by Olivia Gates
Fadi’s eyes shot her a bolt of disapproval. Didn’t approve of ladies swearing, eh? Tough luck. Right now, she’d do far more than swear at any further provocation.
Her uncle turned to her, that aching mixture of disbelief and hope fluctuating in suddenly expressive eyes, turning their turbid hazel into pools of agitated flame. “Our family is related to the royal family…”
“Ex-royal family,” Fadi corrected.
The growled qualification zinged through her. Though her mind was spinning from her uncle’s revelation, Fadi’s vehemence still had her curious antennae standing on end. Though he was related to said family, too, those core royals seemed to have left no one with an ounce of goodwill toward them.
Which wasn’t important now. She urged her uncle on with a gesture, and with her other hand she warned Fadi to just shut up and let the man explain before her head burst.
“The Al Ghamdis were once Aal Ghamdi,” her uncle said, his face working as if he’d weep any moment now.
Lujayn stared at her uncle. That difference in tashkeel—the diacritic that changed pronunciation—transformed everything she’d ever known about her mother’s ailah—family. It changed them from a family who took their name from a gabeelah—a tribe they served, to that gabeelah itself. It was one known for its warriors who “sheathe their swords in their enemies’ chests” in the service of their kings, and second only to them.
“We are first maternal cousins to the Aal Refa’ee.”
That was Jalal’s mother, Sondoss’s, maternal family, the other half of the royal lineage of Azmahar. The serpents named after a snake master. One quarter of Jalal’s heritage.
Her gaze traveled from her uncle to her mother to Fadi. Then she burst out laughing.
At her mom’s and uncle’s gasps, and Fadi’s deepening scowl, she spluttered, “C’mon, guys, you gotta admit…this is hilarious.”
What could be more ridiculous than finding out that her family was related to Sondoss’s? That her mother was related to her former enslaver?
That she was related to Jalal.
Another bubble of incredulity rose from her depths, burst on her lips in unrestrained cackles.
She heard her uncle’s choked apologies. “I beg your pardon, Sheikh Fadi. We’ve never told our children, so this is a surprise to Lujayn.”
“Surprise?” And she howled with laughter again, tears of hilarity beginning to pour down her cheeks, her sides starting to hurt. She leaned forward, pressing her hands to the ache clamping her midriff, barely catching enough breath to cough out words. “A surprise is when you pop up on my doorstep in New York, Uncle. This? Try identity-pulverizing cataclysm!”
Fadi pursed his lips, the timbre of his displeasure abrading. “The issue is in no way primarily your own, but your uncle’s and mother’s. They were the ones who lived through their family’s disgrace and dispossession firsthand. And they were the ones who lived with the knowledge and injury. While you might think this rewrites your history and identity, it’s them that this reinstatement will vindicate.”
She shook her head as she straightened, his sternness suppressing the advancing hysteria. That and the sinking realization of what this meant, for the future, and for the past.
This explained so much about her mother’s and uncle’s characters. She’d thought they were like this as a result of their hard lives in an unforgiving land. But that thread of melancholy, of mourning, in both of them had been the result of injustice and oppression of an even worse sort than she’d imagined.
“So what happened?” She turned to her mom and uncle. “How did you get demoted from relatives to servants?”
“It’s…it’s a long story,” her mother mumbled, looking anywhere but at her.
“Nothing can be long enough to explain this. I’m going nowhere until you tell me everything.”
Before either her mom or uncle could react, Fadi raised a hand, silencing them. She was beginning to hate this guy.
“I will thank you all if you postpone your familial disclosures until I’m gone,” Fadi said.
She turned on him. “You came to make your prince’s offer. Now you did. So what are you waiting for?”
One dense, imperious eyebrow rose at her unveiled attempt to kick him out. Then with his voice lowering, deepening, becoming even more hair-raising for it, he only said, “An answer.”
“You expect my uncle to give you an answer about something so…out of the blue, just like that?”
“What I expect him to do is talk for himself.”
