by Nora Roberts
“Families are encouraged to have their women educated here in Jaquir. Traditions can be flexible, you see. Jaquir needs women doctors, women teachers, women bankers. For now, this is to make it less complicated for our women to receive medical treatment, to be educated, and to handle their money. It will not always be so.”
Philip turned back from his study of the building. “You understand that.”
“Very well. I work closely with the Minister of Labor. It is an ambition of mine to see the people of my country, men and women, strengthen Jaquir with knowledge and skill. With education comes knowledge, but discontent comes as well, and a need to know more, to see more, to have more. Jaquir will be forced to adjust—and yet blood does not change. Women will wear the veil because they choose to wear it. They will cling to the harem because they find comfort there.”
“You believe that?”
“I know that.” After signaling to the driver, he folded his hands on his lap. He was a poised, erudite man not yet twenty-three. He would be king. Not from the moment of birth had he been allowed to forget it. “I was educated in America, loved an American woman, enjoyed many American things. But I have bedouin blood. Adrianne had an American mother and was raised in the West. But she has bedouin blood. It will course through her veins until the day she dies.”
“That makes her what she is. It doesn’t change her.”
“Adrianne’s life has not been a simple one. How much does she hate my father?”
“Hate’s a strong word.”
“But apt.” Fahid lifted a hand, palm up. It was an important question, and the main reason he’d insisted on having this private time with Philip. “Passions of love and hate are never simple. If you love her, take her away after the marriage. While my father lives, keep her out of Jaquir. He, too, does not forgive.”
The prayer call sounded, a deep-throated song. With little confusion and no questions doors closed and men knelt to lower their faces to the cracked ground. Fahid stepped out of the car. His robes were silk, but he blended with the other men who submitted themselves to Allah.
Restless, Philip stepped out into the afternoon heat. He could see the muezzin on the steps to the mosque calling the faithful. It was a strong scene, almost humbling, with the baking sun and the hot smells of sweat and spice from the suqs, the robed men with foreheads lowered to the ground. Women stood back huddled in what shade could be found. They might pray in silence, but were not permitted to answer the call. A few Western businessmen waited with the patience of the resigned.
As he watched, Philip began to understand Fahid. The people didn’t merely adhere or submit to tradition. They embraced it, they perpetuated it. This way of life revolved around religion and male honor. Buildings could spring up, education could be offered, but nothing would change the blood.
He turned away from Mecca and looked toward the palace. Its gardens were a mist of color in the distance. Its green-tiled roofs shone in the sun. Somewhere within its walls was Adrianne. Would the prayer call draw her to the window?
The device Adrianne carried was very sensitive. For this brief rendezvous she left the rest of her tools hidden in her room and took only the small amplifier, the brass key, and a file. For caution’s sake her black slacks and shirt were also left behind. If she were stopped tonight, it would be best if she were found in long skirts.
She used the tunnel, making her way as women had for generations from their quarters to the main palace. Some would have gone gladly, others resignedly. Always with purpose, Adrianne thought, as she did tonight. Her sandals were silent on the worn floor. The way, as it had been from the beginning, was lit with torches rather than with electric light. Their low, sputtering flames added shadows, and romance.
A man might pass there, a king or a prince. But at this hour the palace slept and she walked alone.
She worried about Philip. It was always possible his rooms were watched. If he were caught in the wrong place at the wrong time, he would be deported before they could exchange a word. She might be beaten or confined to the women’s quarters, but that was a small price to pay for the ultimate goal.
She came out of the tunnel into the king’s apartment. He would be asleep in the bedroom beyond. Alone—whichever wife he had chosen for the night sent back to her own bed after her duty was done.
She could smell him here faintly, in the sandalwood incense he preferred. And she wondered how many times her mother had been summoned to these rooms like a bitch singled out for breeding.
For a moment, just a moment, she was tempted to fling open the door to his bedroom, to wake him out of smug sleep and tell him everything she felt, everything that had sprouted and grown out of those early bitter seeds. But that satisfaction would last only as long as the words did. She wanted more than that, much more.
The guards didn’t change until an hour before dawn. Adrianne glanced at the luminous dial of her watch and gauged the time she had. Enough, she thought. More than enough.
The hallway was deserted, dark, silent. From the blueprint in her mind she turned down it and made her way to the adjoining wing. She moved to the door of the vault room and, crouching, began to pick the lock. Her hands were steady enough, but they were sweating. Annoyed, she wiped them on her skirt before she finished the job. With a quick look right and left she slipped inside, then shut and locked the door behind her.
When a hand clamped over her mouth, her heart stopped. When it started again, she swore at Philip. Jerking away, she switched the narrow beam of her flashlight in his face.
“You do that again, you’re going to lose that hand.”
“Glad to see you too.” He bent to kiss her. “Had a little trouble with the lock, did you?”
“No.” She started to brush by him, then turned and threw her arms around his neck. “Philip, I didn’t know I’d miss you so much.”
He nuzzled into her hair, into the scent, into the texture. “Well. It gets better and better. What were you doing all day while I was getting a tour of the city?”
