Sultana (15 page)

“How did you know I didn’t like my lessons with Ibn Ali?”

“I asked him about you. He said you were the worst student he has ever had.”

“You questioned the royal tutor about me?”

“You’re my husband. Isn’t it right that I should want to know about you?”

He clenched his fists. “If you want to know anything, I’d prefer if you asked me. I’d never hide anything from you.”

“Humph. I don’t believe you.”

“Are you calling your husband a liar?”

She glanced at him briefly. “You keep secrets. Always, your eyes are watching and observing what others do, yet you remain silent. Something lies hidden in you. You do not speak of it, but sadness and pain haunts your gaze. What secrets are you hiding, Prince Faraj?”

“If I had any secrets, why should they concern you?”

“As I have said, you are my husband. Everything about you is a matter of interest for me.”

He crossed his arms over his chest. “I wonder, what provokes this wifely concern? You’ve never shown it before.”

“When have I ever had the chance to do so? As I have said, you keep secrets.”

She turned her gaze to the sky. An arc of lightening illuminated the darkening clouds, highlighting the curve of her cheek. As he continued staring, a deepening blush suffused her skin. Suddenly, he wondered at how the softness and texture of her flesh might feel against his.

She asked, “Why did you refuse Grandfather’s invitation to dine this evening?”

Startled at the impulsive thought of touching her, he forced a quick reply. “How did you know I had refused?”

Her cheeks colored the deep red of a pomegranate before her eyes fastened on his again, her dark brows drawn together.

“My prince, it is difficult to talk with you, when you insist on answering one question with another.”

Her sedate tone belied the angry flush of her skin. Tension radiated in her fists curled into the folds of her garment and her rigid stance. He sensed deep emotion coursing through her, though held in reserve. It stunned and fascinated him in equal measure. She could likely teach him a lesson or two about natural composure.

The words rushed out of him. “Fatima, I have never dealt with so many questions before. At least, not from a…wife.”

When he hesitated before speaking the last words, her gaze widened. His head and shoulders slumped, and he avoided her insistent stare for a moment. How could he make her understand?

“Fatima, you must recognize that our…situation is unique. We hardly know each other and I wish to avoid offending you. I am simply unaccustomed to such determined inquiry into my welfare.”

She swallowed so loudly that he heard it. “It is the duty of a wife to care for her husband’s welfare. Although our circumstances are unique, as you say, in that we do not live together, I cannot forget my responsibilities.”

He sighed and nodded, as the sensation of a heavy weight settled in his stomach. “I thank you for your concern, Fatima.”

“It was prompted by your answer. I was with the Sultan when it arrived, just before my lesson.”

“Are you close to him?”

“He’s my grandfather. I love him best in the world, as much as my own father and my brother and sisters.”

He did not share the same sentiments about his own family. His father had treated him like his treasured heir, but duties to Malaka and the governorship had occupied his short existence until death. Faraj had three sisters, whom he had not seen for years since each of them married. He and his half-brother loathed each other.

“Aren’t you close to your family, my prince?”

“I’ve never been.” He tamped down a natural inclination toward asking why she wanted to know, but his admission left him embittered and unwilling to delve further into the topic. Had she asked the question, intent on belittling him for it, or just as a demonstration of her knowledge about his circumstances? Had she asked for another unexpected reason? Did she care for him?

She said, “It’s unfortunate, as you were all orphaned in your youth. Yes, Father told me about your past. Your eyes betray your surprise. Yet, who should you have clung to except each other?”

Her knowledge astonished him, in particular her pertinent observations. His gaze slid away under her scrutiny. The intent warmth of her expression unnerved him, though he sensed her stare held no pity, only curiosity. He worried about what else might she have learned of him.

After a time, he inhaled deeply. “My half-brother has no love for me. I share the same views of him. There was always a little rivalry between us. My younger sisters are married. I suppose their duties as wives and mothers keep them to their respective homes. Not every family can be as fortunate to be close, like yours.”

“Have you ever tried to know your family better?”

He shrugged. “They’ll never have a high opinion of me, so it’s useless.”

