Free Sultana by Lisa J. Yarde Page B

her. “We didn’t know where you were. Why are you so dirty? Your throat is all red.”
    Fatima swallowed past the lump in her throat, stomach roiling. Her brother and sisters stared. She reached blindly and Niranjan caught her hand. Burying her wet face in his tunic, she gave in to his gentle soothing.
    He said, “I have ever served your mother. Now, I shall serve you. I shall protect you until the end of my days.”
    Behind her, Alimah asked, “Fatima, what’s wrong?”
    Their father cleared his throat. Fatima looked up just as the Sultan arrived. The princes and princesses fell to their knees.
    “Fatima, come to me.” When the Sultan held out his hand, she withdrew from Niranjan’s hold and knelt, kissing the hem of her grandfather’s robe. The Sultan raised her up and cupped her face, looking down at her in a steady hazel gaze.
    “Rest, bathe and eat, for now. Afterward, I want to know everything.”
     
    After the slaves Leeta and Amoda had bathed her and her governess wrapped her in clean garments, Fatima went to her father’s apartments in the harem. Niranjan trailed her silently.
    “Go back!” she whispered over her shoulder. “I am only going to my father. I don’t need a guard for that.”
    His stubborn footfalls echoed hers. She scowled over her shoulder at him. She bypassed a garden ringed with myrtle trees. At the center, multicolored fish swam in a marble pool. When she reached the entrance of her father’s residence, she turned to Niranjan. He bowed and stood next to a column, hands clasped behind him.
    From within, the sound of her father’s weeping echoed. She had not told him of her mother’s death but he seemed to know it.
    When she entered, he sat hunched over his writing desk, while the Sultan and Faraj stood on either side of him. The Sultan lifted his hand before letting it fall limp at his hip.
    He asked, “Where were you kept, Fatima?”
    She answered, “In the house of Abdallah, Princess Aisha’s brother, my Sultan.”
    “Who else was there, other than the princess and her brother?”
    “The Ashqilula chieftains, Ibrahim and Abu Muhammad followed Abdallah to Gharnatah.”
    Her father lifted his head. His eyes were wet and puffy. “Did Abu Muhammad hurt Aisha?”
    “No.”
    The Sultan approached. “Did Ibrahim do it?”
    When she nodded, her father jerked to his feet, knocking the chair over. “I’ll kill him myself.”
    The Sultan patted his shoulder. “In time, my son, all in good time.”
     

Chapter 6
    The Bond
     
    Prince Faraj
     
    Gharnatah, al-Andalus: Muharram 664 AH (Granada, Andalusia: October AD 1265)
     
    Faraj turned toward the window, as Fatima and her father embraced. He considered the consequences of the previous night. The child kidnapped. Her mother murdered. If her captors had no qualms about killing a woman, their own kin, what might they do to him, now that he was Fatima’s husband? The death of the Crown Prince’s wife was the first hint of the threat the Ashqilula posed.
    “I have dispatched guards to the foothills, to search for the body. When they return, I want the rest of your children brought here, my son. They must know the truth.”
    When the Sultan spoke, Faraj turned toward him with a frown. What could his master be suggesting?
    The Crown Prince pulled back slightly from his daughter, though his arms still encircled her. She kept her face buried in his shoulder.
    He said, “I intend to tell them, Father.”
    “That is not enough. Let them come and see the body.”
    The Crown Prince stood, his reddened eyes widening. Still, he hugged Fatima close to him. Faraj felt a tiny pang of jealousy stirring his memories. No one had remained to comfort him when his mother had died.
    “Father, you cannot mean it.”
    “Don’t I? Let them see what comes of treachery and disloyalty to this family.”
    “I won’t do it. You cannot be so merciless, not even to your own grandchildren. I shall not burden them with such a sight! It would destroy