Tears pooled on her lids, and when she blinked, I saw one fall.
“I’m sorry,” she said finally.
“I know.”
“I’ve missed you. And,” she cried harder, “when you were gone, I—I was glad you would never be married. I don’t want you to leave; don’t ever want to say goodbye to you. At least if you’re banished, you’ll be near. I thought maybe I would do what you did and visit the village to find you. I had it all planned out.” She took gasping breaths, crying into her hands. “It’s terrible, I know. I’m sorry.”
I held her close, laying my head against hers.
“It’s okay,” I whispered. “I missed you so much.”
When Tavi had settled, when our anger had lost its fuel, she asked, “Where were you that day? Why weren’t you with the rest of us?”
“Well . . .” Of all of the conversations I had planned to have when I was finally home, I had not once considered what I would tell my sisters of that afternoon.
“Were you with someone?” she gasped.
“Shh!” I hissed. “I don’t need those sorts of rumors floating around. Father thinks I was. I wasn’t. It was all just being at the wrong place at the wrong time.”
She sighed. “I’m so relieved nothing happened to you while you were there.” I asked her what she meant, and she looked at me as though I were brainless. “Because of the deaths, of course. Perimeter guards have been killed.”
“What?”
“Traders found the first group a few days after you were taken.” Her face lit up with the self-importance one gets when sharing particularly good gossip. “Several more have been found since.”
I couldn’t believe it. My hand covered my mouth, my eyes wide.
“None were our brothers, don’t worry. But Father has called on our sisters’ husbands in other settlements, asking that they send soldiers. You will start to see more unfamiliar faces around.” She said it like a warning.
“Why has no alarm sounded? When the soldiers have been found dead? When the soldiers attack? Why has the city not been warned?”
“They’ve only discovered them long after they’ve been killed. And I’m sure Father does not want to alarm people.”
Or, he did not want to reveal any weakness, any vulnerability in his invincible facade. Neighboring sisters joined our conversation with their theories. I barely heard their words. My mind was spinning through my own ideas about why the Altamaruq would continue to kill our soldiers.
“I’ll get you some dinner,” Tavi said. I watched her walk away and scoop the dregs of their meal that night onto a tarnished silver plate.
“Sorry that things didn’t work out with Qadir,” I said between bites, looking to Raheemah.
“I don’t know why he chose me. He spoke of you half the night and how you irritated him. It seemed like he did not understand why he was with me either. Sometimes he would look at me and then seem startled, as though he expected me to be someone else. I would rather marry a man who wanted me.”
“I’m sure he wanted you, Emah,” I said, not believing the words myself and remembering what Saalim said of magic and the traces it left behind.
Raheemah looked at me crossly, irritated by my coddling. “You know as well as I that we can tell when a man desires us. Qadir did not.”
I smiled and pushed my empty plate to the side. I did know what it felt like to be desired by a man. My thoughts drifted to the jinni and the feel of his lips moving carefully on mine. I lay down on the mat, my mind swirling with thoughts, skin tingling with delicious heat.
Extending my toes and reaching my arms overhead, I yawned and closed my eyes. The muggy warmth in the room, scented with sweet oils and sweaty bodies, was familiar and welcoming. I stuffed my blanket behind my head.
Shadows fluttered across my closed eyelids, and conversation rattled in my ears, making sleep difficult for me. I was surprised to discover that I missed the silence and darkness of my small prison tent and already missed the feeling of hope that would greet me every morning as I wondered if that day would be a day Saalim would come to me.
I adjusted my mat so it was next to Raheemah’s, and I pulled her to my chest. There was no replacement for her, for Tavi, for all of my sisters whom I loved so dearly. When I had nothing else, I had them.
