Realisation gonged in Nalini’s mind. How had she not seen it before? Aunt Ríma still had a son from her first marriage. Samu Gherda was Sultan Jashan the Fanatic’s last living male relative. “Ríma intends to put Samu on the throne,” Nalini said. “If uncle Talekh and aunt Ríma have no sons and seize the throne, then Samu will assume the throne, undoing Father’s revolt.”
Lord Krarim nodded and gave her a flicker of a smile, like she had gone up a notch in his estimation. “I believe you are right,” he said. “And let us not forget that Sultan Razilan, May He Be Worthy of Abyar, gave her three thousand of his men, which she can now you use against the Crown.”
A figurative pincer locked around Nalini’s head. She rubbed her eyes and head, her fingers pressing on the spots as she attempted to loosen the tightness. “How many men does that mean Date-Palm has?” she asked.
Lord Krarim scratched at his turban as he did the calculation in his mind. “Ten thousand, I estimate,” he said.
Curse Abyar! Even if all of the armies west of Date-Palm Port now combined, the royal forces would only have a numerical supremacy of a few thousand. That was not enough to deter an ambitious woman, wanting to make herself regent to an impressionable boy. She would practically rule the Kingdom and enforce the most hardline, fanatical interpretation of Abyar’s laws.
“Does His Majesty, Sultan Wumla, know of this news?” Emilio asked.
“Not yet,” Lord Krarim replied. “I wanted to discuss the matter with Princess Nalini first.”
Nalini’s chest contracted. Any measure to counter Date-Palm needed to go through her brother. Wumla had seldom listened to their father, even after being shouted at or belted. Invisible weight spaded into Nalini’s shoulders, as she could not remember a time Wumla had listened to her. She had more hope moving a mountain with her bare hands than getting Wumla to act.
But Nalini had to do something. She owed it to her father to at least speak to Wumla about his response. “I think it is time we paid His Majesty a visit,” she said. “Come on, let’s see how he’s doing.”
She stood up and led the way to Wumla’s bedchambers. He was the Sultan now, but he had yet to make any effort to move into the royal bedchambers. In so many ways, the lack of action typified him.
Nalini grimaced at the thought, as she turned a corner and approached Wumla’s bedchambers, with Emilio and Lord Krarim close behind. Captain Ghasím, who had guarded both her father and Razilan, stood outside Wumla’s room, alongside Haluk. “I take it His Majesty is inside?” Nalini asked.
Captain Ghasím frowned, to show her what he thought of the question. “Yes, he is in his chambers,” he said, unable to hide the derision in his voice. “He is… resting, I think.”
How can he be resting at this hour? It was mid-afternoon, there was so much to do, and he was the Sultan of Al-Jaraba. He had a damn kingdom to rule. “If he’s resting,” Nalini said. “I have to wake him. There are matters I need to discuss with him.”
Captain Ghasím bowed and opened the door. Nalini, Emilio and Lord Krarim subsequently entered. Sultana Yasmeena, Wumla’s wife, sat on a rocking chair by the open window, reading a book. She looked up as they entered, before she grunted and carried on reading, with the book resting on her swelling, pregnant belly.
Nalini turned her attentions away from her sister-in-law. If Yasmeena wanted to be rude and unwelcoming, Nalini was not going to say anything to her either. Instead, Nalini turned her attentions to her brother.
Sultan Wumla lay in his bed, on his stomach. His oval eyes were open and veiny, like he had either slept or had been crying. Or both. “Hello,” he said, faintly.
Nalini inhaled slowly. She was going to need the patience of a saint from the Holy Circle to get her brother to act. She just knew it. “How are you feeling?” she asked.
“Tired.”
Yasmeena snorted. “How can you be tired?” she said. “You haven’t got out of bed today.”
“I don’t know,” he said. “I just feel tired all the time.”
“Well if you got out of bed, mayhap you’d feel better.”
Nalini ignored her sister-in-law. She had learned over the past six years that ignoring her was the best way to deal with her. Instead, Nalini focused on Wumla. “Brother,” she said, softly. “It is pleasant and sunny outside. Some fresh air would do you well. And… it would give us the chance to talk.”