She’d never presumed to have a say in her family members’ opportunities or decisions. But when one would involve her uncle with Jalal, she’d damn well have one. A resounding no way!
There was only one reason Jalal was making this offer. Her. And she’d be damned if she let him use her uncle as a bridge to reinvade her life.
She turned to her uncle, her eyes pleading with him not to commit to any answer now. His feverish eyes didn’t even see her. His gaze was turned inwardly, flitting from the ordeals of his lost youth to the dream of a dignified future.
Then he turned his gaze to Fadi, his focus barely on him, either. “Please, convey my deepest gratitude to Prince Jalal for his generous offer and this unrepeatable opportunity. It would be my honor and privilege to join his campaign for the throne.”
A groan bled from her as she turned her eyes to Fadi. And again his expression distracted her from her distress. Her uncle’s delighted acceptance had been the last thing he’d wanted.
Sure enough, after a terse nod of acknowledgment, and a moment’s thought, he said, “I was honor- and duty-bound to convey Somow’woh’s offer as is. But I will take the liberty of adjusting that offer, to ease the steps of your reinstatement, and to make sure no…ill-considered—” his eyes left her in no doubt this was meant for her, too “—decisions on Somow’woh’s part upset the delicate balance of his campaign.”
If his adjustment offered her uncle anything else that didn’t involve Jalal, she might forgive the guy. She might even kiss him for averting this catastrophe-in-the-making.
Her uncle nodded, all the animation that had been creeping into his stance and demeanor draining. “Yes, yes, of course, the first priority is to safeguard Prince Jalal’s efforts.”
God! What was it about Jalal that made people ready to throw themselves under a train to please him?
She knew exactly what it was. Hated him more daily for it.
“I’m offering a place on my team,” Fadi said. “You’d still be ultimately part of Somow’woh’s team, as valuable to his campaign, but it would alleviate any friction that would arise from his passing over many high-ranking hopefuls for the position in your favor.”
That went right over her uncle’s head, lodged right into hers. Fadi thought Jalal’s decision to associate with her family would be a terrible faux pas. He was trying to protect him from taking an “ill-considered” step. Not that her uncle was unqualified for the position. If anything, her uncle, who’d obtained Ph.D.s in political sciences and local and Sharia law and master’s degrees in accounting and business management, was qualified to run the campaign. But Fadi only considered the possible damages of unfavorable public perception in a society that sequestered people into rigid classes. That “reinstatement,” and the reason behind it, if it were suspected, could harm the popularity of his master and candidate. In short, Fadi was being a political weasel and privileged snob.
She still wanted to kiss him for it. His reluctance to let them contaminate his precious prince’s environment gave her a way out of this new corner Jalal was backing her into.
Her uncle finally nodded. “Whatever you see fit, Sheikh Fadi. I’ll be happy to offer my skills and services to Prince Jalal in whatever position I’m best suited for.”
Fadi nodded, looking relieved. “I will be in touch with you shortly with further information.”
He bowed respectfully to her mother, gave Lujayn a far less steep bow, clearly as deep as he tho
ught her worthy of, then turned on his heels.
She followed him, her words for his ears only. “You think Jalal would agree to this ‘adjustment’ of yours?”
He slanted her a glance that seemed to measure her. No doubt wondering how his princely master had suffered being around such an unladylike creature. And was still coming back for more. “It’s nothing you should concern yourself with.”
“That’s where you’re wrong, pal. We’re both on the same page on this. You don’t want him near us, and I would rather he lived on another planet. So do whatever you can to ‘reinstate’ my uncle and make use of his considerable abilities, but let’s keep it all as far away from Jalal as possible. For everyone’s sake.”
His eyes grew incredulous. She’d managed to stun him. He probably couldn’t understand how a woman wouldn’t want his prince’s attention. But it seemed her fervor got to him. He looked like he believed her.
For now, anyway, his gaze seemed to say. He gave her another of those military nods and strode ahead, his footsteps on the stone floor of her uncle’s modest dwelling those of the soldier he’d been, and still clearly was.
