Chapter 22
22
W E REACH I SHMAH BEFORE SUNDOWN . Flinging myself off the makeshift sailer, I sprint for the capital gates, only to find myself barred by the line of sentinels stretched shoulder to shoulder beneath the great archway. I rip away my headscarf, baring my face. “Get out of my way,” I snarl.
Their eyes widen in recognition, and they instantly fold at the waist, allowing me to pass. I dart toward the small stable yard obscured in the shadow of the wall. “I need a horse!”
One appears in seconds. The mare is fractious, high-spirited, her coat a rich mahogany in the fading light. I mount, reins clamped in a trembling hand. One of the soldiers—a captain—steps forward in concern. “Your Highness—”
“Clear the roads,” I command.
He rushes off, barking orders. When I attempt to guide the mare down the street, she tosses her head, skittering sideways with nervous energy. “Drat it all,” I hiss. “Move!”
Someone catches the reins. I’ve half a mind to strike them down when the panic-induced fog clears, and Notus’ unruffled gaze fills my vision. Gray colors the drooping skin of his face. The long hours of travel have sapped the majority of his power.
“Let me,” he says.
I do not fight him on this. In truth, it is the greatest respite to pass the responsibility of navigating the city onto him. Once the South Wind has settled at my back, he digs in his heels, and we spring forward, hurtling down the street with a sharp clatter of hooves.
Up, up into the upper ring, down the broad Queen’s Road. Notus directs us not to the central palace gates, but to a smaller entrance nearer to the king’s quarters. The moment we are through, I slide from the saddle.
“Sarai.”
I glance at Notus. He is magnificent atop the horse, the deep pools of his eyes welling with all the emotion he cannot speak. Perhaps he, too, regrets what was said in the desert.
Then he shakes his head. “Go.” And that is the last I see of him, for I plunge into the cool palace interior, past green alcoves and burbling fountains. My legs twinge with fatigue, yet I take the stairs three at a time to the third level, swinging myself around a pillar. By the time I reach the king’s chambers, I am near collapse. I stumble inside, gasping for air.
The shades: drawn. The lamps: sputtering, wicks charred black. King Halim’s quarters are substantial, burdened by the opulence of hanging silks, the air having curdled with the reek of old sweat. Despite the lethargic warmth of the room, the king’s bed is piled high with blankets, Father buried beneath. Amir sits at his bedside, head bowed, clasped hands pressed to his forehead. He is still, both shadow and man.
I step forward. “Amir.”
No movement. My heart quavers. I press a fist against it, trying to ward off the rising hysteria. “Amir!”
He stirs and lifts his head. In the muted glow of a nearby lamp, the skin around his eyes is inflamed, revealing what has likely been hours of weeping. The sight steals what little air remains from my lungs.
My brother manages to stand, with effort. His robe is a wrinkled mess. I wonder when he last bathed. “Sarai.”
At last, I close the distance, saying, “I came as soon as I could.” I brush Amir’s shoulder tentatively. He is fragile, my brother. Soon, his life will change, the crown passed onto his brow. “Where’s Tuleen?”
“I sent her away,” he mumbles, eyes lowered. “I do not wish for her to see me like this.”
It saddens me, though I understand Amir’s sentiment. That is how our family has always handled uncomfortable emotions. We strip them from our expressions. We scrub them from our skin.
I glance at Father. “Is he—?”
“No.” Amir looks toward the window despite the curtains shuttering the view. “But he doesn’t have much time.”
I’m afraid of peering closer at the body wasting beneath the thick blankets. It is a blight upon my mind. But it cannot be ignored. And so I turn, and gaze down at Ammara’s king.
His eyes are closed. The lids droop, and sweat clings to his brow. “Father.” But the title is too stiff. It has never sat comfortably in my mouth. “Papa.”
His eyes crack open. A white film clouds their pupils. “Sarai,” he rattles. “I’d hoped you would come.”
I bite my cheek. How many times have I wished to hear these words? I could never have imagined it would be on his deathbed.
The king’s thin chest stutters, a sound of liquid in the lungs. “Where is Amir?” he wheezes out.
“I’m here, Father.”
He nods, the motion stilted. “That is good. You are… together, as you should be.”
Settling into the vacated chair, I grip Father’s hand with both of mine, as if I might shelter its frailty, the dulled rings that had once gleamed. “I’m sorry I was not here sooner. Notus and I were delayed. A red storm destroyed his sailer, and—” And this was a gift I may have never received, to bid Father farewell. There are more important things to discuss than my delay. I have no idea where to begin.
Slowly, Amir lowers himself into the chair next to mine. I take a breath. “Papa—”
“Do you know what I wish, Sarai?”
I stare down at our father, who watches me unblinkingly. The full force of his attention unnerves me. “I don’t, Papa.”
“I wish that I knew for certain you’d be safe after I was gone. That Ammara and Amir would be safe as well.”
My lips part, then close, no words to come. I see what this is about. “I admit, I’ve made a mess of things.”
