The Warrior's Princess Prize

by Carol Townend

  ‘Farid, has he been retching?’

  Farid shook his head.

  She turned back to Maura. ‘Very well. Ask Naima for a purgative. You have my permission to tell her that you suspect poison and that the victim is strong. Make sure she realises the poison needs to be expelled quickly. Do not name names. Understood?’

  ‘Yes, Princess.’

  ‘Run, Maura. Run.’

  * * *

  Jasim spent the best part of a night and a day closeted in the tower with his wife. It was pure hell.

  The first night passed in a haze as he floated in and out of consciousness. He felt so wretched, he was barely able to muster a coherent response to Zorahaida’s questioning. And she was relentless.

  ‘Jasim, what did you eat?’

  He managed a groan. His stomach ached like the devil. As for his wits, he could barely think.

  ‘What did you drink?’

  His wife’s pretty face was blurred. ‘Zorahaida, what’s going on?’

  She gave him a bitter draught and afterwards he was vilely ill; at one point he’d thought he’d lose his innards.

  ‘Are you trying to kill me?’

  ‘No, you fool, I’m trying to save you.’

  When she attempted to give him more of the stuff, he feebly waved it away. At which point his pretty wife became quite brutal.

  ‘Farid, lift him higher on the pillow and hold his shoulders. Firmly now. Don’t let go.’

  Farid, the wretch, did exactly as she bade him. Then Zorahaida, wearing a ruthless expression that reminded him uncomfortably of her father, took firm hold of his nose.

  Jasim held his breath until his lungs ached and when, inevitably, he was forced to open his mouth to breathe, more of the disgusting potion was tipped down his throat.

  He coughed and choked, but the stuff went down. He glared at Farid. ‘Traitor.’

  Farid shook his head, and Jasim thought he mumbled, ‘You’ll thank me later.’ But he couldn’t be sure because his stomach cramped, and he spent the rest of that night being most vilely sick.

  As Jasim’s wits began to return, he realised that the Princess was guarding him as fiercely as a lioness guarded her cubs. Later, the only other person he recalled from that night was her maidservant Maura hovering solicitously in the background. And Farid, the ingrate.

  ‘Jasim, are you feeling well?’ his wife kept on asking. ‘Do you care for water? Ale? Jasim, you must drink something.’

  Far from trying to kill him, it was evident that she believed someone had poisoned him.

  ‘I’ve been poisoned?’ Why would anyone trouble to poison him?

  ‘Jasim, sleep. You must recover your strength.’

  His head ached and his mind was sluggish. At least his wife wasn’t trying to kill him. However, after a draught of ale, his eyelids became so heavy, he strongly suspected that she wasn’t above drugging him. She had laced his drink with poppy juice.

  * * *

  He had lost track of time and when he next woke, dawn was lightening in the east and his mind was a little clearer. He wasn’t exactly fighting fit, but he felt much improved, particularly when he turned his head to see Zorahaida sleeping at his side. He lay there, content to listen to the birds and watch her waken.

  She stretched and smiled. ‘Jasim!’ Cool fingers touched his brow. ‘How do you feel?’

  ‘As though I’ve been turned inside out. My head feels twice its usual size, but generally I’m much better. What happened?’

  ‘I believe you were poisoned.’

  His lips twitched. ‘Last night you were so fierce, I thought to lay the blame for that at your door.’ He sobered. ‘Your father?’

  She looked down, flushing. ‘I am not sure, but I believe so.’

  She looked so awkward and guilty that his heart went out to her. ‘Zorahaida, it is not your fault.’

  ‘It is.’ She took his hand and kissed it; dark gaze firmly fixed on him. ‘If I hadn’t been so slow preparing to leave, you wouldn’t be ill. You would be safely on your way to the west.’

  He squeezed her hand. ‘Zorahaida, I am not convinced your father is to blame.’

  ‘He is, I know it. Father tried to kill you, and it is my fault.’

  ‘What nonsense. My love, I am not convinced your father tried to kill me, but even supposing he did, you weren’t to know what he might do.’

  ‘That isn’t true. If I hadn’t been distracted by the speed at which we were married, I might have guessed what would happen. You bested him and he hates that.’