At some point in the night, the quiet muttering came to an end. The dinner bowls were removed and the torches doused with sand by an attendant. I heard the occasional swishing of limbs across a mat, a gentle cough of my sister or nearby servant, the murmuring of late-night chatter in neighboring palace tents, and the strums of a distant oud sending music into the dark sky. I listened to it all, holding my sleeping half-sister. I took a deep breath and let the noisy comfort of home soothe me.
Chapter Eleven
The harem was hazy with smoke of burning frankincense. I went to my mother’s bed, but it was empty, her blanket folded neatly atop her feather pillow, a luxury for the King’s wives.
“Emel, you’re home!” One of the wives approached and embraced me. “Are you looking for Isra?” I nodded, and she pointed behind me. “The kitchens.”
Thanking her, I looked back to the empty bed. Before I left, I felt under the mat and pillow, felt through the small basket of things she kept. I found no stories, no letters.
The kitchens were on the other side of the palace, so I followed the long curving path of tents until I saw the plumes of gray smoke and smelled the stewed barley and smoked meat. The kitchens were made up of a large tent that opened on one side to an even larger, uncovered area. I walked through the tent, past shelves stacked with gleaming metal trays and lidded pots similar to the ones in which I received my rations. There were black kettles, glass decanters, and goblets. Another corner housed enormous copper pots with thin lids, cold in their disuse. At the center of the tent were thick stone slabs, stacked with steaming food. Servants shuffled in and out of the tent, grabbing empty serving ware and kneeling to fill the trays and bowls. Women husked and winnowed millet in the corner while shouting at the men who collected food—demanding this bread be placed that way or this sauce be placed in that bowl. I did not see my mother.
“Move aside!” A man shouted at my back as he turned into the tent with three empty goblets and two trays in his arms.
Startled and eager to be out of his path, I rushed and fell to the side. When he saw my adorned veil and abaya, he understood who I was. He groaned, appearing horrified. While it was tacitly understood that ahiran did not wander through the servants’ quarters, it was explicitly understood that servants did not yell at them.
“Ahira! I am so sorry. I beg your forgiveness.” He kneeled, setting down his serving-ware.
“There is nothing to forgive,” I mumbled. “I am searching for my mother.” Shaking the sand from my robe, I stood and went to the outdoor kitchen.
Outside, men and women huddled around flames, hooking the kettles to pull them from the fire or stirring enormous pots. Some dug through sand to pull wrapped meat and bread from hot coals. Goats and chickens were scattered, nosing around for food.
Though she was wrapped in dark, plain clothes, I recognized my mother immediately. She sat with two other women at a fire. They were close together, as if sharing secrets. One was pounding sticky dough on a small stone block. The other eyed angry flames shooting out from beneath a wide metal dome with flatbread sizzling on its surface.
“Mama!”
Nearly all the women turned toward me, but it was my mother who jumped to her feet and ran. “Oh, oh!” We collided. “Sons, Emel! I did not expect to see you so soon.” She sniffed and wiped at her eyes, and I was alarmed by her sudden emotional display. She was always so stoic, I did not know how to respond to the sudden deluge.
“I am okay, eh? Everything is fine.”
She sputtered a laugh and pulled me to the other women, seating me beside them as she introduced me. They knew who I was, they said, and proceeded to tell me how as a child, I’d stolen bread from thei
r stack frequently. “It was your favorite,” one said as she fanned out the cooked bread she’d just pulled from the dome, then tossed it to my lap. I tore a piece and brought it to my mouth.
“This is perfect,” I moaned through the buttery bread.
The cooking fires were hot. Even though the air was cooler, how the women could sit beside the fires all day under the sun, I did not know. Shading my eyes, I pulled my scarf down until I could see the small beads swinging in my vision.
“You get used to the heat,” my mother said to me. I did not think I ever would.
“What are you doing here?” I asked, watching the woman spoon oil onto the pan before the other threw the flattened dough atop it. It was unusual for a king’s wife to be alone in the kitchen, especially mingling with servants.