“If you were to marry Prince Balior—”
“I won’t . Please, just—” I sigh, eyes closed. “You will have to trust that I’m doing the best that I can. If you knew—” But I’m not sure now is the time to reveal what lurks in the shadows. It would certainly not ease Father’s passing.
“What?” King Halim presses. “If I knew what?”
I look to Amir. He stares intensely back.
“What are you keeping from us, Sarai?” my brother demands.
Fear makes fists of my hands, which I press into the edge of the mattress. This is not how I wanted to spend my last moments with my father.
“I know you had your heart set on a union between Prince Balior and me, Papa, but I don’t trust him. I believe his motives in agreeing to the arranged marriage to be nefarious.”
Amir gapes at me. “What are you going on about?” He never considered Prince Balior to be the enemy. None of us did.
King Halim says to Amir, “Leave us.”
My brother doesn’t move. “Whatever it is Sarai knows, don’t you think I should be informed, considering I’m your heir?”
“Leave us,” he repeats more forcefully.
The slow pulsation of Amir’s jaw is the only indication of his indignation. To my surprise, he doesn’t argue. With a final glance at us both, he departs, closing the door softly behind him.
“Papa.” I speak quietly, as I might communicate with a child. “I believe Prince Balior intends to free the beast from the labyrinth.”
“What!” The king struggles to prop himself against the headboard. “Sarai, this is ridiculous.”
Gently, I press him back down onto the mattress. He glares at me all the while. “It’s true.”
He shakes his head, looking elsewhere. Eventually, as though unable to deny the absurdity of my claim, his attention returns to mine. “Prince Balior is an honest man. I don’t want his reputation tainted due to idle gossip. Do you have proof of this?”
So I start at the beginning. At this point, I have nothing to lose. I inform him of the records I found, the information unearthed about the beast, its personal account of the events leading up to its imprisonment, Prince Balior’s interest in the labyrinth. Despite all evidence laid before him, however, King Halim’s doubt is palpable. “Sarai—”
“He has brought his army into Ishmah,” I state, the last card I have to offer in this terrible game of leverage.
Every bit of color drains from King Halim’s face. “What?”
I feel ill. Prince Balior lied to me, though I should not be surprised. He never asked for the king’s permission to allow his army access to Ishmah, and it was not granted. Father’s shock proves it. “I saw it,” I say. “Thousands of his men have made camp in the western reaches of the city. Tell me: Why would he bring them inside the gates if not to use them? Once he frees the beast, I imagine he will use his army to quell any potential retaliation. He will take control. I think it’s clear by now that I don’t plan on marrying him. So why does he continue to lurk around the palace, unless it’s to enter the labyrinth and release the beast?”
For a time, all is quiet. The lamplight wavers. “This is… not good.” With a weary sigh, King Halim sags deeper into the pillows, naught but skin and bones. “If I were to stand against Prince Balior, he would unleash his army upon Ishmah without question.” Then he frowns, expression ponderous. “I doubt he would strike so soon. Not until I am gone, at least.” Another long pause follows. “It’s possible he might move during Amir’s coronation. I will warn the sentries. We have too few men. Much of the city will be unprotected during the ceremony.”
A distorted sound squeezes from my throat, caught between laughter and a sob. “And what of me?” Always, I stand alone in the cold looking in. “My life will end in eight days, Papa. Eight! I should have died at birth. That was my fate. You cannot change it.”
“Your fate was not to die on that day. Your fate was to live, Sarai, and live fully. That is what I hoped for you.”
I shake my head, voice emerging low and hoarse. “Then I have failed you.”
A stillness swathes the room. It reminds me of the goats butchered in the market square, a slow drip, drip of lifeblood leaking out.
“In what way?” he asks with a softness I have rarely witnessed.
Tears wind salted tracks down my cheeks. Even as I hold tight to strength, my grip weakens. “I have tried, Papa. All these years, I have tried to be the princess Ammara needs.” Tactful, diplomatic, perceptive, judicious, an outstanding leader. I could risk not one imperfection. “But I fear I have fallen short in the eyes of my people, and of you.”
“What—” His second attempt to sit up in bed is met with defeat, and he sinks down into the pillows. “What is this talk of failure? Of course you have not fallen short. The people love you, as they should. And with Amir taking the throne… he will require all your support.”
Mutely, I nod, even as I feel myself folding inward. Just once, I wish I knew what it felt like to be heard by the man who’d raised me. “Can I ask you something?”
He nods, though warily, as if sensing a shift in emotion.
“What do you love about me?”
Father recoils into his sweat-dampened pillow. “What kind of question is that?”
“Just answer it. Please.”
King Halim appears as if I have caused a great injustice for daring to request of him this one, small thing. He cannot know how desperate I am to hear his words.
“I love that you are diligent,” he says gruffly. “I love that you are a leader. I love your complex mind, your dedication to the people of Ammara.”
With every spoken trait, my heart sinks lower. Shaking my head, I pull away from him. “But that’s not who I am.”
He stares at me. “I don’t understand.”
“I became those things,” I say, “because I felt pressured to be this flawless, faultless version of you .”
Papa huffs. It stings, this disbelief. “You can’t believe that, Sarai. The things I have done for you and your siblings over the years! All of it to ensure you would be looked after, cared for.”
