The Healer's Warrior

by Lewin, Renee

  Moosa Hassan’s wise, gruff voice rushed into Tareq’s thoughts: “She is called Pearl.”

  “My wife will be… She’s… Jem’ya?”

  Suddenly, things became so clear, destined, beautiful and, finally, impossible. “This is crazy. She wouldn’t...” He shook his head, but his heart was beating maybe, maybe, maybe.

  Qadir chased pleasure but he was never fulfilled. Tareq understood now that what Qadir really wanted was love. His brother was a humorous, generous, good man. He could have easily found a loving woman to spend his life with, but he was afraid and felt unworthy, just like Tareq did, so he accepted a woman’s body but never her love.

  Their mother and father’s relationship had been a damaging, paralyzing example of love and commitment. Tareq feared allowing his self to be weak for a woman, thinking he’d only end up hurt, and would become as bitter and cruel as his father had. Tareq’s worst fear was to love a woman to death.

  That wasn’t love. His father didn’t kill his mother because he loved her. He killed her because his ego was bigger than his heart. Love was not to blame. Tareq could now see how his low self-esteem and his fear had inflated his own ego, and he realized what foolish pride had done to his life. If he hadn’t let his ego tell him he didn’t need a woman’s affection, he and Jem’ya could have been happily together a year ago. He never would’ve gone looking for a fight against Cambe rebels to feed his ego, he never would have ended up in Tikso, never would have killed Kibwe, and never would have taken Jem’ya from her family.

  Life is too short to deny myself and hurt the people I care about. Perhaps he was misinterpreting the prophecy, but even if Jem’ya was not supposed to be his wife, he knew with clarity that she fulfilled him like no one else, and he wasn’t going to allow his ego to destroy their closeness anymore.

  No longer contented to sleep the day away, Tareq changed out of his pajamas and into white pants and a yellow tunic shirt. Asif came to his door and they spoke for a moment. Then Tareq asked a passing maidservant if she knew where Jem’ya was. She directed him to the palace library. He hurried through the halls to see her. When he entered the library and saw Jem’ya laughing with his translator at a table, Jem’ya turned in her seat at the sound of Tareq’s footsteps. “Tareq, wa’alaydah,” she smiled shyly. “Kef halak?”

  “Wow,” Tareq grinned. “Perfect. Wa’alaydah, Jem’ya. I’m well, shila kef.”

  “That means ‘Thank you’, right?”

  Tareq nodded. He looked to the skinny, wild-haired translator. “You are teaching her our language?”

  “Yes, your Highness. Is that permitted?”

  “Yes, of course. I’m afraid I have been too self-absorbed to teach her myself.” Jem’ya shook her head with a soft smile on her face. His heart fluttered as he gazed at her. Jem’ya’s beauty was greater than he remembered. Before, his ego had stopped him from really seeing and fully appreciating her features. Now, his palms were sweating. “Could I have a minute with Lady Jem’ya, please?”

  “Certainly, King Tareq.” The scholar stood, bowed and left.

  Tareq sat down in the chair next to Jem’ya. “You are in better spirits now?”

  “Yes. Kef?” she laughed.

  He smiled, wanting to give her a big kiss on the cheek but restraining himself. “I am feeling better too. I wanted to reassure you that you are safe in my home. I learned that the assassin dug under the wall of the gates and somehow got past the guards. It will never happen again. Okay? You are more than my guest, and more than my healer.”

  Jem’ya swallowed. His voice was low and sincere. His light eyes never wavered from hers.

  “I want you to feel comfortable here. So, I was wondering if there was something that you miss doing that reminds you of home and makes you happy. I would like to do something like that with you.”

  “That’s very thoughtful, but wouldn’t you rather have a healing session?” Jem’ya forced herself to tenderly caress his shoulder. “You seem stiff. Tense. I can make you feel better, Tareq, as I always do.”

  He gave her a confused look. “No, no. As I said before, I will not ask anything else of you. I just desperately want you to have better memories of this place before you leave.”

  Jem’ya sighed. He never takes the hint! “I miss a lot of things because I have two homes.”

  “Tikso and the Coast.”

