by Holly Rayner
Alex read the story faithfully, breathing life into the characters and drama into the narration. Amia listened with wide eyes, absorbing the beautiful illustrations as the words wove a fantastic tapestry through her fevered little mind. Through every page that Alex read, however, something bothered the back of her mind.
Had Zaiman actually told Amia that she could never leave the palace without losing her throne to fairies? Maybe she’d misunderstood, Alex thought. Or perhaps it was simply the fever, taking bits and pieces of Amia’s own life and muddling them up with the story.
That must be it, Alex decided. Just the fever talking.
Still, she couldn’t seem to get the little girl’s story out of her head. Something about it bothered her deeply, especially as she looked back over the short and lovely month she had spent at the palace. She realized—with a bit of a shock—that she had never once seen Amia play with another child, and she never referenced her mother.
For that matter, Zaiman had never responded to her diagonal inquiries into Amia’s infancy, or answered her direct questions about Amia’s missing parent, or indulged her not-so-subtle hints about adding to Amia’s nonexistent social life. All of these bits and pieces, taken together with the fairy story, added up to something; she was sure of it. She just couldn’t quite see what they added up to.
She was so preoccupied that she didn’t even notice when Amia fell asleep on her shoulder. She finished the story without retaining a word of it, and was still lost in thought when Bassam returned once more, this time, with a very concerned Zaiman in tow.
Chapter 11
Alex
After an exhausting day of carefully tending to Amia, Alex had fallen into a restless sleep. Disturbing dreams kept her tossing and turning, dreams of blueberries with fairy wings absconding with Amia, cackling in chorus as they gleefully danced upon a ridiculously ornate lavender-colored throne.
A sudden crash of thunder jolted Alex from her sleep. She wasn’t the only one. From the other room, she heard a blood-curdling shriek of terror. Leaping from her bed, Alex rushed through the plain little door in her sitting room to find Amia, glassy-eyed with fever and fear, thrashing wildly in her bed.
“Amia, it’s okay, I’m here,” Alex told her, rushing onto the bed.
Amia screamed as a flash of lightning lit the room, casting deep black shadows up the walls. Alex reached out to touch her, but it only made her jump and scream again.
“Come on, sweetie. Calm down, it’s just a storm,” Alex pleaded.
But Amia would not be soothed, choking on her tears as she thrashed against the monsters in the shadows. Alex was out of her depth and she knew it. When her panic reached her throat, seeping into her voice, she knew she was only making things worse.
“All right, darling, I’m going to go find Bassam,” Alex told her, near to tears herself. “Hug your pillow tight; I’ll be right back.”
Amia didn’t seem to hear her.
Heart pounding frantically against her ribs, Alex raced down the hall to Bassam’s room. She knocked loudly, but there was no answer. The storm outside raged against the house, smothering any sound she could hope to make. Too anxious to remember propriety, Alex tried the door. It was locked.
Amia’s screams propelled Alex up the hallway. She was calling for her papa, and Alex knew she would be a poor substitute. His rooms seemed farther away than she remembered, and the shadows of the rain against the windows cast by the blinding flashes of electric terror made the whole thing feel like a nightmare.
Without thinking, without even pausing, Alex burst into Zaiman’s quarters. It was pitch black, but she didn’t slow down—each suite seemed to be put together the same way, and she crashed through the second door without hesitation. The slam of the door against the wall was louder than the thunder outside, causing Zaiman to jolt out of bed.
“Halt!” he ordered as he blinked the sleep from his eyes.
Alex had already halted, struck immobile by the sight of him. He wore nothing but a pair of thin, loose trousers. His hair was mussed from sleep, flying wild and rugged around his chiseled face. A flash of light glistened over his muscular chest and deeply carved torso, making Alex’s heart race for a completely different reason. She pressed a hand against the butterflies which rose frantically in her belly.
He was looking at her in the same way that she must have been looking at him. Gasping, Alex turned her gaze down at herself. Her flimsy nightgown clung to her body, sticking to the thin sheen of sweat which glittered on her skin.
