The Evermore Series II: Books 4, 5 and 6

by Connelly, Clare

  “From this moment on, you do everything I say. Understood?”

  She smiled, a smile that showed not even a hint of subservience. “Yes, your highness.”

  Of course, plans had to be changed to allow for the fact his wife was accompanying him. Instead of riding out, he arranged for helicopters. It was far more sensible, in any event – the sooner he could get to the Jakari the sooner he could resolve this.

  And he wanted the issue dealt with, once and for all.

  The helicopter lifted up, over the desert, and beside him, Sophia craned forward, looking over the landscape with undisguised interest. Malik was less interested in the landscape and more interested in his wife.

  As a child, she’d been chaotic and loud, running around the palace like a fairy, always laughing. As an adult woman, she was calmer, but captivating in equal measure – and for different reasons.

  He closed his eyes for a moment and imagined living in another reality. He imagined Addan had lived, had he not been hell bent on restoring that piece of equipment and making it fly once more. He imagined that this woman was his brother’s wife, and every fibre in his body rejected the idea of any other man possessing her.

  His chest tightened to think that the cold war they’d been engaged in would have continued with that marriage, that Malik’s self-imposed exile would have continued, all to avoid seeing her.

  That this woman had been chosen to marry into his family had never made sense to him, but for the first time, seeing her determination to come with him to the Jakari people, something seemed to click in place.

  She was fearless.

  Fearless and brave, in the way of his people. She mightn’t have come from these deserts, its ancient blood didn’t hum in her body, but there was a spirit of strength about her that was familiar to Malik.

  And Addan had seen that. He had seen it even when she’d been a little girl and he, Addan, a twelve year old. Or perhaps he’d simply trusted their father.

  Malik had not. He’d fought this for as long as he could remember. He’d fought her inclusion into their family, her easy acceptance as part of the palace. He’d railed against her on every level.

  And here they were – the only two left, side by side, the country’s future in their hands.

  “Look,” she turned to face him, but her voice was barely audible above the sound of the rotor blades.

  He lifted the pillow of the seat between them and pulled out two headsets, reaching across and hooking hers in place, barely resisting the impulse to run his thumb over her lower lip. He hooked his own headset in place then leaned over, so he could see what she was pointing at. It brought his body close to hers, and a surge of awareness began to beat inside of him.

  Even now, even with the situation he was flying into, he wanted her in a way that defied explanation. He ached for her, every single part of him was throbbing with that need.

  “Is that the oasis of Manama?”

  She turned to look at him, their faces separated by only an inch. “Yes.”

  He felt her eyes scanning his face, and straightened, but kept his gaze on the beautiful spot beneath the chopper. Crystal clear blue water formed a perfect oval, with palm trees lining one edge, and white sand on the other. There was a small rock formation a couple of hundred metres away, and a cave in one of them provided perfect natural shelter.

  “Addan loved it there,” she said, which quelled the desire in his stomach, if only a little.

  “Yes.” He sat back in his seat, staring straight ahead. “We used to go there often as children.”

  “He told me.” She turned her face to his; he continued looking straight ahead. “He told me you ran away there when you were fifteen, determined to live out your days in that cave.”

  A smile twitched at the corners of Malik’s mouth. “I wasn’t quite so recalcitrant as that makes me sound.”

  “No? Were you sulking over something, Malik?” She teased, and now he shifted his gaze to her, his eyes landing on her lips. Parted and pink, he found them impossibly distracting.

  “I don’t remember now,” he lied.

  “But you’ve always liked the desert,” she said softly. “Addan said you were at one with it. As though you have been cast from it by magic.”

  Malik shook his head. “My brother was poetic with his words.”

  “I think he was speaking the truth,” she demurred. “You would have been at home living out here, wouldn’t you?”

  A muscle jerked in his jaw. “Contemplating hypotheticals is a futile waste of energy.”