“Sometimes, I need to be away from the harem. Especially . . . lately. Amira and Yara,” she nodded to the two smiling women, and I realized I had forgotten who was who, “are great company. They have worked at the palace since I was wed to . . . the King.” Her voice was strained as she spoke. Suddenly, her face pinched, and Amira and Yara began re-stacking the cooked bread with great focus.
“What is it?” I asked as she brought her hand to her eyes.
“I—” she sucked in a breath, “I am so angry with him. How dare he.” She took another deep breath. “How dare he do that to our daughters?”
Her fingers trembled, and her shoulders shook.
“It’s okay,” I said feebly looking from my mother to the women who discreetly paid no attention. I knew it was not okay, and there was nothing I could say to make her hurt less, but it was easier to lie than to see her angry with my father, to see her unhappy.
“It isn’t,” she whispered. “It isn’t. He is a cruel man.”
A young boy with a floppy sack around his shoulders glanced at us as he passed by. He tossed the hungry animals some dried grass and seed, and they scurried to his feet.
I balked. Her disparagement of Father in front of the palace servants could end in a punishment much worse than my own. I looked again to Yara and Amira. Their expressions were unfazed, and I wondered if perhaps that was not the first time they had heard those words come from my mother’s mouth. I watched the boy—what had he heard?
“Shhh,” I said, scooting closer to her. The bread was untouched in my lap now. “You don’t mean that.”
Mama looked at me. “He is not who he used to be. Every day he is becoming someone else.”
I thought of Saalim’s story and shook my head. “It is not easy being the King. His burden is heavy with the Altamaruq.” The words felt traitorous coming from my lips, and suddenly I understood why Tavi defended Sabra. It felt like it was the only thing I could say to help deflect the hurt, even though I knew it wouldn’t help at all.
She winced at the mention of the Altamaruq, then shook her head as if she were shooing an insect. She turned to me, a heavy sadness in her gaze like I had so much to understand.
“Do you know how I was wed to your father?”
I shook my head thinking I really did not want to hear this story.
“I loved him once. Really, I did. When he came to my settlement, he wanted to talk to my father of the salt trade. He wanted my father to cease use of his salt mine, revolutionize the trading. He promised impossible things; that he had enough salt for the whole desert and that he could supply it peacefully if they brought him the goods we had in the west. I now understand those things were not impossible for him.
“He was genuine, enthusiastic. My father hated him, of course, for the threat he posed, but I was fascinated. He walked me under the palms of my father’s home and promised me a life that had so much more—a desert that was different. It seemed magical.” She scoffed. “How could I say no? He told me of his settlement. That he had three wives at home, and he was looking for someone like me. Someone who knew much about the salt trade—who was brave and strong and independent.” She shook her head as she remembered. “I fell easily to his flattery. My father never forgave me. My mother did only what my father did, so, of course, she did not forgive me either. I never saw them again.” She spoke with the tight grip of resentment. “That was one of the last times your father went to a settlement to bargain. After that, he just took what he wanted, and now, see what he has done. All dreams of a changed, better desert disappeared with the rise of his empire.”
Amira and Yara cooked the bread unhurriedly, their pile growing taller.
Mama spun so that she faced me. “Unlike my mother, I will never follow in my husband’s footsteps if it means I must sacrifice what it is I want. And I won’t sit here and pretend that I accept what he did to you, has done to others. It is horrific—I will not forgive him. When a muhami comes to court you, you must first watch him closely. See how he treats those who are beneath him.” She looked beyond me, at something that wasn’t there. “If I had paid attention, if I hadn’t ignored that which I saw . . .”
I bristled, hurt in spite of myself. Did she regret the life with my father? Did she regret me, and my sisters? And Lateef?
“Mama . . .”
“I am blathering. Forgive me. It is not fair for me to burden you with this.” She grasped my shoulders and looked into my eyes. “You are so much stronger than me. There are so many things happening, and I am so worried. I am so scared . . . I am so hopeful.” She clenched both fists. “Just pay attention, Emel. The Sons may bless us yet.”
