Forty-Three
The moment the men vanished, Maram tore the veil from Anahita's head. "Where did he hurt you?" she demanded, examining Anahita's face.
Anahita shook her head. "He didn't. Philemon has been everything I ever dreamed of until he threatened you."
"That's not Sheikh Basit?" Maram asked.
"No. Basit was old, fat, boring, and a bastard. He's also dead and buried. Philemon even tried to take the blame. Basit's people believed him." Because no one believed a woman was capable of defending herself, or killing a dangerous man. Least of all the men who'd died at her hands.
"So who is he, and where did you find him?" Maram asked.
The Prince of Tasnim, as a frog perched atop her hawk's head, soaring and screaming above an oasis. Anahita shook her head. "You won't believe me."
Maram smiled. "Would you believe I married a humble spinner's son, a man so poor he could scarcely afford to eat, who wandered into the wrong bathhouse?"
Anahita's mouth dropped open. "You mean…you married your lover from the bathhouse? I thought he was supposed to be a prince!"
Maram pressed a finger to her lips. "Father thinks so, which is why he agreed to the marriage. The palace helped, though."
"How did a man who couldn't afford food pay for this palace?" Anahita asked slowly.
"A particularly powerful djinn built it. He served Aladdin for a time, but now he is free."
Dread curled around Anahita's heart. "Djinn are dangerous. Especially powerful ones. A djinn was responsible for the wells drying up in Tasnim. They grant wishes with no thought as to the consequences, and do not care to repair the damage they cause. If a djinn built this palace, then there is surely trouble coming. Where did he get the building materials, the artisans…you cannot trust a djinn!"
Maram's smile only widened. "I trust this one. He was a friend of my mother's. He would not make trouble for me, and now he is free…I trust him even more. Not all djinn are troublemakers. It is their masters who make the trouble, Amani told me, for djinn are slaves to their masters' will."
Philemon's words on the way to Tasnim began to make sense. "So if a djinn's former master said the ruin of Tasnim was his fault, then…"
Maram shrugged. "He's probably right. But Tasnim is not ruined – it's merely deserted. Locked up and hard to get into, Aladdin said."
"I've seen it," Anahita said. "He's right. But now the water has returned to the wells, the people can return, and Philemon…"
"He's handsome, your Philemon. What sort of lover is he?" Maram demanded.
Anahita felt her cheeks grow hot. "I…I…have little to compare him to, but…I think…he is…a fine lover…" Anahita broke off at Maram's laughter.
"You mean he truly is your lover? Ah, never have I been so mistaken. First I thought him the sheikh, then another lovesick eunuch to join the others…I am sorry I tried to seduce him." Maram looked suitably contrite, before her gaze turned thoughtful. "Though I have never been threatened at swordpoint to stop seducing a man. Usually they don't want me to stop. Instead, he grabbed you and professed his love for you. You've caught a strange one, there, Ana. Does he have other peculiarities, perhaps?"
She should never have drawn her blades. Not on Philemon. He'd been defending her, defending their love. "I told him to go away." Anahita burst into tears. "He said he loved me and I sent him away!"
"But he didn't go far. I've known a lot of men, and if he'd wanted to leave you, he would have. He'll come to find you, soon enough. Perhaps you should head home to Father's palace, and wash away the travel dust so that you can greet him properly when he does." She glanced toward the garden. "Aladdin will keep him occupied until then."
Her husband. Philemon. Tasnim. Anahita grasped Maram's arm. "But Philemon is the real Prince of Tasnim, and he thinks your husband is an imposter, pretending to be him. He wanted to kill him!"
Maram paled. "Then go. I will broker a peace between them. Diplomacy is my strength, after all. Wash, rest, and wait!" She ordered some guards to take Anahita to the palace, before hurrying out to the garden.
Anahita longed to stay, but short of fighting her way through Maram's men – a feat she doubted she'd manage without Haidar and Asad to help her – she had little choice but to go home with them, and hope her sister was right.
Maram was rarely wrong…but if this was the one time, Anahita might never see Philemon again. She prayed her sister had not lost her touch with men, or diplomacy. For Anahita's heart depended on both.