  “I don’t know,” she murmured, biting down on her lip. “I think it’s instructive.”

  “As to what?”

  “Who you are.”

  His lips formed a gash in his face. “I find the freedom of the desert compelling. So too the elemental nature of it. Out here, it is man and earth, and one has to be prepared to survive on merit.”

  He saw the smile whisper across her face. “You’re so different to Addan.”

  His gut tightened. He looked away from her, out over the desert. What would have taken him a day on horseback was under an hour in flight time. With a wife determined to psychoanalyse him and compare him to Addan? It felt considerably longer.

  “Yes.” The agreement was crisp. He hoped it would put an end to the conversation.

  It didn’t, of course. He had already learned that when Sophia set her mind on something, she let very little stand in her way. “You were close growing up but not as teenagers,” she said.

  That had him turning to face her. “I considered Addan to be my best friend.”

  “No, he was my best friend,” she said softly. “He hardly saw you.”

  A muscle throbbed in Malik’s jaw and regrets fizzed in his blood.

  “You were always out here. Or overseas. Sewing your wild oats, he would say.”

  Malik’s eyes slammed shut. Is that what his brother had thought? That Malik had chosen to travel and sleep around with beautiful women rather than being home, shouldering his responsibilities? “Unlike Addan, I was not tied to Abu Faya. The freedom to travel was always my right.”

  “Of course,” she nodded. “He missed you, though.”

  Malik’s stomach clenched. Fury slashed his insides. There was no going back, no changing the decisions he’d made and the way he’d handled his life.

  “He loved you.”

  “Stop.” His eyes swept shut for a moment. “Do not speak to me of Addan. At least, do not speak to me of his feelings for me. I know what we were to each other. I know how he felt.”

  “He was proud of you,” she said simply.

  “Stop,” he repeated, this time holding a hand in the air to silence her. “Respect me, respect my wishes, Sheikha.”

  “Or what? You’ll have me flown back to the palace? Why won’t you talk to me about him? Does it occur to you that you’re the only other person who loved him as I did? Who I can share my grief with?”

  Malik felt as though his chest had been cleaved wide open. “Get a therapist, Sophia, if you want to talk out your grief.”

  “Jeez,” she whispered, spinning her face away from his, looking out the window. But not fast enough – he saw the tears that sparkled on her lashes and knew he’d done that to her. Guilt chewed at his heels.

  “He loved you,” she whispered. “He hated that you and I… that we weren’t… he hated that we hated each other. He wanted us to be friends. But how can we be? How can we be anything other than this when you are determined to be so…”

  He waited, his pulse like a volcano. “Yes?”

  “So cold.” She finished, shaking her head. “Everywhere except bed.”

  The words settled on his shoulders, and they felt right. They felt good, somehow, the limitations exactly what his relationship with his brother’s fiancé should have been.

  “You chose this marriage,” he reminded her, surprising even himself with how arctic the words sounded. “Knowing what it would be like.”


  “I thought he’d been right about you. I thought if I got to know you better…”

  “He was wrong. You were wrong. This is who I am, this is what I want from our marriage. I’m sorry to be pain you, naturally, but do not look to change me, Sheikha.”

  She bit down on her lip and he suspected it was to stop a sob from emerging. “I won’t.” She stared straight ahead for the remainder of the flight.

  Chapter 9

  IT WAS HOTTER AND more unpleasant than anything she’d ever experienced, like being a turkey in the oven on Thanksgiving Day, no reprieve in sight. Even the breeze that occasionally rolled lackadaisically past was warm, offering no respite from the searing heat.

  But she didn’t express, with words nor gesture, that she was even remotely uncomfortable.

  The helicopter had set down hours earlier, followed by a second, which set up an enormous tent for her and Malik, a little away from the ramshackle group of Bedouin constructions. Theirs was sturdy and designed for comfort – even a small bathroom had been constructed – a rudimentary shower head and toilet meant the creature comforts she’d neglected to consider were of no concern.