She made the mistake of meeting his eyes. A powerful shock of desire crackled in the air between them. He moistened his lower lip with his tongue, following the motion with a scrape of his teeth.
He took a step forward. The blood throbbing in her ears blocked the sound of the storm. She could hardly catch her breath. Her mind filled with images of him touching her, pressing his hard body against hers, taking her mouth in his.
Thunder rolled and Amia screamed, breaking Alex out of her trance.
“I’m so sorry,” she gasped, drawing breath at last. “I meant to knock, really, but Amia’s delirious and I can’t calm her down. She’s calling for you and nobody else will do, please come.”
He was already moving by the middle of her rush of words, and they ran down the hall together toward Amia’s terrified shrieks. Zaiman was two steps ahead of her, and jumped into Amia’s bed, pulling her close as he landed. She fought him, choking on her screams, sobbing for her papa.
“It’s me, my love,” he told her, sounding as though his heart would break. “Papa’s here, Papa’s here.” He murmured to her in his native tongue, sending helpless glances up at Alex as Amia continued to sob and writhe.
Alex crawled into bed on Amia’s other side, listening to the jumbled words the little girl sobbed into her father’s chest. Monsters. Teeth. Steal me. Fairies. Alex rubbed Amia’s back, desperately trying to think of something, anything, which would help Amia take control of her fear. She needed to feel brave and in control, powerful, like a princess.
That was it.
“Amia,” Alex began, gently but firmly. “This is a test, Amia. The fairies are testing you, to see if you’re brave enough to keep your throne. If you cry through the storm, they might not think you’re worthy of it. But if you’re brave and calm, like a ruler, they’ll never try to take it away. Not even if you leave the palace.”
Zaiman looked up at her sharply, his eyes blazing with something between indignation and an unspoken question. His reaction disquieted Alex, and for a single, clear moment, she was certain that he had, in fact, told Amia that fable. Her confidence in her conclusion died in the next moment, however, when Zaiman spoke.
“She’s right, Amia,” he told his daughter soothingly. “Can you show the fairies that you’re as strong and brave as I know you are?”
Amia’s sobs quieted, though her shoulders still shook with them. She took several shuddering, gulping breaths as her whole little body trembled. Alex rubbed her back, murmuring soothing words.
“Hey, I have an idea,” Zaiman said, pulling Amia away just enough to look into her eyes. “We will build a fort! Any princess in battle needs a fort, and nothing keeps storms out better than pillow towers and blanket shields. What do you think?”
Sniffling, Amia nodded.
“Good,” Zaiman said, squeezing her tight once more. “But I can’t do it alone. Will you help me?”
Amia nodded again as the ghost of a smile touched her lips. Relief rushed over Alex, leaving her feeling almost giddy.
“I’ll get some extra pillows and blankets,” she said, sliding off the bed.
“Good thinking! Amia, what should we use to hold up the roof?”
“Elephant,” Amia said with the hint of a quiver in her voice. “And Teddy.”
“Your wish is my command,” Zaiman said, kissing her forehead.
Amia giggled, and the sound was like magic. Every scrap of tension and fear scattered from the room, chased away by th
e most powerful melody in the world.
Alex and Zaiman returned quickly with their tools. Zaiman placed the elephant and the bear against the wall, with just the right amount of space in between to drape a blanket. Alex ducked away for a moment into the bathroom, where she had stashed the medicine earlier that evening. She returned with a dose for Amia’s fever, and managed to slip it to her with minimal disruption.
“Your guards are at the ready, Princess Amia,” Zaiman said, saluting his daughter. “What are your next orders?”
Amia grinned and slid off the bed, dragging her lavender duvet with her.
“The roof,” she said, thrusting the heavy blanket into her father’s hands. As Zaiman arranged the duvet over top of the stuffed animals, Alex filled the middle of the fort with pillows and cushions, saving several to build a wall.
Amia picked up a huge royal-purple pillow and jumped into the pile, landing on her pillow like a sled. Her giddy giggles were infectious, and soon, Alex and Zaiman were both laughing with her.