Forty-Four
Philemon took a deep breath as he surveyed the Sultan's audience chamber. He knew this was just a formality, for the Sultan's matchmaker had agreed to the marriage long before he turned frog, but that didn't stop his heart from leaping into his throat in fear if something went wrong.
But it would not. He was a prince – a true prince, unlike Aladdin – and a fitting husband for any princess. Or so he told himself.
A commotion at the gate told him Aladdin's servants had arrived, with his gift. The crowd parted, waves of an ancient sea at the command of a prophet. Or a prince.
"A gift to the Sultan from His Royal Highness, Prince Philemon of Tasnim!" the door guardian djinn – Kaveh – roared, his voice perfectly pitched to resonate through the hall.
Not for the first time, Philemon regretted losing the loyalty of the ancient vizier. But he didn't have time to dwell on it.
"Where is this prince?" the Sultan demanded. "Tell him to show his face, so that I may thank him for such a handsome gift."
It was identical to what he'd received from Aladdin in exchange for permission to marry Maram, even down to the livery of the servants. The Sultan was not fool enough to refuse it.
But Philemon was not Aladdin – he needed no fanfare or parade to announce his presence. A true prince commanded attention, or he did not deserve his crown.
Philemon strode into the archway that marked the boundary between the dim throne room and the dazzling desert daylight. He stood in the light, silhouetted against the morning sun. "I am here. I have come to claim my bride, a daughter of the Sultan to become the new Princess of Tasnim."
The crowd buzzed, but they did not hinder his march toward the dais where the Sultan sat.
When Philemon reached the row of prostrate servants presenting their gifts of gold and jewels, he stopped and bowed. Just low enough for his eyes to meet those of the seated Sultan.
The Sultan looked shaken.
Because of Aladdin, Philemon guessed.
"When I saw how happy my younger half-brother, Aladdin, was with his wife, I refused to wait any longer. I must marry, and it must be one of your daughters," Philemon continued.
If this didn't work, Philemon vowed he'd force Aladdin to confess the truth at the point of his sword, no matter what his witch of a wife wanted.
In the shadows behind the Sultan's throne, a woman leaned forward and whispered something into the Sultan's ear. He gave the slightest nod, then rose.
"This audience is at an end for today. I will hear more petitions on the morrow. I will meet privately with the Prince of Tasnim," the Sultan announced.
The court slowly emptied, until the golden doors closed with a clunk of finality.
Only then did the woman step out of the shadows. Her gown, which Philemon had taken for plain black, glittered in the light, for the wine-coloured linen was embroidered with jewels.
The Sultan did not miss Philemon's interest in the mysterious woman. "If you wish to discuss marriage, my matchmaker must be present. She knows which of my daughters are suitable."
Philemon nodded. The woman hadn't been so richly dressed when he last met her, but it made sense to have her there. Though he would be the judge of who was suitable, not her.
The matchmaker led the way into the palace proper, choosing a chamber that was better suited to an intimate discussion than the audience hall. One more richly furnished than the place where he'd first met with the woman, if indeed this was the same one. For the matchmake
r he'd met here before hadn't swished her hips quite that seductively as she walked. Nor had she been the first to sit on the floor cushions, as this one did.
She'd surprised the Sultan, too, Philemon noticed, hiding his grin.
Philemon and the Sultan took their seats and servants brought in refreshments, before departing at a signal from the matchmaker. This door clicked shut so quietly Philemon was barely aware of it.
The woman threw off her veil and reached for a cup of wine.
Maram. Her haughty brows furrowed when she found both men staring at her. "He's family, Father. Aladdin's brother. Perhaps if we find him a wife, he'll learn to stop staring at women's faces when he is fortunate enough to see one." She sipped from her wine cup, then shot a red-lipped smile in Philemon's direction. "If my brother-in-law can tell us what he wants in a wife, perhaps I can help him."
"I want Anahita," he blurted out, closing his eyes to better resist the spell she seemed to cast simply by looking at him.