“That is my truth,” I say. “It has been my truth. I haven’t wanted to accept it for fear of failing you.” How sad that Father never truly knew me, or saw me for what I was, rather than what I was not.
“I don’t understand what you want,” he grinds out.
A wild-eyed tightness squeezes my chest. Never have I spoken these words aloud. I have gathered them, secreted them into the smallest folds, so small they are pressed into nothing. I have carried them all the years of my life. And now, I let them unfurl.
“To be free,” I whisper, voice wobbling as more tears fall.
Father tightens his hand around mine as I feel those ill-fitting pieces of myself slide into place.
“I wish to know the world,” I say. “I wish to cultivate a life of courage and authenticity. I wish to shed the obligations of my upbringing.”
King Halim looks terribly saddened. “Why did you never tell me?”
“Because I was afraid,” I choke out, “that no matter what I did, I would never be enough for you. All I wanted was to play violin. But even that lost its allure.” For Fahim took his life, and my love of music along with it.
Backbreaking sobs send me into the bed. I feel so lost, so completely alone. Father is dying. We have never seen eye to eye, but I do not wish for him to go.
“Sarai.” A gentle touch on the back of my head. “Look at me.”
I lift my head, wipe my dripping nose. To my astonishment, tears sheen Father’s eyes.
“You are my daughter,” he says softly. “My greatest and most unexpected gift. If you truly believe you are not enough, then I have failed you as a father. I have always been proud of you, Sarai. Always. I’m sorry I was never able to tell you.”
I nod, unable to speak amidst the weeping.
“You ask what the realm needs?” he says. “Sarai. Just Sarai. That’s who Ammara needs, who Amir needs, who Notus needs.”
Notus. I wonder where he has gone. “He hurt me when he left. I feared he did not care for me.” Feared he did not love me, as I loved him.
“I understand why you would feel anger toward Notus, but the fault is not solely his. Fahim played a large part in his departure.”
Only the rattle of Father’s lungs interrupts the quiet. A peculiar numbness begins to spread across my face. “What are you talking about? What does Fahim have to do with Notus leaving Ishmah?”
“You didn’t know?” Father searches my eyes. “Fahim demanded that Notus leave. I was not aware they had spoken until Fahim told me what he had done later that evening.”
“He—” I falter, suddenly unsure. “Fahim sent Notus away?” I always assumed Notus chose to leave. Father never refuted it.
I snatch my hand from his. “Why?” I croak. “Why would Fahim send him away? He knew what Notus meant to me. He knew that I loved him.” Loved him still.
“I don’t know Fahim’s reasoning,” he says, voice weakening, “but I do know he was remorseful after the fact. He dispatched scouts to search for the South Wind in the weeks that followed, hoping to call him back, but Notus was never found.”
For what reason would Fahim make this decision? It was not his life. Neither was it his business. Perhaps he feared my happiness, feared who I was when I was loved and free. Was it because he was unable to experience the same, as heir? Because it was yet one more thing he must give up to be king?
Yet even as my ire grows, I deflate. What does it matter anyway? Fahim is gone, and what’s done cannot be made undone. Though I question why Notus never mentioned this to me; not once did he fight the words I’d weaponized against him. He allowed them to land where they would inflict the greatest pain.
“Why didn’t you tell me about this?” I whisper.
Father is momentarily lost for words. Rarely am I allowed to witness such deep emotion as the sadness and regret now painting his features. “When Fahim was discovered,” he says, a quaver to his words, “my world changed. All of ours did. It didn’t seem important to fixate on the past, knowing he would not return. And… I suppose a part of me wished to shield him from your anger, even though he was no longer with us.”
A lengthy moment passes before I have the strength to speak. “Does Amir know?”
“No. He took Fahim’s death quite hard, as you know. I did not want to taint the image he had of his brother.”
It’s too much. To learn that the anger and resentment I’ve held on to has been misdirected? That it was Fahim’s decision that carved this hole into my life? Yet Notus didn’t fight my brother on this. He left, in the end—without me. How do I go about repairing that hurt? How do I heal?
“Papa.” I wipe my streaming nose with the back of my sleeve. “What will happen when you’re gone? Who will teach Amir how to rule? Who will guide Ammara through darkness?” And what will happen once my nameday arrives? How am I to protect our realm if I am no longer alive to stand between Prince Balior and the labyrinth?
“Sarai.” He grips my hand with surprising strength. “Brightest and fiercest of my children. I am confident you will find a way.”
“I don’t know…” A shudder runs through me, and a coarse, wounded sound falls from my mouth. “I don’t want to face this alone.”
“You are strong. Stronger than you believe. This I know.” Together, he lifts our hands, brings them to my damp cheek. “Promise me you will not mourn me when I am gone. I have lived a full life, fuller than I believed was possible. You and Amir will find your footing, in time.”
No matter my efforts, I fail to control my mangled weeping. There is so much we haven’t said to each other. “Papa—”
“Promise me.”
All at once, the fight goes out of me, and I press my face against his reedy chest. “All right,” I whisper. “I promise.”