She nodded. “I may not know you as well as I should like, but my instincts tell me you don’t avoid a challenge, if you really want something.”

He drew back, flabbergasted. Damned girl, how did she perceive the worst and best of him? She edged too close to the truth, one he could not confront. Not yet.

He forced a smile. “For the moment, I’m focused on improving your opinion of me.”

Her blush returned. “Why do you say that?”

“You have made many assumptions, some true, but most of them unfair. If I don’t take the trouble to correct you, we shall never have a companionable relationship.”

“Is that what you want from me, a companionable relationship?”

She awaited his answer in silence, her gaze stark, piercing to his very soul.

He sucked in a harsh breath and looked at her companions, who had intently followed the conversation. The women exchanged abrupt, wary glances with him and each other, before they looked away. The eunuch’s black eyes darted to Faraj’s face before he studied the blackened sky.

Faraj nodded to Fatima. “My parents married according to the wishes of the Sultan, as we did. They shared a delicate peace. If we are fortunate to have a small measure of the happiness they did, it would suit me.”

She lowered her eyelids. “Only a small measure would suffice, humph? If that is what you wish, then it is what you shall have.”

Those sparkling eyes that had intrigued and invited a moment ago closed him out. A chill rippled through his body that had nothing to do with the soaking rain.

He looked down at his muddied, sandaled feet. No words passed between them but thoughts swirled in his head, all revolving around her. How had she stirred his anger, curiosity, and now, regret, in such a short span of time?

He began, “Fatima, I….”

“I believe the rain has stopped, my prince. Please, allow me to return to my father’s harem.”

At the sound of her voice, he looked heavenward. As suddenly as the rain had started, it tapered off.

She curtsied before him. “The peace and blessings of Allah, the Compassionate, the Merciful, be with you.”

Her servants bowed, before they all turned away and left him.

He hung his head and kicked a pebble in his path. Snagging the reins of his sodden, snorting horse, he glanced over his shoulder. Fatima’s silken
jubba
grew fainter in the distance, the thin material of her robe clinging to her smooth hips.

He arrived at his house just before another abrupt downpour started. He bellowed for Marzuq and gave him terse instructions. The steward bowed and departed.

Faraj handed his wet cloak to a waiting slave and went to his bedchamber. There, he undressed hastily and changed into a woolen caftan and trousers. Dim light illuminated his way as he crossed the corridor.

Entering the cavernous chamber where his women resided in the harem, Faraj beheld a delectable sight. His
jawari
waited in the center of the room in various stages of undress, their sheer, pastel silk garments betraying and hiding sensuous curves at the same time.

“Master, Marzuq said you were unsettled. Surely we can improve your mood.” Samara looked up at him beneath hooded eyelids painted with malachite.

The trio smiled invitingly, snaking toward him. Yet, even as Baraka nibbled the curve of his ear and pressed the softness of her pale breast to him, and Hayfa and Samara’s hands undid his garments, he stilled the roving hands and stepped back.

“I…I should not have come. I shall return to my room, unaccompanied.”

Baraka frowned and slipped her supple limbs about him. The tips of her rouged nipples grazed his chest.

He removed her arms and shook his head. “I said, not now, Baraka.”

On the following day, the Sultan summoned him. Tortured by rampant dreams and irritable for lack of restful sleep, he performed the minor ablution before leaving his house. He joined his uncle, just as the Sultan’s servants set the morning meal of dry flatbread, cheese, sliced pomegranates and cinnamon-flavored tisane on the table.

“Ah, here’s my nephew at last. Sit with me.”

When he did, Faraj could not help noticing how the Sultan had aged. His eyes were still clear and alert, but other signs betrayed his years. Deep crinkles mired his eyes and lines furrowed his olive-skinned brow. His body had shriveled. The gnarled hands lifting the ceramic cup to his lips shook unsteadily.

“You study me as my wives do when they are concerned for my health,” the Sultan commented over the rim of the cup.

Faraj smiled and shook his head, but the Sultan continued, “You need not deny it and I wish you would not. It is not often I see such a candid expression on your face. You look pale. Are you unwell?”