  “I miss…life. Nature. I miss going outside and walking in the sand, watching the birds and the sea.” Her eyes lit up. “I miss my garden in Tikso. I had yams and greens and peas. I even miss the smell of the red soil.”

  “Then let’s plant something today.”

  Within five minutes of Tareq’s orders, the groundskeepers dug up two white rose bushes from the palace garden to make a place for Jem’ya to work in, and a bag of pea seeds and gardening tools were made available. Tareq trailed behind Jem’ya as she stepped outside the palace for the first time in twenty days. Through her enjoyment he was able to appreciate the beauty of the garden he’d looked at thousands of times but had never really seen. She touched at the leaves and petals of all the different types of plants, trees and flowers as they walked through the maze of greenery. Jem’ya’s fingers danced across lavender shrubs, green fans of papyrus, the yellow flowers of valerian plants, Moroccan daisies and white Irises, and the fronds and trunks of palms. She even felt the prickly surface of the succulents and braved the thorns of the red and pink rose bushes.

  When they reached her square plot of land, she did not hesitate to pick up a rake and till the rich brown soil. Tareq joined her in mixing and aerating the earth with a rake. Before he knew it, King Tareq was on his hands and knees in the dirt, poking holes in the ground with his pointer finger for the seeds to fall into. Jem’ya was at his side doing the same, quiet but glowing with happiness. He wanted to kiss her neck. Jem’ya sensed his gaze on her. She glanced at him and smiled. Tareq felt something tickling his thumb. He looked down at his hand. “Allah, protect me!” he exclaimed as he shook the spider free of his hand and jumped to his feet.

  “What’s wrong?” Jem’ya peered up at him from the ground.

  “I hate spiders! They’re so strange and so ugly.” He took another step back.

  Jem’ya held back a laugh. She crawled nearer to the area Tareq had been working on, looking for the creature that Tareq found so offensive.

  “Be careful, Jem’ya.”

  She spotted a rather small green spider hiding in the shadow of a pebble. She laughed aloud. “I think you’re just frightened of this little guy because he won’t obey your orders.” Jem’ya coaxed the spider into her palm. Tareq cringed. She carried the spider to a nearby rose bush and released it onto a leaf. “What should be your new nickname? King Tareq the Terrified?” She smirked and tossed him a packet of seeds. “Ooo! I got a better one. The Shrieking Sheik!”

  Tareq’s gaze was a mixture of amusement and sadness. He was remembering Qadir’s wit. “Anything’s better than ZeeZee,” he teased.

  She laughed. “Do you know why they call me that? Put one seed in each hole.”

  Tareq sighed and began to drop the round green seeds along the furrow in the dirt. “Is it because your voice is like the grating chatter of a monkey?”

  “You backside!” She chucked a pea seed at him and giggled. It bounced off of his cheek.

  “Ow.” He chuckled at her assault and at her language.

  She began to cover the seeds with dirt. “It’s my ears they tease me for, since my ears…you know. They stick out some,” she murmured shyly.

  Tareq stayed focused on the gardening. “They only add to your beauty, Jem’ya. I have yet to see a woman nearly as beautiful as you.”

  Jem’ya sat back on her calves and stared at him. Her stomach trembled with sentiment. Tareq didn’t meet her eyes, but he was smiling. She didn’t know how to respond to his admiration, so she said nothing and continued sowing. Silence grew between them. Look! You let him have control again! He’s charming. Get over it. “Have you enjoye
d gardening so far?”

  “Yes,” Tareq smiled. “I didn’t know getting dirt all over my clothes and under my fingernails would be fun.”

  “Oh you’ve been so pampered and sheltered, Tareq.”

  “Materially, yes.” He wiped dirt from his hands. “Emotionally, no.” Tareq paused. “Sorry. I’m being self-absorbed again. Now that the seeds are buried, what’s next? We water them?”

  It took a while for Jem’ya to answer. She was startled by his introspection and honesty. He was different somehow. “Yes. It’s time for watering.” The two walked to the well pump in the garden. Jem’ya filled the watering can. Tareq offered to carry it back. Jem’ya accepted. She eagerly took the watering can from him when they returned to the plot. “This is my favorite part. It’s magic. The seeds won’t ever awaken without water.”