“Drinking endless cups of tea, listening to a recital on fertility and childbirth, and being fitted for my wedding dress.”
“You don’t sound as if you enjoyed any of it.”
“It’s difficult, I didn’t know how difficult to deceive my grandmother. And I don’t like being pinned into white satin for a wedding that’s only a show.”
“Then we’ll make it more.”
He said it lightly, but she couldn’t find any amusement in his eyes. “You know how I feel about that, and this isn’t the time to discuss it. Have you looked at the vault?”
“Top to bottom.” He shone his light on the steel door. “From the specs, there’s an alarm wired to each lock. Time-consuming, but fairly straightforward. We’ll clamp those as you suggested. I’ve a good feel for combinations, so it shouldn’t take long.”
“This should help.” She handed him a dial as thick as his thumb and half again as wide as a quarter. “It’s an amplifier. I’ve been working on it for a while. Put it against the door there and it should pick up a sneeze three rooms away.”
Thoughtful, Philip played his light over it. “You designed this?”
“Redesigned, really. I wanted something compact as well as sensitive.”
“For someone who didn’t finish school, you do have an amazing knack for electronics.”
“Natural talent. I estimate an hour to open the vault.”
“Forty minutes, fifty on the outside.”
“Let’s give it sixty.” She smiled and touched his cheek. “No reflection on your talent, darling.”
“A thousand pounds says I do it in forty.”
“Done. Now then, you won’t be able to start safely until three. At two-thirty I’ll start on the alarms. It’ll work more smoothly if you come directly here. Don’t touch anything until three. I’ll join you as soon as I can.”
“I don’t like the idea of your handling that part alone.”
“I’d be handling th
e entire job alone if I had my way. Start with the top dial and work down.”
“We’ve been over this, Addy. I know how to open a vault.”
She walked past him, drawing out the key. “Don’t let your ego get in the way.”
“I won’t, I’m too busy dodging yours. How can I be sure you’ve cut the alarms?”
“Faith.” At his expression she lifted her chin. “I’ve worked too hard, planned too carefully to make a mistake now. Trust me, or leave me to it.”
He watched her run the file delicately over the key. “I’m not used to working with a partner.”
“Neither am I.”
“Then it’s fortunate that we’re both retiring after this. Addy, I’d feel better if you weren’t so tense.”
“I’d feel better if you were in London.” She held up a hand before he could speak. “We may not have a chance to talk this through again. If anything goes wrong, if it looks like something’s going wrong, I want you to bail out. Promise me.”
“You won’t.”
“Can’t. There’s a difference.”
“You still don’t understand, do you?” He caught her chin in his hand, fingers tense. “It still isn’t getting through. You can make noises all you want about not believing in love, not being able to feel it or accept it, but that doesn’t change the way I feel about you. There’s going to come a time, Addy, when this is behind us and it’ll be just you and me. You’re going to have to deal with that.”
“This is a job, it has nothing to do with love.”
“Doesn’t it? You’re in this as much because you loved your mother as because you hate your father. Maybe more. I’m here because everything you are and feel is important to me.”
“Philip.” She put a hand lightly to his wrist. “I never know what to say to you.”
“It’ll come to you.” Always one to take advantage of the moment, he drew her closer. “Are you going to invite me back to your room?”
“I’d like to.” She closed her eyes and enjoyed the kiss. “But I can’t. How about a raincheck?”
“As long as it’s soon.”
She turned away to fit the key into the lock again. Her ears were tuned to hear the slight grate of metal on metal where it didn’t slide true. “I can’t risk unlocking it now. The more detailed filing has to wait until the alarms are off. But I think …” She slipped the key in, then out again. “It’s going to be close.” She stopped, and with the key still warm in her hand stared at the door. “It’s just beyond there, only a few feet away. I’m surprised we can’t feel the heat.”
“Have you ever considered keeping it?”
“When I was young. I’d imagine it—imagine putting it around my mother’s neck and watching the life come back into her face. I imagined putting it around my own and feeling …”
“Feeling what?”
She smiled a little. “Like a princess.” She dropped the key back into its pouch. “No, it’s not for me, but for all the tragedy that’s followed it over the years, this time there’ll be some good.” She shrugged, feeling foolish. “I suppose that sounds idealistic and stupid.”
“Yes.” He brought her hand to his lips. “But you see I only lusted after you before I knew you were idealistic and stupid.” He kept her hand in his as they walked to the door. “Addy, be careful. I mean with your father.”
“I rarely make the same mistake twice, Philip.” She put the listening device against the door and waited until she was greeted with only silence. “Don’t worry about me, I’ve been playing princess for years.”
He caught her before she could slip out of the door. “Adrianne, you don’t have to play at what you are.”
Chapter Twenty-Five
She wasn’t convinced he was right. Over the next few days Adrianne had to call on all her poise, all her control. Part of the ability may have been a matter of her royal blood. As far as Adrianne was concerned, the bulk of the talent had been inherited from a Nebraska girl who had once taken Hollywood by storm.