“No, my noble uncle, I did not sleep well last night. The tisane is helping.”

“Eat and drink your fill.” The Sultan set down his cup. “You met with Fatima yesterday.”

Faraj drained his cup. Too many spies in Gharnatah watched his movements. “It was raining. We took shelter under the Gate of the Merchants.”

His almost rueful reply irritated him. He did not have to explain seeing his wife to anyone. She was his. A warm, lovely feeling settled in his stomach at the thought.

“Was your meeting altogether agreeable?”

Though he nodded, it was not entirely true. Afterward, Fatima had robbed him of his desire for his concubines. When he had seen the women, in truth, he thought only of her.

He shook his head. He could not allow her such influence over his mind. “She’s still very young.”

“Much too young to interest you, eh? Still, I am glad you spoke to her. It is my hope you and she shall become better acquainted. It is unfortunate then that despite my wish, I must now send you away from her, on a diplomatic mission.”

“Send me away, my Sultan?”

“Yes, I would have you be a part of the peace delegation that goes to al-Maghrib el-Aska next week. I seek the Marinids as Gharnatah’s allies again, so I send emissaries to Sultan Abu Yusuf Ya’qub. I expect you may be gone for a few months.”

“A few months?”

“You object to my request?”

“No, but you have said you wish me to become better acquainted with Fatima. I can hardly know her better, if I am gone.”

“What are a few months compared to the lifetime which you shall have with her? You both can bear the separation. It’s not as if you are in love with her, are you?”

Faraj stared down at his hands. A vision of her hair gliding through his fingertips assailed him. He shook his head and jerked his gaze to the Sultan, who watched him steadily.

“I shall go al-Maghrib el-Aska as you command, master.”

Faraj requested a meeting with Fatima the next day. He did not want to leave Gharnatah without an amicable parting. The prospect of his departure nagged him, but he refused to consider the source of his disquiet.

He arranged to meet her in the center of the extensive gardens separating the households of the Sultan and his heir. A package in hand, he walked toward the precincts of the Sultan’s palace. Admitted through the sentry gate, he crossed cobblestone streets bustling with courtiers seeking the relaxing comfort of the baths in the royal
madina
. He walked eastward, finally arriving at the outskirts of the garden park. Then he turned north, strolling along an avenue of juniper trees. When he rounded a row of hedges at the center of the garden, she appeared, with a group of slaves waiting on her attentively.

 Silver bracelets jangled on her limbs, as she paced under an octagonal pavilion. A string of opals fell to her hips, paired with a shorter necklace of amethysts. Her long purple
jubba
and the lavender trousers underneath outlined a slender body, which showed promise of becoming womanly. She was no longer a child, but not quite a woman worthy of his interest. Surely not.

Her dignity and composure took him aback. In a clear and confident voice, she spoke to her slaves with an unquestionable level of authority. Spying him, she spoke with the pale man at her right. He turned to the slender dark-skinned woman seated beside him. They led the group of slaves away, all except for three others, one of whom Faraj recognized as the eunuch who always shadowed Fatima.

She sat on a large green cushion, while her eunuch bowed before him.

“Princess Fatima shall see you now, my prince.”

Two delicate brown-skinned slave girls bowed. They were identical in feature and dress and moved with precise synchronization. After addressing them, Fatima dismissed her slaves. She and Faraj were alone.

“
Eid mubarak
and the peace of God be with you, my prince.”

Clearing his throat, he answered, “Uh…yes, and to you, as well and the peace of God be with you and your house.”

She gestured toward a red cushion beside her. He set down his package at his feet. Her dark eyes remained on him. He shrank under her scrutiny. She stared unabashedly without emotion. Her inscrutable expression concealed her thoughts.

He reached for the parcel and placed it before her. “I brought a gift for the passing of Ramadan.”

Her delicate eyebrows arched. “Such things are usually for children. Is that how you think of me still, as a child?”

When he stammered, she laughed, surprising him. Something about her drew him near, but he closed his fingers into tight fists until they dug into his palms.