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       At long last, peace had been re-established in Spain. After ten years of many gruelling battles, the Granada War had finally come to an end in 1492. The keys to the Alhambra Palace had been surrendered over to the Castilian soldiers.

       Zacharias had more on his mind than just all the celebrations around him. His mother had been a cook in Lord Victor’s mansion for many long years before the war had begun. In the weekends, when Zacharias had an off from school, he used to help his mother out in the mansion’s enormous kitchen.  He tried lending a hand by cutting vegetables or stirring soup as it bubbled in a pot the size of a cauldron.  Clumsy as he was, however, his mother preferred that he stayed out of her way. She even begged him to dust cobwebs instead, in some obscure corner of the house where he would be unable to get his foot stuck in dough.

       It was on one such weekend, while dusting a painting that hung in a grand corridor, that Zacharias overheard a conversation that was not intended for the ears of an eleven year old boy.  It was unintentional, really, and he had even considered quietly slipping away and finding another chore to occupy his time. However, it was the mention of Isuara’s name that had rooted him to his spot in front of the painting, two feet away from a door that stood slightly ajar.

       He had always had a soft spot for Lord Victor’s youngest child, a certain brotherly affection for her.  Isuara was nothing like her older brothers, who always treated him like despicable vermin. She was kind-hearted and beheld him as a friend rather than a son of a cook.  It had become customary for the two of them to play hide-and-seek in the backyard every weekend.

       As he stood with his mouth slightly open, he leaned a little closer towards the door. On the other side, Lord Victor and his Lady were having a hushed conversation, barely audible save for the fact that Zacharias had very sharp ears.

       “How much longer can this pretence last?” asked the smooth voice of a man, being lowered with apparent strain.

       “She is just an innocent child of nine.”

       “How many children of the same age behave in a manner similar to hers?”

       “It might just be a phase that will soon pass,” ” sobbed Lady Victor.
I am convinced that something is amiss.”

       When his wife refused to say anything, Lord Victor sighed the softest sigh and made his way towards the door, pausing only to say, “Watch her.” With that, he left the room, throwing a suspicious glance in Zacharias’ direction before turning around briskly and walking away.

       Zacharias had kept the knowledge of that conversation to himself. He had not known what to make of it then, and now, ten years later, he still did not know what to make of it. He gazed thoughtfully into the fire that had been kindled in the workshop, where he worked as a sword craftsman.  Isuara had creeped  into his thoughts of late. Recently, he had woken up amidst a dream where she had returned to Zaragoza after all these years. He had cast it aside as a silly dream, but his eyes did not obey. They saw her everywhere he went – on the corner of the street, in the market, on a bench in a park. The most fantastic hallucination, though, was the one in which he distinctly saw her sitting on a lower branch of her favourite tree, as he glanced at the old backyard from a balcony of a tiny house nearby. Shaking his head, he had firmly told himself that his eyes were mocking him yet again.