  There were more clothes for her too, and she was immensely glad, because none of what she’d brought was suitable. The singlet tops she’d planned to wear revealed far too much skin, for modesty but also sunburn. Instead, she changed into one of the long, flowing robes with sleeves that fell to her wrists, and which were made of a very fine linen weave, meaning what little breeze there was could pass through her.

  She scooped her hair out of the pony-tail and opted for a bun instead, trying to maximize the places the stilted desert air could reach her.

  Malik had disappeared the moment they’d touched down. He’d strode out of the helicopter without so much as a backwards glance and she’d fought an urge to pitch herself after him, to run at him and throw her fists against his chest and to shout at him to stop being such a dictatorial bastard and open up to her! Addan was their common ground. His death had affected them both. Why wouldn’t he talk to her about that?

  She sipped the ice cold tea that had been prepared for her – several servants had been brought to the desert as well, though they were staying in the Bedouin tribe.

  Sophia knew this wasn’t how Malik travelled, when he ventured into the desert. She’d learned from Addan that he slept under the stars as much as possible, occasionally setting up a simple tent for himself – usually only when one of the desert’s fiery sandstorms were expected, to save his skin from being sheared off.

  So all of this, then, was for her.

  And that infuriated her. She didn’t want special treatment. Okay, maybe she did. Maybe the toilet and the shower were a nice touch. But she didn’t want him to think she was some precious little wildflower that needed protecting. She was his wife – his equal – and he had to start treating her like that.

  Or maybe she was just furious with him in general, frustrated by his insistence on keeping her at arm’s length even when they’d shared something so special, so meaningful. Because it was meaningful, wasn’t it? Sex was sex, sure. She got it.

  But it hadn’t been ‘just sex’. Not even when he’d insisted as much. There was no way the passion that had burst between them was normal or routine. It had to be because of who they were. She had no experience, no point of comparison, and yet she felt it with complete certainty. So why wasn’t he admitting that?

  She let out a grating noise of frustration at the moment a noise sounded from the flap of her tent.

  “Excuse me?” The voice came to her in Abu Fayan, but the accent was thick.

  She stood up, moving towards the flap of the tent, fanning her face as she walked.

  “Hello?”

  The woman on the other side was around her age, with dark hair, dark eyes, and a kind smile. “Hi.”

  She bowed low, then straightened. “Am I intruding?”

  “Not at all. Would you like to come in?”

  “I cannot.” Her expression was wry. “This is only for you and your husband.” She took a step backwards. “I wondered if you might like to come and see the ruins of Persimina. They are only an hour or so from here, and I have provisions.”

  Sophia was intrigued. “I’ve never heard of them. I’m sorry, who are you?”

  The other woman laughed. “Forgive me, I presumed my reputation had preceded me. I am Saliyah. Also known as the reason you’re here.”

  “His highness hasn’t really told me why we’re here,” she said apologetically, patching together what she did know of these people, and their desperate bid to stop their young from fleeing the settlement and moving to the cities. She could only presume this woman wished to do likewise.

  “Then I can tell you on the way.” She pulled the flap wider. “As for the ruins, they are a thousand years old – one of the earliest buildings, and quite dramatic. You will enjoy seeing them.”

  “What on earth was built all the way out here?”

  “The beginnings of a castle, at one time,” Saliyah murmured, stepping back to allow Sophia to follow her. She whistled and a camel sauntered over. “Have you ever been on a camel?”

  A memory came flashing back to her and she laughed, spontaneously. Addan had given her one for her nineteenth birthday, as a joke. She’d fallen right off it. “Yes, and not very successfully.”

  “We have horses if you’d prefer? Only there is a small watering hole near the ruins and the camels are thirsty…”

  “It’s fine. I’ll be fine.” She eyed the beast thoughtfully. “Only… how do I…?”

  “Grab here,” Saliyah nodded towards a braided cord that was dangling around the camel’s neck. “And swing up.”