  “I can relate. I’m not awake until I get my bath either.”

  Jem’ya smiled. “I love growing plants, because they are like my children. I care for them, I encourage them, I feed them and I watch them grow and mature. They are my quiet little babies for now, until I get married and have noisy little babies of my own,” she chuckled.

  “I think that’s why I dream of having a big family,” Tareq said. “The noise. The laughter, and talking, and even the crying and whining are sounds I would enjoy. The palace is always so quiet. I would like to have lots of kids when I am married, one in every room of the palace if I could,” he smiled. “We would be like a tribe almost.”

  “That’s beautiful, Tareq.” Her heart and her body were instantly filled with passion, compelled to give Tareq the affection he never had and the family he never had. Tareq experienced such a sad childhood, the opposite of the love and togetherness Jem’ya had in her village. She had a tribe. Tareq did not. And now Tareq had no family at all. Jem’ya cleared her throat. “Within a few days, the seedlings’ leaves will break the surface of the soil. I have to warn you that you may feel like a proud father when they do.”

  Tareq smiled. He nodded. “It’s too bad you won’t be here to see them sprout.”

  She shrugged. “Maybe I will come back to visit.”

  “I pray that you will. Let’s go back to the well and wash up.” A few pitchers were kept near the well pump. Jem’ya picked up the shiny blue ceramic pitcher and filled it with water. She poured water over Tareq’s hands, watching the translucent stream flow over his healing knuckles, the veins just under his skin, and his short nails until the dark dirt was completely washed away from his strong hands. Tareq took the pitcher and refilled it to help Jem’ya wash her hands as well. He began to tip the pitcher over her hands. Tareq was amused. “How did you get dirt up to your elbows?” He started to help her rub away the dirt from her skin.

  Jem’ya froze watching Tareq’s fingers move up and down the length of her arms while he poured water from the pitcher with his other hand. He was attentive, massaging each of her fingers until her hands were clean. When he was done, Jem’ya began to wipe her palms dry on the front of her dark blue cotton dress. Tareq intercepted. “You don’t have to do that.” He lifted the bottom of his yellow shirt, exposing his solid torso, and used the fabric to dry her hands and arms.

  Jem’ya pressed her hand flat against his stomach. It worried her how easy it was for her to touch him that way. At the heart of her deception was truth. His stomach was so warm and hard. Tareq was looking down through his dark lashes at her hand. When her hand began to move, sliding upward to his chest, he drew in a breath and his hazel eyes pinned her. The desire in his eyes made need burn hot between her legs.

  He knew she wanted him to kiss her. She was giving him that look with her enchanting brown eyes, that “Please, Tareq” look, that same look that weakened his reason once before and led him to give in. He didn’t want her running away from him in anger and revulsion like she did last time. His body was screaming for her. Grab her, taste her mouth, caress her body, lay with her, claim her so that no other man can have her. In his mind he knew the moment wasn’t right, but every second that passed with Jem’ya’s hot hand creeping across his sensitive skin, his voice of reason grew quieter and quieter.

  Jem’ya’s hand slid higher, closer to his racing heart. Then her fingertips made contact with cold metal. She looked down at the pendant on the necklace he was wearing underneath his shirt. She held the pendant in her hand. “What’s this?” Jem’ya whispered. In the same second she asked the question, she knew the answer.

  “It was my mother’s. I found it today.”

  As she studied the pendant, Jem’ya missed the earrings Tareq gave her. Bahja was right. The earrings looked exactly like his mother’s necklace. What did that mean?

  Tareq tried to break the tension further. “Now that we’re done gardening, we should go inside and get out of these clothes.”

  Jem’ya searched Tareq’s light eyes for the meaning of his suggestion.

  “Into clean ones,” he quickly clarified. “Then we can visit the atrium, perhaps.”

  Her hand dropped away from the pendant. “Yes, I’d love to. I’ve made friends with the falcon,” she smiled.

  Tareq straightened his yellow shirt. “That bird hates me. It makes a deafening screech if I even look at it. How did you befriend it? By badmouthing me?”

  “Mostly that but also feeding him smoked sardines.”