“Here, hand me a corner of that duvet,” Alex instructed as she finished the first pillow column of the wall.
As Zaiman obliged, his warm hand brushed against hers in the dark. Sparks of dizzying desire danced over Alex’s skin to join the butterflies who had been revived by his unexpected touch. He made a low sound in his throat, like surprised pleasure, and in that moment, she knew for certain that he was feeling the connection as strongly as she.
“It’s dark,” Amia whimpered behind her. “I’m sc—I’m brave,” she interrupted herself. “But I would be braver with light.”
“One light, coming right up,” Zaiman said from outside the fort.
“You want to hold my hand until he comes back?” Alex asked.
Amia didn’t answer, but Alex soon felt her little hand slide into hers. She squeezed it reassuringly as thunder rolled outside, infinitely proud of her for how she had wrestled her panic under control.
“One flashlight, as promised,” Zaiman said as he returned. He crawled into the fort with them and propped the flashlight up between pillows, making it shine like a steady torch in their little cave.
The purple duvet reflected the light, turning the darkness in their fort into a magical twilight.
“It’s pretty,” Amia sighed, curling into her father’s embrace. “Thank you, Papa.”
“You’re welcome, my love,” he replied, kissing her head.
The three of them lay in cozy silence for a while as the thunder rolled away, growing dim in the distance. Amia began to drift off to sleep, but jolted awake at every sound. Alex ran gentle fingers over the little girl’s arm and began to sing.
As she sang the lullaby, she met Zaiman’s eyes over Amia’s nodding head, and saw a softness there which sent a warm blush to her cheeks. She softened and quieted her voice through the second refrain, watching as Amia’s breath grew deep and even.
“Too-ra-loo-ra-loo-ral,” she murmured. “Too-ra-loo-ra-li. Too-ra-loo-ra-loo-ral, that’s an Irish lullaby.”
She let her voice fade gradually away until she finished the song on a breath. Amia snored softly, sound asleep. Alex and Zaiman shared a relieved smile.
“A beautiful song,” Zaiman murmured.
“My grandmother used to sing it to me when I was sick,” Alex whispered back. “I keep it with me always.”
Zaiman gazed tenderly at her for a long moment, then kissed his daughter’s head.
“Please move her pillows and duvet,” he murmured softly. “I’ll carry her.”
Alex nodded and did as he asked, fluffing the sheets and turning the bed down as he cradled Amia like a baby against his chest.
As he settled her on her pillows, Alex pressed her lips to Amia’s forehead and found it cool to the touch.
“Her fever broke,” she whispered. “She’ll sleep, now.”
“We’ll leave her to it,” Zaiman replied, tenderly stroking Amia’s hair.
They crept out of the room and into the moonlit hallway. The air tasted fresh and clean in the aftermath of the storm, calm in the wake of the electric light show.
Zaiman wandered aimlessly, soaking in the peace. He gestured for Alex to join him, and she was more than happy to oblige; with Amia’s terrors managed, Alex was once again sharply aware of Zaiman’s bare torso and deliciously mussed hair.
He brought her through the drawing room which stood between the bedchambers and the rest of the big house, out onto the balcony. A musky scent, powerful in the humid air, rose from the garden below.
She followed Zaiman to the stone railing, shining blue in the moonlight. The sky had cleared as suddenly as it had burst, and now, the newly-cleaned air displayed the blazing galaxy above with the self-assured exhibitionism of a peacock on the prowl.
It took her breath away. Here, on the outskirts of everything, on the brink of a wide sea of glittering white sand, the stars felt close enough to touch. She could almost feel the velvety pool of infinite darkness on her fingertips, and for a moment, she imagined diving up into it to swim among the planets.
The restless wanderlust she felt in that moment brought Amia’s situation sharply into focus. If she, a grown woman with the agency to go when and where she pleased could still feel trapped and small in the face of the night sky, what must Amia feel every day?
