorthand. The date in the corner of the early entries is… years in the past, prior to the rebirth of Qasala. Was this her diary, from her days as a rogue on the streets? It was like a window to the past, of a time and a place he had been absent. From his brief glance, he could see Nabile spoke highly- and sometimes derisively- of something called the ‘Desert Scarabs’. Ah- context in the passage leads him to believe they must be that collection of rogues with whom she scraped a living, in the Sakhmet alleys. Interesting. But not relevant to his current affairs – and he didn’t wish to be caught prying into his wife’s old business.

     Flipping to the newest entry, he dares to take a glance into his wife’s thoughts…

     …ah. Aha.

     Jazan has a few chuckles, as he reads the latest passage.

     What a fool he’d been, thinking he could prove his devotion with trinkets. That sneaky soothsayer.

     Carefully placing the book back where it lay on the desk, he exits the room with a sweep of his cloak. He had something special to arrange, the following day.

     ---

     “What’s the occasion, my king?” Nabile asks, walking the streets of Qasala by Jazan’s side. “You don’t usually ask me to accompany you out of the palace – it must be something really special, hm?”

     “Very much so, my queen.” Jazan is wearing a warm smile, which Nabile just can’t help but adore. Even with the sunset on its way, he was feeling quite optimistic about their destination. “Have you perhaps heard of Valentine’s Day?”

     “Oh- you scoundrel,” Nabile scoffs, giving him a light punch on the shoulder with one hand. “As if I haven’t been speaking to you about the very day for the past week! You can be so thickheaded sometimes, my love – I wasn’t sure if you were ever going to get my hint that I wanted to spend some time together.”

     Jazan laughs. “Yes, you have brought it up. I wanted you to know I listened, and I have something waiting for you as another gift.”

     “Another-? Wait- was that dagger from you?” Nabile gasps, then gives him a sly grin. “You conniving Kyrii. Why didn’t you hand it to me yourself?”

     “I wanted it to be special! But this will be even more so.”

     Jazan leads Nabile to the entrance of an inn, with the sign on the shingle labelled The Rusty Scimitar. When they open the door, the king and queen of Qasala are awash with warm torchlight and cheerful conversation.

     While Nabile had been intrigued by the less-than-royal location, she let out a gasp at the sight of some of the guests, coming to a halt where she stood.

     “Hey, she made it!” a familiar red Lupe raises a glass full of Qasalan fruit punch. “We thought you weren’t coming!”

     A yellow Blumaroo, mouth full of Ummagine and Queela fruit, waves a hand. “Heyyyyy, there she is! You kept us waiting.”

     “Tomo? Horace?” Nabile looks around at the rest of the attendees, seeing tattoo after tattoo of the trademark beetle. Joy and excitement light up the Pink Ixi’s face. “All the Desert Scarabs- here? But- how, why??”

     “Your royal boyfriend sent us summons,” Tomo teases, earning a smug huff from Jazan. “Said he desperately needed us to come to the city to see you, cuz you missed us so much. Like we’d ignore a message from a prince anyway!”

     “King,” Jazan corrects in a curt tone.

     “Whatever.”

     “He also said he’d provide free snacks.” Horace munches through another Queela fruit, taken from one of the many platters arranged on the centre table. “Now- we can get this party started, yeah? Who wants to see how many cupcakes I can eat in one bite?”

     “I’ll bet fifty Neopoints you can’t beat three!” Tomo chimes in.

     Nabile looks like she’s about to cry, turning to give Jazan a beaming smile.

     “Happy Valentine’s Day, my love.”

     Nabile leaps to give her husband a hug, as laughter and the clink of glassware echoes through the night.