The Sultan cleared his throat. "My daughter Anahita is in mourning, for she has only recently been widowed. It will be some time before she is ready to wed again, if ever."
"And the daughter of a mere concubine – hardly fitting for such an important prince," Maram interjected. "I am sure one of Mahsa, the Moon Queen's daughters, would be far better suited. She has two daughters of marriageable age – Katayun and Mahvash. Mahvash is the image of her mother – sweet and obedient, and likely just as fertile. Katayun has been well trained by her mother in the practicalities of running a harem, and well able to keep your other wives and concubines in order. I have heard tales that the Prince of Tasnim's harem rivals my father's own, and a young, virile man like yourself without an heir…"
"I want Anahita," Philemon repeated. "I want her as my wife, and no one else. Now." He wished the woman wasn't here – her very presence set his teeth on edge, and made him most irritable. Left alone with the Sultan, he would not have announced his desire so directly, nor demanded it. There would have been conversation, negotiation…but the witch wanted him to fail. Why else would she be making this so difficult?
"But her husband has only just died," Maram snapped, eyeing him with considerable irritation.
If he failed, he'd get his harem garden back…but what use was it without Anahita? What use was anything without her?
Last night, Maram had insisted if he followed her plan, he would win Anahita back. Now, it was as though last night had never happened. Or was this woman one of Maram's sisters, identical in appearance to Maram, but not the same person?
If she wasn't Maram, then he had nothing to fear from her.
Philemon rose to his feet. "I am her husband, by the laws of the desert people. Sheikh Basit's death frightened her, and she refused to be left alone. She shared my tent that night, and the marriage was sealed by a wedding breakfast at dawn the next day. I will not leave the city until you return my wife to me!"
A wicked smile appeared on the woman's face, which dissolved into a shocked expression as quickly as it had appeared. "But one of the Sultan's virtuous daughters would not…could not…"
It was Philemon's turn to smile. "She already carries my child. And the child will be born in Tasnim, as the heir to the principality should be!" It was possible, therefore not entirely a lie.
Maram's eyes danced with mischief – for this woman could be no one else. "How do you know it is not Sheikh Basit's baby in her belly?"
Philemon drew himself up. "Because I slew the man myself before the consummation could occur."
"You killed him?" The Sultan stared.
If Philemon had ever doubted Anahita was her father's assassin, the doubts died then and there. "He encroached on Tasnim's territory, attacking towns that were under my protection, and we do not treat such things lightly." Philemon allowed the Sultan a small smile. "I'm sure if you were in my position, you would have done the same."
The Sultan looked thoughtful for a moment, before turning to Maram. "Fetch her," he commanded.
Maram obeyed.
Once the door had shut behind her, the Sultan poured himself a cup of wine and gestured for Philemon to do the same. "I had heard that Tasnim's wells ran dry."
Philemon's mouth was drier. "They did, but the waters have returned, sweeter and more plentiful than ever," he managed to say. He poured, then drank. "Tasnim is a worthy ally for anyone who wishes to travel and trade across the desert."
"So it is. But what if you were to suffer some misfortune? Who would be the ruler of Tasnim then?" the Sultan asked.
"The city will pass to the child my wife carries," Philemon said slowly.
"A child cannot hold a city, especially an unborn one. Surely your brother would inherit instead."
Brother? Oh, Aladdin.
"Hence my need for a wife. One who has proven fertile already," Philemon managed to say, feigning nonchalance to cover the chill that had crept over his heart. Did the Sultan intend to have him assassinated so that Aladdin could steal the city?
But the Sultan's assassin was…
"Ah, Anahita. Good. I have some questions for you, child," the Sultan said.
Anahita stood awkwardly before the closed door, staring at her father. "Yes, Father?"
"Who killed Sheikh Basit?" the Sultan demanded.
Anahita wet her lips. "Why, Prince Philemon, of course. It was terrifying to see him strike the blow. Ask anyone in Basit's camp."
The Sultan seemed surprised, then relieved.
Because his daughter hadn't killed a man?
No, because Philemon didn't know that she had, Philemon decided.