Zaiman obviously adored his daughter. If she hadn’t been sure of that before, she certainly was now. As the girl’s primary caretaker, Alex could no longer let this sleeping dog lie. She cleared her throat and took a breath, then another. Eventually, she managed to form the words she needed to ask.
“Zaiman,” she said hesitantly. “I think it’s time I understood about the fairies.”
Chapter 12
Zaiman
Alex’s inquiry failed to provoke the shock of fear and shame that Zaiman was accustomed to by now. She looked up at him, her delightfully freckled face somber in the moonlight. Perhaps it was the emotional night, or the tenderness they had shared while caring for Amia—but whatever it was, Zaiman felt that he could trust Alex with anything.
Even so, he hesitated. It wasn’t a story he was particularly proud of, and his natural inclination was to only show her his best self.
But, he supposed, perhaps sometimes one’s best self is the one strong enough to confess. He realized that the silence had drawn out in the moments after her question, and he offered her a small, gently sad smile.
“Americans are a romantic people,” he began thoughtfully. “In your movies and your music, there is no higher nobility than true love. It is a delightful fantasy.”
He paused, gazing down into the dark garden with a furrowed brow.
“It is not like that everywhere,” he continued softly. “As much as we would like for it to be. Some people in some places hold fast to their traditions, to their rules and the old ways of living. Some of those traditions are too deeply ingrained to brush away with a passionate declaration of eternal love.”
Her eyes were watching him steadily, her expression giving no indication of what she was thinking. Clearing his throat, Zaiman shifted restlessly and made a directionless gesture.
“It just isn’t done,” he continued. “Falling in love and letting one’s heart decide their fate—it just isn’t done. It isn’t approved or appropriate, and yet…”
He blew out a breath, shaking his head. The confession was locked so deep inside, buried beneath layer upon layer of defense and deception that he struggled to wrestle it to the surface.
“But I was young,” he said finally. “Young and idealistic. I thought with my position and my power that I could save the world. Or, at least, my corner of it.”
He paced, seeing the events play out before him, overlaid on the present.
“The Peace Corps was working with our government. I was chosen to work directly with the American liaison. She…she was chosen to play that part. Silly decision, really. Who in their right mind puts two passionate, idealistic young people to work so closely together, when a uni
on between the two would be a political catastrophe?”
Alex’s lips twisted in a wry smile at his seasoned frustration. “People who have forgotten what it’s like to be young,” she said with a shrug. “Just as those who have forgotten what it’s like to be a child hold unreasonable expectations for their children.”
“I suppose you’re right,” he said. “But that is what they did. I cannot blame the elders entirely, of course. I made my own decisions, as did she, but after months of meetings—first with chaperones, and later alone—we fell in love. The kind of love that turns you inside out and makes you forget who you are, the kind that burns away your vision of the future and replaces every eventuality with an image of your other.”
“Oh, yes,” Alex breathed. “The kind that wraps you up in hormones and ever-afters and rips the floor out from under you so you’re free-falling without a net, and none of it matters because they touched you.”
“I see you had your own foolish youth,” Zaiman said with an empathetic smile.
“It tears you up,” Alex said with an affirmative nod. “It’s the most glorious destruction there is.”
“Indeed,” Zaiman said somberly as the heavier memories flooded back. “It nearly did destroy me, beyond my heart. It nearly destroyed my entire life.”
“How?” Alex asked without disbelief or judgment.
The dawning realization that she was the easiest person to talk to rose in Zaiman’s awareness, flying a red flag of warning. He ignored it. No longer was he a young boy incapable of controlling his passions, and there was no law against developing a friendship. For, in spite of the way her gossamer nightgown clung to her striking curves, she was still no more than an employee and friend to him.
Confident in his self-control once more, Zaiman continued.
“We saw each other in secret for several months, and we were more passionate than careful. When she discovered her pregnancy, she planned to fly back to the U.S. to live with her parents. I—for as many selfish reasons as selfless ones—convinced her to stay. I tended to her in secret, taking her to doctor visits and birthing classes, paying for everything. I built the nursery for Amia in secret, filling it with only the best baby things that money could buy.”
