Sultana's Legacy (30 page)

She crossed her arms over her chest and stood next to him. “Did you want to talk or snarl at me all evening, husband?”

He offered her his profile and looked out to sea. “Perhaps I am still the fool, but I thought you might care about this.”

He thrust a rolled parchment at her.

She stared down at it and then regarded him. “What is that? Is this what Ismail wanted to talk to you about?”

“Yes.” Faraj pushed the missive into her hands.

As she read the words on the page, she shook her head in disbelief.

“Is Muhammad trying to kill you?”

“He is Sultan, he may command me. I wish you would accept that fact.”

“But he demands that you lead a contingent of his army in his disastrous wars against Castilla-Leon! Faraj, you must refuse the order. Muhammad’s double-dealings started this feud. He has isolated Gharnatah from everyone. Now, he looks to his governors to counter his misfortune. You are not in the flower of youth. You cannot do this.”

Faraj glowered. He lunged at her and gripped her arms so tightly that pain shot through them. She refused to cry out and bit her tongue.

“Do you still care? Do you?”

“Yes! No matter what’s happened between us, I’ve never stopped caring.”

He shoved her away from him. “No, you care more for Gharnatah’s fate than mine. You blame Muhammad for our misfortunes. What about us, Fatima? What about the mockery that this marriage has become? Is that of Muhammad’s making as well or our own? You do not trust me anymore and I certainly no longer trust you.”

She did not expect to feel the sharp pain that stabbed at her heart after he spoke, or the sting of tears in her eyes. When had she last cried over anything?

She turned her back on him and crumpled the parchment.

They stood together on the belvedere, but never more far apart, for long and tense moments of silence.

Then Faraj said, “Our son has told me that Nasr’s name has been mentioned as the Sultan’s rival in Gharnatah for months.”

She rounded on him. “Nasr is no rival! He is loyal, although Muhammad denies him a position on the council of ministers. Nasr would never be so foolish as to usurp Muhammad’s rule. Those who take such risks would die. Your master has shown how he deals with threats, real or imagined, swiftly and mercilessly. I wish you would not endorse such talk about Nasr. It is just as likely that Muhammad encourages such misinformation so that he can move against my brother without causing alarm.”

His arms dropped to his side and he turned away sharply, looking at the closed door behind them. She followed his gaze, puzzled by the suddenness of his actions.

He said, “I acknowledge this is possible. Sometimes, I don’t know what to think.”

She swallowed back a sigh. How much longer would she have to lie to him, to hide her role in Nasr’s ascendancy? She gritted her teeth, determined to keep to her course until Nasr sat on the throne of their father. If Faraj did not trust her, she would have to be more cautious and avert his suspicions. 

He interrupted her reverie. “I cannot refuse the Sultan’s order. I leave in a week’s time.” When she rushed to speak, he held up his hand. “Do not try to convince me otherwise. You know I have no other choice.”

She shoved the parchment at him. He sighed and took Muhammad’s order, tucking it into his belt. “There is another matter we should discuss. The Sultan has arranged Ismail’s betrothal.”

Her eyes watered. Why hadn’t Ismail told her first? “When does he marry?”

“He shall marry a girl of the Hudayr clan in Qirbilyan in three years’ time, when she is of an age to wed.”

“Qirbilyan is just a border state buffering Gharnatah from Aragon. What do we gain by such a union?”

“I am uncertain. Ismail did not explain. Perhaps he does not know.”

“Why did he tell you first and not me?”

Faraj scowled. “He is my son, too. I love him no less than you.”

“I did not suggest otherwise. Why must you always….”

“Hush!” A deep frown marred his leathery complexion as he glared into the shadows by the door. She followed his gaze. He called out, “Ismail?”

The portal creaked on its hinges and Ismail came into view. He walked toward his parents.

Delight filled Fatima again. Faraj’s displeasure soured his expression, his lips pressed firmly together.

“How long were you standing there?”

“I just went in search of both of you. Marzuq told me you were out here. I heard you and
Ummi
talking. I did not wish to interrupt, but the
qa’id
is about to offer his blessing upon his sons. I knew you would want to be present, Father.”