He was at the door when a commotion erupted from the inner part of the house.
Lujayn froze as squeals and calls preceded running feet that came closer, intermingling with more shrieks and giggles.
Fadi stopped. Lujayn’s heart almost burst.
He looked into the distance, listening, then he lowered his gaze to her. Her nerves snapped one by one in a countdown to shoving him out the door.
A split second before she gave in to the urge, he walked out.
She almost slammed the door behind him, then sagged against it, forehead first, shaking all over, scolding herself for the panic attack that had almost engulfed her reason.
Why had she been so terrified? Nothing would have happened even if he’d seen them. In a worst-case scenario if he suspected something, he would have kept it under wraps so he wouldn’t sabotage his own purpose.
Not that she could grow complacent. Look what had happened when she had. Jalal had sent her a missile that was about to explode her family to smithereens.
But then…maybe the only way to dislodge said missile was with revelations of her own. She’d bet those would have Jalal taking his offer and his pursuit and running the other way.
No. Even if this was an assured outcome, she wouldn’t want him to know. Not for any reason.
Exhaling heavily, she walked back to where her mom and uncle were deep in overwrought emotions, deciding she had two purposes. To shield her family from Jalal’s manipulations. And to make sure that he left her and her secrets intact.
Five
Fadi’s adjustments had failed in record time.
He’d called within an hour to say that Jalal’s original offer wouldn’t be “adjusted.” Lujayn had the feeling that Jalal hadn’t even let him state his suggestion.
Figured. Jalal made his decisions then made everyone bow to them. She would have wished this one would bite him in the ass, as Fadi feared it would, if it didn’t involve collateral damage to more relevant parts of her family, namely their hearts and souls.
But she had a feeling Fadi had other concerns. She’d been about to probe when her uncle had swooped down on her and snatched away the phone.
She now stood watching him as he listened to Fadi. It was amazing. It was as if the man she’d known had only been animated enough to simulate the appearance of life. Now he was coming into existence for the first time under her eyes.
If she didn’t hear this “long story” soon she’d bust something vital. But both her mom and uncle had so far avoided telling her anything more.
Her uncle ended the call and turned to her with a blinding and blinded expression, his voice ragged with elation. “Prince Jalal isn’t only adamant about my becoming a personal adviser, but also a member of his future cabinet.”
Sarcasm rose through ratcheting dismay, twisting her lips. “He’s so sure he’ll become king, isn’t he?”
Her uncle, oblivious to her mood, gave an earnest nod. “If Azmaharians know what’s best for them, they’ll choose him.”
“And we all know people usually steer away from what’s best for them.” Which to her meant they would go for Jalal.
Again missing her derision, her uncle said, “I believe the people will make the right choice in this instance. Prince Jalal gathers both Azmaharian and Zohaydan royal blood and the personal traits of a true leader. In short, everything Azmahar needs.”
“The same could be said about his twin.”
Her uncle shook his head emphatically. “Prince Haidar has stepped down from the race.”
“And his new wife convinced him to step right back up.”
Too engrossed in his need to prove his point, he didn’t ask how she knew that. “But Prince Haidar didn’t exactly rescind his decision, just qualified it by saying he’d take the throne if the majority still chose him.”
“If this is a real decision and not a political maneuver, it proves he is not power hungry, yet capable of taking its mantle if it falls to him. Add that to his not spouting promises of reform if he becomes king, but being out there already deeply involved in seeing it through, and you might just have the combo that no other candidate can beat.”
Her uncle’s eyes took on the shrewdness of the diversely knowledgeable man he was. It never failed to stun her that, until he’d joined her in sorting through Patrick’s legacy, he’d never maintained one job worthy of his skills and experience.
“Prince Haidar’s efforts would have been a definite advantage,” he said, “if the two other candidates weren’t as involved in reforms as vital as the ones he’s implementing. In fact, it’s said they’re all involved in the first political campaign of its kind in history.”