  ‘Zorahaida, it is not your fault. It’s entirely possible it was food poisoning.’

  Thoughtfully, she tipped her head to one side. ‘That is your inherent goodness speaking. You are an honourable man; you find it hard to see the dishonour in others. It is an unusual and attractive trait. I like you far more than I thought possible.’

  Jasim’s breath left him. That little speech had pleased him more than he could say. He opened his mouth to respond, but she dropped his hand and sprang from the bed. She went to the window overlooking the palace gardens and eased open a shutter. He noted that she’d only opened it a crack, just enough for her to see the path that led to the heart of the palace. She peered out, and hurried back, frowning.

  ‘Will you be able to walk by this evening?’

  He groaned. ‘If I must. Zora—’

  She was back at his side, pulling him upright, forcing him out of bed with the determination of a drill sergeant. ‘You must. Let’s give it a try.’

  He managed a few stumbling steps, but his legs didn’t feel as though they belonged to him and he toppled back on to the bed. She stood over him, biting her lip.

  ‘I can only pray that you will be strong enough by this evening.’

  ‘Strong enough for what?’

  She perched on the edge of the bed. ‘Jasim, we leave the palace tonight.’

  He stiffened. ‘If your father had me poisoned, he can’t be allowed to get away with it. I need to speak to him.’

  ‘I thought you wanted to leave.’

  ‘I do, believe me. But your father must be questioned.’

  She lifted her chin, eyes suddenly cold and the pleasure he’d felt when she’d confessed to liking him drained slowly away.

  ‘Don’t be a fool. No one questions my father.’

  ‘Perhaps that’s the trouble. Someone should have done so years ago. My father tried—’

  ‘Your father failed,’ she said bluntly. ‘You would fail too, everyone does. Jasim, don’t you dare think about speaking to my father. He doesn’t fight fair.’

  Her vehemence was unexpected. Jasim studied her thoughtfully. ‘Zorahaida, I am not convinced your father is to blame. He knows exactly where I am. If he truly wanted me dead, he could have sent an assassin. He hasn’t done so.’

  ‘That’s because he’s waiting for the poison to do its work. Jasim, this is my father’s handiwork. He’s doing nothing because he’s waiting for me to announce your death.’

  ‘You could be wrong.’

  ‘I’m not.’ She bit her lip. ‘Jasim, don’t you want to see your uncle again?’

  ‘Of course I do. However, I’d like to speak to your father first. He should be given the chance to exonerate himself.’

  ‘And if he kills you?’

  Jasim’s head began to thump. He didn’t want to argue, but he felt as though he’d been challenged and he’d never run away from a challenge in his life. ‘Is the tower being watched?’

  ‘It’s possible.’

  ‘We need to know. Put Farid on watch. Get your man Yusuf involved if necessary. If we see anything untoward, I shall speak to your father. You can say your farewells and then we can leave.’

  Zorahaida looked doubtfully at him. ‘You’ll swear to that?’

  He put his hand o
n his heart. ‘On my honour.’

  ‘Very well. Tomorrow, we shall ask Father for an audience.’

  ‘Thank you.’

  ‘Now, if you will excuse me, Jasim, I need to bathe and then I must see that everything is in order for our departure.’

  With that, she dragged on a robe and picked up her veil. ‘I’m for the bathhouse. Maura will bring up your breakfast. I shall see you later.’

  As she left their chamber, Jasim found himself massaging his forehead. He had a pounding headache. Was he imagining it, or was there a mismatch between Zorahaida’s vehemence about not wanting to speak to her father and her swift capitulation?

  He mulled over his wife’s sudden meekness until his headache grew so insistent, he was forced to lie back with his eyes closed. He was soon asleep.

  Chapter Nine

  The harem herbalist Naima had been correct. In moderation, poppy juice could be very useful. If one masked it with spiced and honeyed wine, a sleepy patient didn’t notice.

  As a result, Zorahaida was wrestling with guilt. She’d been the one to hand Jasim a cup of doctored wine. The worst of it was that he’d taken it with a grateful smile. He’d swallowed every drop and had slipped into the deepest of sleeps.