Wumla shook his head on his pillow. “I don’t want to go outside,” he said. He then turned his head the other way and sobbed. “I don’t want to see anyone.”
This is absurd. Like their mother, Wumla had suffered bouts where he had been tired and melancholic before. But never like this. What was the matter with him? “But you are the Sultan,” Nalini said. “You can’t avoid people all the time. You see them at meal times.”
“I eat my meals in my chamber now. Alone with Yasmeena.”
“How lucky I am,” Yasmeena said, thick with sarcasm.
Nalini glared at her sister-in-law. “That was neither kind nor helpful,” she said.
Yasmeena laughed. “Kind? Helpful? What your family did to mine was neither kind nor helpful. It was treason and against everything Abyar stands for! This family is cursed for what you all did. What you are getting now is justice. And you deserve all of Abyar’s wrath.”
Nalini grinded her teeth. Yasmeena had always resented House Reba for dethroning her father and for being forced to marry Wumla. But this was the first time she had expressed joy at the misfortune befalling Nalini’s family.
Nevertheless, Yasmeena was part of House Reba now. And if she did not play her part in getting Wumla to act like a sultan, she would share in its consequences. “You could be carrying the heir to the Kingdom in your womb,” Nalini said. “One day, your child may sit on the throne. But he won’t if uncle Talekh and aunt Ríma march on the capital.”
“Lady Ríma is kin to me,” Yasmeena retorted. “She will not harm any child of mine.”
“Lady Ríma is an ambitious woman and a witch. If your child is a boy, she will make sure that he never gets near the throne, one way or another.”
Yet, no sooner had she said it when her stomach went queasy. Would her aunt really kill a babe? It sounded like something an ambitious, ruthless person would do. But that did not mean she’d do it. After-all, uncle Talekh had spared her son, Samu. Would Ríma not do the same for Wumla’s and Yasmeena’s child?
Nalini looked at Lord Krarim. She wanted verification on what she had said. Lord Krarim upheld his impassive façade, before nodding once. Nalini sighed with relief at his validation.
“Uncle Talekh and aunt Ríma will not come near my child,” Wumla stated. “I will personally stop them.”
Nalini did her utmost to keep a straight face. But she could not stop her eyebrow from raising. “H-how will you do that?” she asked.
Wumla sat up. “I will stop them by leading an army.” He then looked at Lord Krarim. “My Lord,” he said. “Call the banners. Tell them that Date-Palm has committed treason, that we are facing a revolt, and that every lord that he should arrive with his men when they come for Razilan’s funeral.”
“What?” Yasmeena spluttered. “You can’t be serious-”
“Of course, Your Majesty,” Lord Krarim interjected. “I will have the pigeons sent out tonight, with all possible haste.”
Subsequently, Lord Krarim took his leave, shutting the door behind him. The clap of wood on wood echoed around the room, amplifying the silence.
“Why the silence?” Wumla asked. “Aren’t you happy with my decision?”
Nalini glanced first at her husband and then at Princess Yasmeena. Both looked at one another and then at Nalini, humming with hesitancy. It was like they foresaw disaster approaching, like an onrushing giant wave upon a city.
Nalini did not blame them. Wumla had no experience of war. Against a seasoned strategist like uncle Talekh, he stood no chance. “W-we are happy with your decision,” she said, wondering if there was a grain of truth to
her words. “You have made the decision Father and Razilan would have made. Now, you must make them proud.”
7
-Too Late To Vacillate-
(Nalini)
“May His Majesty, Sultan Razilan, be judged favourably,” Grand Cleric Faas proclaimed. “May He Be Worthy of Abyar.”
“May He Be Worthy of Abyar,” Nalini and the others responded in unison.
Subsequently, Captain Ghasím, Saíf, Haluk, Peder, Egemen and Jar’eth lifted his body, which was wrapped in a shroud of green, emblazoned with the knot symbol of their House, and lowered the late sultan into the pit.
Thud.
The noise stabbed Nalini’s gut. There was no mistaking that thud. It represented the end; that there was no way back; that most people, including herself, would end up in a coffin, buried six feet under, with the same thud stabbing their loved one’s guts. Nalini just hoped that when her turn came it would not be for many decades and that she would have lived a long life, unlike-
“Nalini,” Emilio whispered. “You must go forward.”