  “Ah.” He raised his pointer finger. “I did try belittling myself but not giving him sardines.”

  Jem’ya laughed, despite the shame that was mounting within her. Tareq was foremost her friend. She was sure that her strange, daring behavior would cause him to think less and less of her. She was going to lose her friend in this battle of the sexes, and ultimately all of his respect.

  Jem’ya and Tareq returned to their rooms and changed their clothes. Tareq changed into his white and gold kingly robes, sans the head covering, and Jem’ya pulled on a blue-green dress and folded a shimmery headscarf of the same color into a ribbon to tie her hair into a low bun. She met Tareq out in the hall and they walked to the bird atrium together. Jem’ya was able to counsel both the falcon and Tareq, helping them to repair their strained relationship, one sardine at a time. Tareq was pulled away from his time with Jem’ya by his imperative responsibilities as king, but he promised her they would have dinner together.

  That evening, the candles were lit in the dining room and fresh white roses were set out on the dining table. Two of the twenty-two places were set with a gleaming drinking glass and a polished silver plate. The cooks prepared a lamb kebob dinner. At 8 o’clock, Jem’ya was alone at the dining table. She waited in the quiet dining hall as twenty minutes slowly ticked by. Tareq finally rushed in. He went to her and kissed her hand. “Sorry, Jem’ya. There’s so much that requires my attention in this kingdom. I lost track of time. Next time I’ll tell Asif I have dinner plans.” Tareq sat at the head of the table. He sighed and drank from his glass of water.

  Jem’ya glanced over the black ringlets of his hair, his dark brows, his light eyes, his sun-kissed skin and his strong jawline. She felt nothing, detached, and she was grateful for it. She put on a smile. “I understand. Soon I’ll be heading back home and you’ll be able to focus on your responsibilities without distraction.” She got the desired result. Tareq crossed his arms and leaned back in his chair, bothered by the idea of Jem’ya leaving. Jem’ya wanted to keep reminding Tareq that she was valuable to him, stirring up his desperation so that when he was given the ultimatum, he would choose her over anything else.

  “You should know that you are a pleasant distraction, Jem’ya.”

  “Am I?” Jem’ya smiled and unassumingly adjusted the top of her dress. She looked up and Tareq’s eyes were glued to her chest. He averted his eyes from her figure and blushed when the wait staff entered the room carrying platters of hot food. Tareq and Jem’ya thanked the servants. Hungry, they dug in to their meal. Jem’ya pressed a clump of soft pilaf between her fingers and brought it to her mouth. Tareq started on the lamb kebobs, breaking apar
t a meatball with his hand and combining it with some tabouleh salad before eating it from his fingers. They ate in silence for a time, both in deep thought.

  “What did you think of me when we first met?” Jem’ya asked.

  “I thought,” a smile spread across his lips, “that you were too young and too pretty to be a genuine healer.”

  “You thought I was a scam artist.”

  “I had been scammed over a dozen times before I met you. I’ve been sold remedies and given therapies that caused me every side effect imaginable. One made me vomit for days and another made me lose my appetite for a week. One gave me night terrors when I slept and another prevented me from falling asleep. Some did nothing at all. Time and again I was left angry, humiliated, depressed and still in pain.”

  “It’s saddening that they took advantage of your suffering and caused you even more pain. It’s hard to find good people in this world.” Jem’ya’s appetite was immediately erased by guilt. She sipped at her water.

  “So,” Tareq said, “what did you think when you first saw me?”

  “I thought that you looked too healthy and too handsome to want for anything.”

  “Now you know the truth. I want for a lot of things.”

  Jem’ya stared at the white roses and the white candles on the table. She sensed Tareq eyeing her face but she could not bring herself to connect her gaze with his. She brought to her mind her village, where wives were missing their husbands and children were missing their fathers. Then she lifted her eyes. “I’m feeling tired, Tareq. Do you mind if I retire to my room now?”

  He glanced at her full plate. “Are you not feeling well?”

  “I’m feeling okay. There’s just been a lot of…commotion the last two days.”

  “I didn’t realize my calamities had taken so much of a toll on you. And I shouldn’t have arranged our dinner at this late hour. Please, allow me to escort you to your room.”