Fatima embraced Ismail. “Your father told me the news of your betrothal. I am pleased, if you are also pleased.”

Ismail nodded.

Faraj waved him away. “Return to our guests. I shall come in a moment.”

His frown deepened and he continued staring in the direction Ismail had gone.

Fatima asked, “What is the matter?”

“Ismail has changed.”

“He seems a bit taller, if that is possible.”

“I don’t mean that! You haven’t been to Gharnatah, to see the rapport he shares with the Sultan.”

“If they share commonalities, recall that I was against Ismail’s appointment as a
wazir
. What would you have me do about it now?”

“You shouldn’t let your love for our son make you careless. He was listening to us. I heard his distinctive footfalls earlier. He did not find us only now.”

She drew back. “How dare you accuse our son of spying on us? Why would he ever do such a thing?”

Faraj only looked at her while her blood grew colder than the rain-filled breeze.
 

Prince Faraj

Two weeks after Aisha and Faridah departed to Lawsa, Faraj stood under a red-gold sky next to Khalid on the belvedere. Ships returned to the harbor at sunset, laden with treasures from the sea and faraway ports, all to enrich Malaka’s coffers. In his youth, Faraj had dreamt only of the wealth the governorship might offer. Now, he desired only peace and comfort in his home. Malaka no longer offered him sanctuary from his concerns.

He glanced at his captain. “I find it hard to understand how your man has uncovered none of my wife’s activities in these years.”

Khalid’s rapt gaze lingered on the vessels coming ashore. “Perhaps because the Sultana Fatima is guiltless.”

With a snort, Faraj rolled his eyes heavenward. “Or she is too clever for the Tuareg.”

Khalid gazed at him. “Master, have you considered that you might be wrong? Have you any reason to believe she is treacherous, other than your suspicions?”

For years, the same questions Khalid posed had plagued Faraj. Was he wrong? Was he a stupid, mistrustful fool who unjustly spied on his wife? What sort of man did such a thing to the woman he loved? Had he wronged Fatima instead, with the assumption that her desire to avenge her father’s death would override her good judgment?

It seemed he had no legitimate reason for concern. Fatima kept to herself whenever she went outdoors, or so the one assigned to watch her had said. She never met anyone on her long walks through town or while riding on the beach. On market day, she stopped at the usual stalls in the company of Marzuq and Leeta. She purchased everything their household needed. She never deviated from her usual route or strayed out of sight.

Faraj sighed. Why couldn’t he just accept her word that nothing was amiss?

“I shall seek God’s forgiveness in prayer tonight. I’ll decide tomorrow whether to remove the watchman.”

His captain’s sigh rent the crisp air. “As you wish, master.”

Faraj entered the house where their servants lit the torches in brackets. Leeta approached him, burdened with bound scrolls. A determined look etched fine lines into her face.

He put up his hands. She shook her head. “Forgive me, master, but I can’t continue without your approval of these expenditures. You have not reviewed them in weeks. I know the wedding has occupied your time. I wouldn’t be doing my duty as your treasurer if I did not insist you review household accounts, though I have no right to make demands.”

“Marzuq speaks the truth. He says you can be stubborn as an old mule.”

Leeta bristled and shook her gray- streaked tresses. “This old mule shall deal with that old ram later. Please, master, we must settle the accounts.”

Faraj sighed and chuckled. “Very well. Come to my receiving room.”

Nearly two hours later, he and Leeta sat by candlelight still.

He scratched his head where the hair had begun thinning last winter. “I could not keep track of all these matters without your attention to detail. My wife was wise to suggest your appointment as treasurer years ago. You have accounted for every coin spent and all in my possession. We seem to be spending a great deal on silk though. What is Haniya sewing so often?”

Leeta smiled. “Not just her. In the absence of her daughters, your wife also takes some of the silk stock to sew gifts for your children. I believe she also sends garments to Prince Ismail and her brother.”

Faraj’s gaze lifted from the ledger. “To whom, Nasr?”

“Yes, I believe so.” Leeta ducked her head. “I don’t think my Sultana would send gifts to the Sultan. Forgive me for speaking plainly.”

“No need to apologize. My wife has made her feelings about Muhammad very clear to everyone.” He paused. “Did you say Fatima sews these garments herself?”