She attended parties—countless luncheons and buffets hosted by various female relatives, where the talk was invariably the same. She listened to advice and answered questions any bride-to-be might expect. She saw Philip in snatches, and never alone. Hours were spent in fittings, more still shopping with aunts and cousins.
Gifts were already pouring in from all over the world. That was one aspect of the deception she hadn’t anticipated, but which she’d turned to her own advantage. Gold plates, silver urns, Sung vases from heads of state and royal allies. Revenge that had once been intensely personal had spread to encompass friends as well as strangers. Though they were unaware, princes and presidents had become part of the game.
As was expected, she acknowledged the gifts herself. Time was eaten up writing letters and receiving guests who were flown in for the ceremony.
But there was one, one very important gift that had been sent from New York. It had been Philip’s job to call Celeste and request it. Now it sat among the others, a beautifully lacquered Chinese box. A puzzle box with a delightfully complex pattern of sliding doors and springs. In a matter of days, Adrianne would nest The Sun and the Moon in the secret drawer and ship it, as she would ship the vases and platters, home.
The brazen and potentially dangerous plan of smuggling the necklace out on her person could be rejected. Abdu, through his own pride, had given her the perfect route to revenge.
She saw him only once more before her wedding day, and then it was she who was obliged to approach him. Written permission from a male relation was still necessary for a woman’s outing, princess or not.
Adrianne stood, hands folded at the ends of her long sleeves. She wore only the diamond Philip had given her, and the earrings which had been a gift from Celeste. The amethyst was already put away. It would be liquidated for the plumbing in the clinic.
“Thank you for seeing me.”
Her father’s offices were a symphony of royal red and blue. A sword with a jeweled hilt hung on the wall at his back. He sat behind an ebony desk with his ringed fingers drumming impatiently on the surface.
“I have only a short time to give you. You should be preparing for tomorrow.”
The pride she’d inherited from him flared. The skill she’d inherited from her mother banked it so that her voice was quiet. “Everything’s ready.”
“Then your time should be spent contemplating marriage and your duties.”
Before she spoke, she forced her hands to relax. “I’ve thought of little else. I must thank you for arranging everything.” They both knew that the cost of a daughter’s wedding was another way a man was judged.
“Is that all?”
“I’ve also come to ask your permission to take Yasmin and my other sisters to the beach for a few hours today. I’ve had very little time to get to know them.”
“The time was there; you chose to live it elsewhere.”
“They are still my sisters.”
“They are women of Jaquir, daughters of Allah; you are not and have never been.”
Keeping her head lowered and her voice quiet was one of the most difficult things she’d ever done. “Neither you nor I can deny blood, however much we might wish to.”
“I can deny my daughters the corruption of your influence.” He spread his hands on the desk. “Tomorrow you will be married in a ceremony as is fitting your rank. Then you will leave Jaquir and I will no longer think of you. Inshallah. To me you have been dead since you left Jaquir. There is no need to deny what doesn’t exist.”
She stepped forward not caring whether she was struck for it, or worse. “There will come a time,” she said softly, “when you will think of me. I swear it.”
That night, alone in her room, she didn’t dream. But she wept.
The prayer call woke her on her wedding day. Adrianne pushed the windows open, welcoming the heat and the light. This day would be the longest and perhaps the most difficult of her life. She had only a little time before women an
d servants would invade her privacy and begin the ordeal of dressing her.
Letting her mind go blank, she filled the huge sunken tub with hot water and laced it with bath oil.
If the wedding were real, real in her heart, would there be excitement, joy, anxiety? All she felt now was the dull throb of grief for what couldn’t be. The ceremony would be a lie, as the promises made in such ceremonies from one end of the world to another were so often lies.
What was marriage but bondage for a woman? She took a man’s name and forfeited her own, and with it her rights to be other than a wife. His will, his desires, his honor, never hers.
In Jaquir it was called sharaf, the personal honor of men. Laws were built around it, traditions grew from it. If it was lost, it could never be recovered. So women of the family were guarded fanatically—or their chastity was, for a man was responsible for his daughter’s behavior as long as she lived. In place of freedom they were given servants, an absence of physical labor, and empty lives. This gilt-edged slavery went on and on as women allowed themselves to be sold into marriage, just as she, for the price of revenge, was allowing herself to be.
But what her father had said had been true. She wasn’t a woman of Jaquir, and Philip had no bedouin blood. It was all pretense, all masquerade. On this, the most important day of her life, the day she had waited for since childhood, she had to remember that. She might have had the blood of Abdu in her veins, but she was not his daughter.
When it was over, when the long fanfare of celebration had ended, she would do what she had come to do. What she had sworn to do. Revenge, still hot after so many years, would be both wild and sweet.
When it was done, all ties to family would be irrevocably severed. She would suffer for that, ache for that. Adrianne knew it already. There was a price for everything.
The women of the house joined her while she was still damp from her bath. They came to scent her skin, to scent her hair, to darken her eyes with kohl, and redden her lips. It became like a dream, the incessant music of the drums, the feel of fingertips on her skin, the sound of women’s voices murmuring. Her grandmother sat in a gilded chair instructing, approving, dabbing her eyes.