Nalini cursed under her breath. She had been taken by her emotions like a stupid, weak woman. She should have stepped forward already and been among the first to shovel earth on top of the coffin, as Sultan Wumla, their mother, and Dowager Sultana Olella were doing; as was outlined in the Rakimist sect of the Believers of Abyar. An immediate family member was commanded to bury the dead, as it was the starting point for adapting to life without that person. One could not deny that a loved one had died after he or she had physically partaken in the burial.
But Nalini could not admit to being emotionally overcome by the occasion. Not to her husband, and not before the noblemen of the Kingdom. So, she snarled at Emilio, instead. “I know what I have to do,” she hissed. “There isn’t a shovel free, in case you hadn’t noticed.”
“Err… there’s one free now,” he said, pointing. “Do you want to go first or shall I?”
Nalini looked forward. Her mother held out a spade for her, and Nalini grimaced. She tried so hard not to look like a fool; yet, she always did, somehow. “Razilan was family to you, too,” she said, lowly. “Let’s do this together.”
Subsequently, she marched forward. Her mother gave her a spade. Nalini sweated, as much from the heat as from the exertion, as she shoveled up a load of earth. Dust rose, and she coughed as she pushed the earth on top of the coffin. She did it once more and then handed her spade to Lord Anané.
Nalini stood and observed the powerfully built lord chuck the earth into the pit, like it were flour. Lord Anané’s efforts ensured that neither she nor anyone else could see the coffin anymore, and the realisation knifed Nalini’s neck. How was Razilan dead? At twenty-eight, he had been in the prime of his life. Seldom had he ever been unwell until he caught a chill. How was life so perilous?
Nalini’s back spasmed, jolting her out of her thoughts. As she massaged the muscle, she observed her surroundings. It was the first time she had been to the shrine that her father had built for himself and his dynasty, several leagues down the Sapphire River from Flourish. Her intuition told Nalini that when Sultan Daquan had organised for the shrine to be built, he had not envisioned that he would be buried in it so soon; nor that his heir would join him in both the shrine and the Land of Judgement shortly afterwards.
Nalini shook her head and yawned. The familiar sensations of weight and exhaustion flooded back, like the tide at night. She wanted to go back onto the ship that would take her back to the capital. Mayhap, she could lie down in the cabin and sleep for a couple of hours...
But then Nalini caught sight of Lady Vanna Elnakhya of Greatmouth. She stood a few paces away, next to Lord Krarim, his wife and their three children, the latter four of whom would remain at Flourish during the campaign for safety. But Nalini could not spot Lady Vanna’s husband, Lord Adelram. “Lady Vanna,” she said, walking up to her. “I do not see your husband here. Is he on his way?”
Lady Vanna stuttered. She was a small, slender woman of forty-four, but she looked older than her years and seemed to shrink and age with each word she stuttered on. “I-I’m sorry, Princess Nalini,” she said. “He sent me in his stead.”
Nalini’s innards turned the wrong way and sweat moistened the back of her neck. “Did Lord Adelram at least send you with his army?” she asked, even though she suspected the answer was negative. “He has been called by His Majesty to defend the Kingdom from a rebellion led by fanatics. Can we not expect his support?”
Lady Vanna shook her head. “M-my husband vows that he is loyal and that he will never side with the rebels,” she said. “But it s-saddens him to say that he cannot spare a man at this moment.”
Nalini did her utmost to keep a straight, dispassionate face as she grinded her teeth. She had been counting on Lord Adelram Elnakhya and his two thousand soldiers. He had been a loyal vassal to her father; so loyal, Sultan Daquan had handed him the keys to House Reba’s ancestral stronghold of Greatmouth as a reward, following the rebellion. Nalini had questioned the wisdom of her father’s decision at the time. Now, she wished he had never given Lord Adelram the fort.
“Most of my husband’s men are at sea,” Lady Vanna continued. “They are keeping watch of the coastline against pirates, as well as the Galutli, Lorancan, and Al-Yutamite fleets. And the men that are not aboard a ship are helping to keep the city under control. We had riots not long after His Majesty, Sultan Daquan, died.”