"Are you carrying his child?"
Philemon closed his eyes.
Forty-Five
"Are you carrying his child?" the Sultan repeated.
Anahita shot a dark glance at Maram. Damn her spies. "Yes," Anahita admitted. "The midwife confirmed it this morning."
Philemon's child, not Basit's, but she could not tell her father that. Nor Philemon, while her father was listening.
"Take the girl, then," the Sultan said. "I wish you well of her."
Philemon rose and took her arm. "Thank you."
Anahita found herself in the corridor with Philemon. "What are you – " she began
"You are my wife, and I am taking you home," he interrupted, heading down the corridor as though he knew where he was going.
Anahita wrenched free. "What are you doing? The harem's that way, and even if my father has given me to you like some bauble, he will not let you have any of his own wives and concubines."
"Then how do we get out of this palace?" Philemon looked bewildered.
Anahita took pity on him. "This way," she said. Behind her, she heard the familiar footsteps of Haidar and Asad as they followed her, and she breathed a sigh of relief. No matter what her father said, she would never be some prince's plaything.
"If you know the way to a good inn, that would help, too," Philemon said softly, glancing around.
"Asad will know the best," she said. "But I have apartments here in the palace, and my sister Maram – "
"Has spies everywhere," Philemon finished.
A flash of understanding sparked between them. "Asad will lead the way, and Haidar will make sure we are not followed," Anahita said.
The two men moved into place, setting a steady pace that moved easily through the busy streets. Philemon was stiff and agitated at her side, but he didn't say another word until they were behind the closed door of the best room in what Asad insisted was the most prestigious inn in the city.
"Your father and your sister want you to kill me, so her husband can have Tasnim," Philemon said. He pulled his knife from its sheath and flipped it so it lay hilt-first in his hand. "Take it and use it now. I would rather die at this very moment than to be stabbed in the back when I believed I was happy."
Anahita stared at the knife, and then him, in horror. "I don't know of any such plan. Maram would never want Tasnim, for it is too isolated for her. She'd be b
ored without harem and court politics to play with."
"The Sultan made it clear he wants my city. He wanted to know all about the succession, should some misfortune befall me!"
Anahita touched her belly. "How did you know about the baby? Even I didn't know for sure until this morning."
"I guessed! I lied! I don't know!" Philemon exploded. "He wasn’t going to let me marry you…and then, suddenly, he changed his mind and handed you to me. Like merchants trade their daughters for Tasnim's hospitality. I would have carried you to the city as its princess, a ruler who would sit at my side, but not like this." He thrust the knife at her, hilt-first. "Do it! If you are truly his assassin, cut out my heart. For it cannot hurt as much as it does now, knowing the woman I love will kill me." He tore open his shirt, baring his breast.
Anahita seized the knife and flung it, point down, into the floor. "I will not!" she said fiercely. "I am not my father's assassin! I killed men who deserved their fate – animals who would have killed me, given the chance. You are not like them, and I will not help anyone who tries to take Tasnim from you!"
He was the one talking of heartache, yet hers felt like it was ready to break. Her father has used her as a pawn to destroy his enemies, but she would no longer play politics. That was Maram's world, not hers. And if Maram could marry…so could she.
She stared into Philemon's eyes. "Marry me," she said. "And then take me home to Tasnim with you."
He dropped his gaze and her heart sank with it.
"Please," she begged, then kissed him.
The fire built between them, burning as bright as their first kiss. He wanted her – Anahita knew that. But then why…?
He set his hands on her shoulders and broke the kiss. "I cannot marry you, because we are already married." His eyes begged her to understand.
She shook her head. "We can't be. I'd remember."
Still he didn't smile. "By the laws of the desert people, when a couple share a tent for the night and share a morning meal afterward, they are married. The night Sheikh Basit died…" He shook his head. "In the panic of that night, I forgot what I should have known. And with you in my arms…I lost my mind entirely. You are everything I ever wished for in a wife, and more. I should have left you alone that night, but I could not resist you."
Kiss- Frog Prince Retold Page 13