“Sure they are. They’re the first trio who’re campaigning for a throne, not a presidency. I wonder why the people of Azmahar want the monarchy system to continue.”
“Because before our last king, it worked too well to want to change it. Now if we pick the next, preferably Jalal in my opinion, as a king he will do far more than he’ll be able to do as a president. Also you can’t change the basic constitution of a people or their culture without paying a huge price, as evidenced by how badly the democracies in the region are faring. But that’s not why this throne campaign is unique. It’s the candidates’ approach that makes it so. Instead of trying to convince people they’re the better candidate by tearing the others apart, and spending untold millions to sway opinions, they’re all out there showing their desire and ability to work for Azmahar’s best by solving its problems now, not later. But what’s really remarkable is that they’re doing it together if need be. It’s how they cornered the oil-spill catastrophe.”
That she hadn’t known. And now that she did, it stunned her.
She only knew Haidar was Jalal’s twin and the male edition of their supernaturally beautiful yet soul-free mother. Evidently he wasn’t as devoid of humanity as she was, since all evidence showed that he was head over heels in love with his new wife. From the grandly romantic proposal to the equally heart-fluttering wedding vows to his adoring expression in every photo with her, he actually seemed to be the reverse. She knew even less about the third candidate, Rashid, who from all reports was an unknowable quantity.
But those two men weren’t only doing what all power seekers never did, putting their promises into practice first, they were curbing their egos and lust for power to do what should be done even if it meant putting their hands in their rivals’. What flabbergasted her was that Jalal was doing the same. She hadn’t known he was capable of reining in either ego or lust.
“I think you’ve just proved that both Haidar and Rashid are as worthy, not to mention as equipped, to be king. So where do you get your conviction that Jalal is the best choice?”
“My conviction isn’t built on wishful thinking as you’re implying,” her uncle said. “While Sheikh Rashid is a pure-blooded
Azmaharian, a decorated war hero and a formidable power in the world of business, he doesn’t have any ties to Zohayd. And since it’s a fact Azmahar needs Zohayd to survive, let alone prosper, that’s his fatal deficit. He doesn’t have a chance against someone who has all of his assets plus Zohayd’s king for a brother.”
“That still puts Jalal in an equal position with Haidar. So unless he quits the race, Jalal’s chances are only fifty-fifty.”
Her uncle shook his head again. “You’re assuming Prince Haidar is equal in assets, but that is far from true. He too has a fatal flaw. He bears his mother’s face. You might think it shouldn’t be a factor against him, but it definitely is. You of all people know how abhorred she was here.”
Yeah, that she knew. And she’d experienced some choice abhorrent behavior firsthand.
Her uncle went on. “But Jalal doesn’t suffer from this stigma. To us he’s more of a Zohaydan, when Zohayd has nothing but respect, even love, for most of our population. And he bears the likeness of his father, our biggest ally for the past decades and the one thing that had stopped Azmaharians from overthrowing our ex-king long before now. Prince Jalal is also very much like his oldest brother, King Amjad, and he’d be the one most likely to convince him to resume the vital alliance he’d severed because of the foolish transgressions of our former royalty. Added to that strong Zohaydan ingredient and influence, he has the necessary Azmaharian royal blood, making him the best of all worlds.”
She gaped at her uncle, her head spinning at that unbeatable sales pitch. “Seems he did exactly the right thing in picking you for his campaign. You’d sell him to his worst enemies.”
“I always believed he was the best of the candidates, always admired how he never forgot the other part of his heritage, how he’d started and supported so many worthy causes here in Azmahar long before there was any possibility of his becoming king. But now, after what he’s done…” His voice thickened as he drove his hands through his silvered mane, his every facial muscle trembling with emotion. “Ya Ullah, ya Lujayn, you can never grasp the…the enormity of what he’s done, the weight he’s removed from my chest, what’s been suffocating me all my life. If I respected and admired him before, now that I owe him my and my family’s honor, now that he’s renewed my will to live, I am forever in his debt.”