One of the women called to me. “Take to your sisters?” She handed me three large flatbreads.
I took them gratefully. Mama’s behavior was strange, unnerving. It scared me. “Mama,” I spoke slowly as if to one of the village elders, “I am going to take these home. I need to go.” I rolled the flatbreads and tucked them beneath my arm. I nodded to Yara and Amira, thanking them again for their generosity and for their kindness toward me and my mother. But I also watched them closely, wondering if they would report my mother’s crazed proclamations to the King.
The girl with the marked face was outside when I walked back to my home. She was sitting on the ground shoving sticks into the sand. When she saw me approach, she smiled shyly and pretended not to see me while watching my every move.
“Hello, little sister,” I said, kneeling down. “What are you doing out here?”
“Papa promised that if I let them work for the afternoon, he would play princess with me tonight.”
Her parents sewed and mended clothes for the palace. I had seen the inside of their home. Piles of cloth filled the space. With more guards coming from afar, new clothes would need to be made.
“Princess? How do you play that?”
She grinned. “I walk around with pretty clothes and tell lots of good stories. Like you.”
I smiled.
“Papa plays the prince and he comes and takes me to his palace and if Mama is done cooking dinner, she’ll dress me pretty so I can have a wedding! My brothers never want to play. They say it’s a girl game, but I think that’s silly because a princess has to have a prince, and in every palace, there are boys and girls.”
“I think you’re right. Where are your brothers now?” Usually they were running through the lanes and pestering their sister.
Pushing out her lower lip, she said, “They left to go to the market. Traders came yesterday.”
“A caravan?” I asked, leaning forward.
She nodded. “Where were you all this time?”
Brushing the hair back from her face, I said quietly, “I have been away, but I am back now.”
“But where? I didn’t see you forever. Mama thought you had married a prince. I didn’t think so, and I will tell her I was right.” She poked at the sand with her stick.
“I was visiting a friend,” I said, thinking of Saalim. She asked me more. I told her he was a very nice friend who brought me lots of treats and told me wonderful tales. I did not tell her he kissed my lips and had hands so warm, I softened beneath his touch.
She smiled, the
n eyed the flatbread tucked in my arm. I took the roll and handed it to her.
“For you and your family.” Like me, servants were allowed specific rations and could not visit the kitchens as easily as my mother. Still, they could leave the palace while I could not. Some things they won, some things I lost.
She stuffed the edge of the bread into her mouth, sucking on it until it was soaked and crumbling.
“What stories did your friend tell you?” She asked.
“I’ll tell you one, but then I must go.” I walked her to a shady area between two neighboring tents and told her of water that when cold enough, turned to stone.
Sabra and Tavi weren’t home when I returned. They went to the rama with some of my other sisters, I was told. Raheemah was there entreating idle sisters to play a card game with her. She looked a little pale and rubbed at her stomach.
“You okay?” I asked.
Her face lit up when she saw me, but it didn’t quite hide the pallor. She held the cards out to me. “Me? Yes! Let’s play some rounds, eh? You can tell me how your mother is.”
“I can’t, Emah.” I shifted from foot to foot, unsure if I wanted to confess what I was considering, fearing her disapproval.
“Why?” She said flatly, narrowing her gaze.
“A caravan,” I whispered. “It’s been so long . . .”
She dropped her face into her palm. “Emel! You can’t honestly be considering it after what happened.”
I shushed her, looking around to make sure our sisters didn’t hear.
“If I am quick, can you lie for me? If she asks?” In truth, I did not think Sabra would. In the days that I had been home, I saw that Sabra had changed—like a lamp without oil—she was cold, empty, and dark. Our eyes had met once but no words had been exchanged. Still, I watched her. She was often by herself or Tavi was with her, generous with her love and accepting of Sabra’s angry silence.
Daughter of the Salt King Page 15