Liar. Nalini had read nothing about riots in Greatmouth recently. Lord Adelram, therefore, had an ulterior motive for holding back his men. She would have to investigate it when she returned to the palace.
Nevertheless, she did not want to give a hint of her suspicions or intentions to Lady Vanna either. “Thank you for relaying your lord husband’s message,” she said, diplomatically. “It is appreciated.” Although, his men would have been appreciated even more.
“You are most kind, Princess Nalini.”
As the conversation concluded, Pallab Bazak walked past them without a glance. Nalini found that odd. “Pallab,” she said. “You will not give me your condolences?”
Pallan halted, turned around and snorted. “No words can describe how sorry I am for your loss… and for that of Al-Jaraba,” he said, feigning sorrow. “My deepest sympathies go out to you and your family. May Abyar console you in these difficult times.”
Nalini tensed, aggravating her spasmed back. Pallab’s manner irked her. Just because Pallab had not seen eye-to-eye with Razilan did not mean he needed to mock the dead or her.
But Nalini decided against speaking her mind for the second time in a matter of moments. There was another matter she needed to discuss with Pallab that was more pressing. “I don’t see your brother here,” she said. “Can we expect Lord Nahmet to arrive soon, to support the Crown against the fanatics of Date-Palm?”
“You think he tells me his plans?” Pallab responded, with a derisive laugh. “I seldom hear from my brother. And when I do, it is to give me orders at court. Nothing more and nothing less.”
“You do realise that if Lord Nahmet doesn’t come-”
“I assure you, my brother has foreseen all possible scenarios and outcomes. He probably foresaw them all before you did. But if you would like to know, the last I heard from Lord Nahmet was that he was still dealing with skirmishes west of Carob Castle. If anything, he needs more men. It is only his pride that stops him from asking the Crown for help.
“Besides,” Pallab continued. “Until recently His Majesty, Sultan Razilan, would have declined any request in the hope that we Gautamist heretics would get smashed, and then he could come take Carob Castle for the Rakimists. And himself. So, Princess Nalini, bearing all that in mind, what would you like my brother to do?”
A hot flush rose to Nalini’s head, before sweat dribbled down her back. She didn’t have a clue what to do. And what could she do? Lord Nahmet had been fighting the Al-Yutamites for half a year, resembling a man trying to put out a house-fire only for another t
o go up in flames. All Nalini knew was that she needed Lord Nahmet’s men, and that Al-Jaraba barely had enough men to fight a war on one front, let alone two.
How can this be happening? How can all that my father built crumble so quickly?
“Well?” Pallab asked, with his smuggest smile plastered on his handsome face. “Any suggestions?”
Nalini glared at him. Pallab’s conceit clawed under her skin. She wanted to make him pay for his smugness, and an idea chimed in her mind. Nalini may not have had any suggestions for his damn brother. But she sure had one for him. “We need every man who can hold a sword to march to war,” she said. “You can be the symbolic force for Carob Castle.”
Pallab tilted his head, to give him a dark façade that made Nalini want to recoil. But then his smirk widened. “You honour me,” he said, in a voice filled with sarcasm. “Any right-thinking man would rather fight fanatics than go on a voyage that would’ve given him fame and fortune to last until the end of time. I cannot thank you enough, honestly.” He looked past Nalini and his smirk turned into a pleasant, amiable smile. “Ah, Your Majesty,” he said. “It appears that I have been volunteered to-”
“Nalini, we cannot go to war,” Wumla interjected; his eyes were bloodshot and darted from side to side. “We are cursed. The people of Date-Palm are more devout than we are, and Abyar is on their side. He would not have brought us fewer soldiers than them if He wanted us to win.”
Nalini internally groaned. She should have guessed that her brother would change his mind. Wumla had never stuck to a plan in his life. Why would leading his forces to save the Kingdom be any different? “If it makes you feel better,” she said. “Sultan Jashan had more men than Father at the start of the revolt, and the clerics all said that Sultan Jashan had Abyar on his side too. And look at how that turned out for-”
“No, you don’t understand. I feel exhausted. I cannot take this heat. And there are rumours that the Blue Sickness is spreading throughout the garrison. We will never win with sick men.”
The Sultan's Daughter Page 5