  Zorahaida wouldn’t make her next move until the sun had sunk below the horizon. While she waited, she sat at the bedside, holding Jasim’s hand, occasionally caressing his cheek with the back of her fingers.

  The fading light brought out the bright glints in his hair. Her throat tightened.

  Guilt sat like a cold stone in her stomach. Jasim was asleep because he trusted her. Trust wasn’t easily won, and Zorahaida was afraid that by drugging him she might have lost that trust for ever.

  Setting her jaw, she reminded herself that it had to be done. Jasim’s idea of confronting her father the Sultan was suicidal, she couldn’t allow it. They would leave the palace tonight, whilst Jasim was lost in poppy-induced dreams.

  She pinched his forearm to test the depth of his slumber and he made not a murmur.

  Tonight. Two hours from now.

  When she could bear the guilt no longer, she rose from the bedside. She had best make sure that Maura wasn’t panicking and that Sama had passed her instructions on to the guards.

  Zorahaida had raided several jewel boxes to find bribes for some of the men. For her plan to work, it was vital that her father remained ignorant of their departure for as long as possible. Stealth was needed and tongues must be stilled.

  She and Jasim would leave the palace covertly. It was the only way. Jasim’s life, she was certain, was at risk if they stayed.

  Once outside the city there would be no furtiveness. On the contrary, Zorahaida and Jasim would travel in style. They would have an entourage. There would be uniformed outriders. Guards. Zorahaida wanted the world to know that the Sultan’s daughter and her husband were journeying to Madinat Runda. The more people who saw them, the safer she would feel. Her father didn’t hesitate to bully those inside the palace, but the palace was a closed world. Outside, where men walked more freely, there would be countless witnesses and her father would be more likely to stay his hand. At least, that was the theory.

  In the lower chamber, Zorahaida paused under the arch. It was a relief to see that the chaos was no more. They had been packing all day and the chamber was all but empty. Her clothes had already been secreted out of the palace and sent on to the meeting place by one of the city gates. Hunter had left the palace in his basket. The songbirds too.

  In a quiet alley, everything was loaded on to carts and carriages that were hidden beneath sackcloth. Beneath the sackcloth, most of the carts and one of the carriages were emblazoned with her husband’s colours. The other carriage, the one in which Zorahaida was to travel, bore the Nasrid red and gold.

  Zorahaida and Jasim would soon be gone.

  To Zorahaida’s dismay, Maura was slumped on a cushion near a jewel box and the silver lute. She looked exhausted and drained. Terrified.

  ‘It will be all right, Maura,’ Zorahaida said.

  Maura looked bleakly at her. ‘Princess, I am not sure it will. Your father the Sultan, may he live for ever, will be furious. He will chase after us and kill us all.’

  ‘No, he won’t.’

  ‘How can you be so sure?’

  ‘Well, nothing is certain, but Sama has ensured we will be able to leave the palace quietly. If fortune is with us, my father won’t learn we have gone for some days.’

  ‘If fortune is with us,’ Maura repeated in a dull tone. Her worry lines deepened. ‘I’ve learned that it takes a swift horse over a sennight to reach Madinat Runda and you are planning to make a show of it. Princess, a large entourage cannot move quickly. Nor can it hide.’

  ‘Exactly.’ Zorahaida smiled. ‘Maura, do you remember how my father sent his troops after Leonor and Alba?’

  ‘How could I forget? He set the hounds on them too, if I’m not mistaken. His own daughters!’

  ‘That will not happen with us. Maura, think about it. We shall leave the city in the centre of a great procession. We will travel slowly and with much pomp, ensuring that everyone on our route sees us. The carts carry Jasim’s colours as well as my father’s. Far from hiding, we are going to proclaim our identity to the world.’

  ‘But—’

  ‘Father’s pride will work with us.’ Earnestly, praying she was correct, Zorahaida touched Maura’s hand. ‘Once Father works out that everyone in the realm knows his daughter and son by marriage are on their way to Madinat Runda he will allow us to complete our journey. He will want everyone to believe he approves of our leaving. Two daughters have already fled, he’d look ridiculous if he lost a third the same way. Besides, Father accepted Jasim’s proposal before witnesses. Maura, I have no doubt we are safer outside the palace. Inside, Father’s word is law. Outside, nothing is so certain. People have eyes. We must put our trust in them.’

