30 - Rohan
T ime had spun too quickly for Rohan in Maghriz. His next breath always felt leagues out of reach. Lifetimes seemed to pass in the span of hours; and now either he or his brother would become a prince after they’d nearly killed the queen. He hadn’t wanted to believe it when Jafar had told him one of them was to replace the missing prince, but the Sultana had cleared the air without a care for how he’d take the news.
The embers of their old life in the village of Ghurub had not even turned to ash.
Harun was already in the throne room when Rohan and Jafar arrived with the Sultana. The emptiness was almost tangible. The vizier watched them with displeasure, and now Rohan would forever associate sapphire blue with disdain.
“He doesn’t look happy,” Jafar whispered, surprising Rohan with the commentary. As loath as Rohan was to admit it, he had missed Jafar’s usual banter. He couldn’t tell him that now. He couldn’t even speak to him now, not without looking like he was pandering or begging or lonely.
“Never does,” Iago whispered back, and only then did Rohan realize that Jafar hadn’t been speaking to him.
The Sultana took a seat on her throne, staring at Rohan for the longest moment before doing the same to Jafar. Rohan noticed two men standing to the side, one with a thin strip of papyrus draped around his neck like a shawl. A tape measure, Rohan thought it was.
“I trust you ate your fill before your debate,” the Sultana said.
“Yes, Your Highness,” Rohan said. He thought about what the Sultana said he possessed over Jafar’s long list of talents.
She smiled at him, and it might have looked reassuring, but Rohan might have imagined it.
“As you are aware, my son drowned many moons ago,” the Sultana said. She’d tried to cull the emotion from her voice, but Rohan heard it. The mourning she wasn’t allowed to do in public was wound tight into her every word and movement. “Rohan, you asked why I cannot tell my people of his death. Jafar, you suggested—not so kindly, I might add—the solution I already had in mind when the two of you arrived in the House of Wisdom.
“I’m not one to believe in coincidences, but a queen always has her eye open for opportunities. And when I saw you, an ambitious pair of boys who had ventured miles to learn, I knew one of you would take the place of my son.”
Neither Rohan nor Jafar spoke or reacted, only listened.
“It is no small task, I’m aware,” the Sultana continued, “but I’ve studied you both, and I’ve never felt more certain.”
A lie, Rohan thought. She’d said they had much more to learn, but she was short on time.
“Why not tell the people he’s dead?” Jafar asked. “Why not let your people mourn and allow yourself to mourn?”
“You speak as if it is so simple. I’ve long had a treaty with Hulum,” the Sultana explained. “Our children were sworn to each other.”
“Sworn,” Jafar said slowly, “as in to be married.”
The Sultana nodded. “If the treaty fails, there’s every likelihood the Hulumi will leap to arms.”
The royal vizier barked a dry laugh. “Their king has been eagerly waiting for an excuse to pick up another sword.”
Rohan wondered if he preferred a peaceful resolution or one that led to battle. War was part of his job, after all.
“A queen must always do what is best for her people,” the Sultana said. “And if that means forgoing the act of mourning my son, then so be it.”
“What’s in it for us? What if we don’t want to be your prince?” Rohan asked. When he’d first arrived, he had only ever wanted his three wishes. He didn’t know what he wanted anymore, but he didn’t think he wanted to marry a princess sworn to a drowned prince. Rohan didn’t even think Jafar would want that.
“Is that not the dream of the common boy?” she replied.
Jafar laughed bitterly. “Do you believe every common boy to be the same? That we have the same desires and dreams and wishes, like we’re a colony of ants doing the queen’s bidding? For a ruler who claims to love her people, that is a very selfish way of thinking.”
For a moment, the Sultana looked taken aback, but she recovered quickly. “You are right, but it is clearer now more than ever that there is no better future for our kingdom than one ruled by a sultan who has experienced life at every level.”
Rohan thought back to when they had huddled in Baba’s old storeroom, plotting their journey to Maghriz. Jafar had promised a life where they would live as princes, and now, mere weeks later, one of them was going to be crowned a prince.
He felt faint.
“Jafar, you are dedicated and relentless, ready to do anything to protect those you love,” the Sultana said. “Rohan, you are kind and possess the patience of diplomacy, a rare trait. Together, you make a formidable pair.”
Together, as Mama had stressed.
“But I have only one crown, one heir, and after much thought,” the Sultana continued, looking from one brother to the next, “Harun and I have come to the conclusion that you are to take my son’s place.”