  It took Sophia two attempts but then she was sat between the humps, feeling apprehensive, but proud. Belatedly, she thought of Malik. “Will we be long? If later than dusk I should inform my husband…”

  “We will be back before the yashal.”

  Sophia nodded. “Which way?”

  Saliyah’s smile was enigmatic. “He knows.”

  The camel began to step forward and Sophia gripped the braided chord that ran around his head a little tighter, fear lurching through her.

  This was different to the camel Addan had surprised her with. Calmer. Perhaps more used to conveying passengers, or maybe worn down by the heat of the desert. He took a sedate path, walking easily, and Saliyah’s camel kept pace beside.

  “You are younger than I expected,” Saliyah observed, as some distance emerged between them and the settlement.

  “Am I? What did you expect?”

  The sun beat down; Sophia resisted the temptation to wipe sweat from her brow.

  “I don’t know.” Saliyah laughed. “I should say, you are young to have a position of such responsibility.”

  Sophia didn’t point out that at the moment her role was largely ceremonial – and one of breeding. Her smile was tight.

  “How old are you, Saliyah?”

  “Twenty one.”

  Sophia shifted her gaze sideways, easily able to look at her companion. The camel continued on its course. “And you want to leave the tribe?”

  Saliyah’s eyes flicked to Sophia’s and then she looked straight ahead, her expression one of stone. “Yes.”

  “But Laith does not wish this?” Sophia pushed, trying to understand what her husband wouldn’t speak to her about.

  Saliyah’s laugh lacked humour. “He has threatened to imprison my parents if I leave.”

  Sophia drew in a harsh breath. “Why?”

  “Because our numbers can’t keep dropping. Because if my entire generation chooses to leave the tribe, or worse, run away, there will be no one left to bring new children into this way of life. He is only trying to protect our people from the incursion of that.” She jabbed a thumb towards the desert, beyond which were the cities and the future. “The twenty first century is suffocating us all.”

  The image Saliyah painted was poignant. “The twenty first centur
y is a reality to be grappled with,” Sophia said slowly, thoughtfully. “Speaking as a person, not as Sheikha, I cannot see Laith – or anyone – can stand in the doorway of change and hope to stop it.”

  Saliya’s dark eyes sparked with Sophia’s. “Nor can I.” She sighed. “I do not want the tribe to fall apart. I do not want my generation’s legacy to be this – our elderly alone out here, to fend for themselves and to live out the ancient ways of our people with no hope of those rites continuing. But I want to study. I have always wanted to learn and understand. I was fortunate. My father procured books for me, lots of books, from a trader who we cross paths with three times a year. On each occasion, father would swap what books we had, and more would be brought.”

  Sophia’s smile was warm. “I also love to read.”

  “There is no greater pleasure,” Saliyah sighed.

  Sophia nodded, thinking of how many times in her life she’d escaped into books, fallen into their pages to avoid the reality that surrounded her.

  “As I grew older, he began to bring school books. Texts. Long papers and dissertations. I think he saw that my mind was enquiring and wanted to foster that in some way. A year ago, he brought an exam from a university. He and my father argued, but the trader was adamant. My mother too. They persuaded my father to let me at least sit the paper, to complete what I could of it.”

  “And?”

  Sophia was so hot, her cheeks bright pink. Saliyah reached into the bag that hung on the camel’s side and pulled out a flat-shaped bottle. “Here.” She passed it over; Sophia took it gratefully.

  Cool water was within. She drank and replaced the lid, handing it back to Saliyah.

  “How did you do on the test?”

  “The university said it was a perfect score. They couldn’t believe I’ve never had any formal education. They offered me a place, a full scholarship, with board.” She turned to Sophia, her expression overflowing with emotion. “I’m terrified to go, your highness. I have no idea what a city is like – the trader told me it is noisier than when all of the night birds cry together, and never ending – but I know I have to do this.”