  ‘Very well.’

  ‘Maura, as I said, nothing is certain. If you do not wish to come, I shall understand.’

  Maura stiffened. ‘What, and leave you to fend for yourself in a strange household? Certainly not. You need a personal maid and my duty is to you.’

  ‘Thank you, Maura, I am touched by your loyalty.’

  Maura swallowed. ‘You are most welcome. When do we set out?’

  Zorahaida looked at the sky, it was darkening to purple. ‘In about an hour.’

  ‘Will your husband be fit to travel?’

  ‘He will.’ Zorahaida pushed aside her guilt and forced brightness into her voice. ‘Maura, I can’t see the lute case. Where did we put it?’

  * * *

  Someone was groaning and it took a moment for Jasim to realise that he was to blame. ‘God be merciful,’ he muttered. His head was pounding. He could hear a hollow banging; it was rhythmic and far too loud. What the devil was it? It sounded like battle drums, but it couldn’t be.

  It was too much effort to hold on to his curiosity, just as it was too much effort to open his eyes, so he lay perfectly still, wondering why he couldn’t order his thoughts. They were oddly blurred, and he’d had the strangest dreams. One in particular had been extremely disturbing. Already it was slipping out of reach, but he had a faint memory of Zorahaida smiling at him. And then her beautiful face had been lost behind a swirl of smoke and her delicate features changed. She stopped smiling. It was as though a djinn had bespelled her. When the smoke cleared, Sultan Tariq stared back at him with soulless black eyes.

  Jasim’s heart jolted and he scrubbed his face. Such a ghastly dream.

  He’d never felt so ill in his life. His bed was rocking from side to side; and if that wasn’t bad enough, he must still be hallucinating for the bedchamber was filled with sounds that simply didn’t fit. What on earth was that drumming? He was weak as a babe and his throat felt as though it was filled with sand. Swallowing
was hideously painful. He could drink a well dry.

  ‘Water,’ he croaked, half-hoping that Zorahaida was nearby.

  His bed rocked. And then the drumming sound took shape and he recognised it for what it was—hoofbeats. Those were hoofbeats. He opened his eyes and blinked in disbelief.

  He was no longer in the tower bedchamber. He was lying on a mattress in what appeared to be a covered carriage. The rocking he’d felt wasn’t due to illness, the carriage was moving. The canvas—blue, he noted—was open a little and, though the air was warm, a slight breeze was wafting over him. He was wearing a loose linen tunic. That too was blue, and a cursory glance told him it was emblazoned with his coat of arms.

  ‘Zorahaida? Farid?’

  With an effort, Jasim rolled on to his side and his gaze lit on a water bottle. Poison was insidious stuff, for him to feel so weak, it must still be inside him. Deciding it was best washed out, he snatched up the bottle, fumbled at the stopper and drank with desperate greed.

  Outside, someone bellowed an order and the rocking stopped.

  He waited. At length, the canvas was pushed aside and Zorahaida eased through the opening, dressed like the proudest of queens.

  Jasim’s jaw dropped. His wife looked magnificent. Her veil was encrusted with gems and she was wearing a gauzy divided skirt and so many bangles, it was a wonder she could stand. Rings glinting, she shoved back her veil and, the action at odds with her queenly attire, stooped beneath the blue canvas as she came towards him.

  ‘Jasim, praise God you have woken.’ Her smile was wary. ‘Are you feeling more yourself?’

  The cart was cramped, and Zorahaida had brought with her the scent of roses, a scent that would be linked for ever in Jasim’s mind with the pleasures of the marriage bed. He might feel sluggish, but he could well remember how suited they were. He held out his hand and smiled.

  ‘Zorahaida, what the devil’s going on?’

  Zorahaida swallowed. Oddly, she wasn’t meeting his gaze. It was then that Jasim realised what she had done. Today’s malaise wasn’t the result of being poisoned. His pretty wife had drugged him.