Free Sultana's Legacy by Lisa J. Yarde Page A

“You know him, as I do. His honor would never have permitted it. Father, your anger must be terrible. Your wrath is blameless. I wept when Faraj came to me from Tarif and told me what he had done. We quarreled and I accused him of abandoning your cause, when you have always been merciful to him. I knew you could never forgive him for this. Yet I ask.” She paused and knelt before him and clasped her hands together, “No, I beg for his life. Would you kill the beloved father of your own grandchildren? Would you leave me a widow?”
    He shook his head. “Faraj has betrayed me again. I forgave him once before, but I cannot do so now.”
    “What do you mean, Father?”
    “Do you think me a fool, Fatima? I have always known of Faraj’s guilt in the death of the last Ashqilula governor of Malaka.”
    When she gasped, he turned from her, his voice low. “No one else would have dared kill Abu Muhammad of Ashqilula. No other possessed a more damning reason for his death. Faraj let you plead for his life, when he knew his own guilt. I accepted the lie for your sake. I freed him and restored his family’s heritage. I did it for love of you. I could not bear your pain.”
    The memory of her same accusations against Faraj only days before weighed upon Fatima now. She sagged on her knees and buried her face in her hands.
    Her father grunted and pried her fingers away. He knelt with her on the grass. “Do not cry for him, daughter. He cared nothing for my feelings or your own. He is unworthy of your sorrow or my forgiveness.”
    Fatima smiled through her tears. “I love him, Father, as my life. He is my life. My heart can bear the pain of his disloyalty. It cannot bear the loss of him. I must see him. Does he still live?”
    When he did not immediately answer, she looked past him to where his guards stood. Two of them brandished curved daggers, splattered with blood.
    Fatima rose and dashed past them, ignoring her father’s voice. “Wait!”
    She turned in the direction she had seen his men come from, toward the mashwar . She pushed the door before her. It flew back against the stucco wall and rattled on its hinges.
    She froze, a scream trapped inside her throat. A pool of blood drained from a crumpled corpse in the middle of the floor. Her father’s hand closed on her arm. She jerked away, startled by his touch. For a moment, she had forgotten him in the painful glare of death.
    “Calm yourself, daughter. Your husband’s brother Muhammad came to Gharnatah last night. He warned me of Faraj’s treachery. He hoped I would reward him with Malaka. When I refused, he tried to attack Faraj. My guards killed him.”
    Fatima turned from the sight. He gathered her in his arms.
    She whispered, “Where have you taken my husband?”
    “Faraj is in a cell at al-Quasaba .” When she drew back and looked at him, he continued, “He has committed treason. Not even you can save him. I am the Lawgiver. You shall accept my decree.”
    “If you kill him, Father, I shall die.”
    He kissed her brow and released her. “You think you cannot endure the pain. When the tragedy has faded, when you look to your children, you shall survive it. I know. I bore the treachery of your Ashqilula mother and her death. I accepted it. You shall discover the same courage within as I found it, after Aisha forsook me.”
    He turned from her and walked to the throne room.
    “You never loved her as I love him!” Fatima’s voice echoed.
    Her father halted, glanced over his shoulder once and then continued without looking back.
     

Chapter 5
     
     
    The Sultan
     
    Princess Fatima
     
    Gharnatah, Al-Andalus: Dhu al-Qa`da 693 AH (Granada, Andalusia: October AD 1294)
     
     
    Later in the evening, Fatima sobbed into her hands. She sat on a turquoise cushion in the apartments of her father’s queen, the Sultana Shams ed-Duna. The heat of a metal brazier in the corner of the room did not cast aside the chill that pinched Fatima’s shoulders.
    Shams ed-Duna