When Leeta nodded, he shook his head. “Why doesn’t she let Haniya do them? I dearly love my wife, but sewing is not one of her superior talents. I don’t recall ever having seen her express much enjoyment in the task….”

A chill swept up his spine and he stood abruptly.

Leeta stared at him. “Master, what’s the matter?”

“Come with me.”

He did not wait to determine if she followed. Quick strides took him to Fatima’s door. He knocked. No one answered.

 “Perhaps she’s asleep.”

He tried the door handle. When had Fatima started locking her room?

The seed of doubts planted in his mind now burgeoned. He pounded the door and demanded Fatima open it. From his position down the hall, Niranjan eyed him.

He glared at the eunuch. “Why is this door locked?”

Niranjan shrugged.

Just then, the portal swung open. Fatima stood in the doorway, dressed in her sleeping tunic. Her slim hand gripped the door. Ink besmirched her fingertips. “What’s the meaning of this? Have you gone mad, husband?”

He strode past her, his gaze scouring the room.

She tapped his shoulder. “What are you searching for?”

“Where are they?”

“What? What are you doing?”

He shook his head. He desperately wanted to be wrong, but deep in his heart, he knew what he would find. “You cannot hide them from me forever. Even you do not possess such cunning.”

He opened her clothing chests and rummaged through them.

Fatima grabbed his arm. “What’s the matter with you?”

He pushed her aside and went through the next chest and the next. Still nothing. A throbbing pain centered on his forehead. Her loud curses made it worse.

“Damn you, look at what you’re doing! Faraj! Have you lost your senses?

His hands fisted at his side. “Where are the silks you send to Nasr?”

“What? Why do you want to know?”

“Do you believe I’m a fool, Fatima?”

“Yes, at this moment I do believe that! If you wanted to see the robes, you could have just asked me!”

She went to a chest beside the smaller one where she kept her jewelry and handed him two bolts of silk. “They’re nearly finished. Are you happy now?”

He laid the bolts in the chest again and straightened. He raked hands through his hair. “I should not have…that is….”

He could not continue, not with her eyes damning him for a wary fool. His head bowed, he turned to leave.

Then he noticed the gleam of something shiny under the far corner of the chest. He removed the silk again and realized the coffer was not made of solid cedar wood. Instead, a thin lattice framework, neatly constructed, secured the bottom. Metals gleamed in tiny dots reflected from underneath the frame.

He raised his foot and smashed it with his boot. Fatima screamed. Sparkling gems and pearls inlaid in gold and silver brimmed inside, as did one golden
dinar
atop the pile.

He snatched up the gold coin and frowned at it. “Why is this here? Why are you keeping jewels under a false bottom in this chest? You never keep
dinars
. I never do. Leeta always has our money.”

“I keep my valuables in many places, husband. Would you like to ransack my room and find all of them? Leeta must have dropped the coin somehow. I found it.”

Faraj looked at their treasurer, who dipped her gaze. “Forgive me, but that is impossible. I have just reviewed household finances with the master. Every coin in his possession or spent. All accounted for to the very last
dinar
. I have never missed a coin in all my years as treasurer.”

Faraj raked his hand through the precious stones and more coins came into view. Startled, he looked up at Fatima. Then something coarse brushed against his finger. He gripped the parchment and withdrew it.

Fatima lunged for the letter. “You have no right to search my things!”

He stood and held her off with one hand, though she desperately snatched at the parchment. He read aloud the still wet
Naksh
calligraphy smeared across the letter.

“
Greetings in the name of God. More gifts for those that aid us to overthrow the tyrant. Do not let your courage fail, when we are so close to our ambition. Soon you shall hold the prize. As ever your loving sister, Fatima
.”

He glared at her. “More secrets sewn in silk, hmm? You’ve returned to your old tricks?”

She stopped her struggles and crossed her hands over her chest. “Old tricks are the best ones.”

His fist opened and his hand swung wide. He backhanded her so hard that she crumpled in a heap on the floor. He crushed the parchment between his fingers. Their eyes met. Hers glittered like the hardest jewel. Blood trickled from her nose.