The Sultan's Daughter

by P. E. Gilbert

  The Sultan’s Daughter

  P.E. Gilbert

  The Sultan’s Daughter

  Copyright © 2020 by P.E. Gilbert

  First Published: July 2020

  All rights reserved. No part of this publication may be reproduced, distributed or transmitted in any form or by any means, including photocopying, recording, or other electronic or mechanical methods, without the prior written permission of the author. The only exception is a reviewer, who may quote short excerpts in a review.

  This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, businesses, events and incidents are either products of the author’s imagination or used in a fictitious manner. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, or to past events is purely coincidental.

  Cover designed by: Martin of Cover Art Studio (https://www.coverartstudio.com/)

  Map created by: Vanessa Garland

  ISBN: 9798635700334

  Independently published

  www.pegilbertauthor.com

  This book is dedicated to my mother and my grandparents, the people I think about every day and miss terribly. May they rest in peace.

  1

  -The Threat From The East-

  (Nalini)

  Nalini stared at her father, as if he had gone mad. “Father, I-I will do what I can,” she said. “But no woman has ever been a vizier at court before, and now you want to make me the Vizier for the Treasury? There… there will be uproar, and I am untrained for the position. Surely, you can find someone more qualified than me?”

  Sultan Daquan, lying on his bed, coughed weakly under the mask. Princess Nalini Reba, his twenty-three year old daughter, filled the cup next to him with water. She would have handed it to him, but the physicians forbade it, lest he touch her and infect her with Skin Scales.

  Slowly, Sultan Daquan sat up and raised his mask enough so that he could sip the water; and so that Nalini could see the sores that had disfigured his once proud, handsome face. “I was never trained to be Sultan,” he said, after a couple of sips. “You are my daughter, and you did a better job at maintaining the castle during the revolt than either my counsellors or I ever did. You can learn how to manage the accounts of the Kingdom. More importantly, you are the only person who Razilan listens to.”

  He does? She had never known her oldest brother, the heir to the throne of Al-Jaraba, to heed what she had said before. What in the Charted World gave her father the idea that Prince Razilan would suddenly start now?

  “There is more to you than caring for a sick man,” her father continued. “Will you do this for me? Will you become my vizier?”

  Nalini pressed her lips together and gulped. She had always been a devoted daughter, and had done as she had been asked. She had run the castle at Greatmouth during her father’s revolt, married a foreign heathen, and stayed by her father’s bed after he had become ill. All because he had asked her.

  Yet, she had never been asked to do something on the magnitude of managing a kingdom before. It was too much responsibility for someone so unqualified. “I’ll do my best,” she said, feebly.

  “I know you will do better than that,” Sultan Daquan said, warmly, smiling under the mask. “Just remember that the Kingdom exists in a delicate balance. Do everything you can to keep it together.”

  His words pressed down on Nalini’s head like a bundle of sheaves. From the little she knew, the Kingdom of Al-Jaraba was a mosaic of inconveniently placed sects of Abyar, God’s Messenger in the physical world. Some sects were more fanatical than others, but all required an iron fist, bribery and political shrewdness to keep them from rebelling. Nalini knew nothing about any of it. “Why do you ask this of me?”

  The Sultan sighed. “Because soon I will go to the Land of Judgement, to meet the Divine and learn whether or not I am worthy of Abyar.”

  Nalini’s throat tightened. She could not bring herself to lie, to tell her father that he was not dying. Because he was. The warrior sultan, who had been called Sultan Daquan the Daring, after rebelling against Sultan Jashan the Fanatic, was no more. Skin Scales had ravaged him, leaving him a pitiful shell of his former self.

  “When I am gone,” he continued. “I don’t want to be buried in the temple that I had commissioned. I want my body burned.”

  Nalini gasped. “What you ask for will be decried as heresy,” she said. “There will be many-”

  “-The number of people,” he interjected. “Who claim that burning a body is against Abyar’s laws will be small compared to the many who will die from Skin Scales if I am not burned. I don’t want anyone to suffer this disease because of me.”

  Now I understand why you want me to do all that I can to hold the Kingdom together.

  “Razilan will no doubt oppose my request,” he added. “In fact, I fear what he has in mind for the Kingdom when he becomes Sultan.”

  Nalini furrowed her brows. She had not heard anything untoward or dangerous from her brother; not from him or anyone else. What did her father know that she didn’t? “What do you fear?” she asked.

  “If you haven’t heard anything, then mayhap it is just the fears of a dying man who rebelled against his sultan.”

  “You were right to rebel against Sultan Jashan. He was a fanatic and would have brought ruin to Al-Jaraba had you not risen up against him.”

  “And what is Razilan?”

  Nalini hummed. “Devout?”

  The Sultan chuckled; although, it was a weak snort compared to his former joyful laughter. “Devout is what religious people call themselves,” he said. “Fanatic is what others call them.”

  Nalini gave her father a wry smile. “Even by your standards,” she said. “That’s cynical. A person who is devout is merely someone who acts on religious beliefs.”

  “Yes, and a fanatic is one who acts on religious beliefs to the misery of others.”

  There was a rap at the door. Nalini stood up and opened it. It was Amani, the chambermaid, holding a tray of mutton roasted with prunes, saffron rice, and half an orange cut up into thirds. Nalini’s stomach rumbled as Amani walked past her to feed the Sultan his lunch.

  “Go and eat,” the Sultan said. “Afterwards, could you find Razilan for me? I wish to speak with him.”

  Nalini smiled. “I will find him for you now,” she said.

  And with that, Nalini lifted her skirt and exited the royal bedchambers. The back of her yellow dress trailed behind her as she marched along the corridors of the Sultan’s Palace in search of her brother.

  As she walked outside into the palatial gardens, the scent of orchids, pink daisies, amaryllis freshened the air. Then, Nalini caught sight of Razilan. And stopped. Razilan was walking with aunt Ríma, the Lady of Date-Palm Port. There were rumours that Ríma had a bewitching nature, and those rumours must have held truth as she had somehow entranced her brother into walking with her alone. With the exception of his wife, since Razilan had become devout, he had never spent time alone with another woman, even with his mother and sister. So, what was he doing with Ríma?

  Nalini tried to hear what they were discussing, but she was too far away from them. Then, they passed a hedge and disappeared around a corner.

  Nalini’s stomach fluttered. Sneaking and spying were some of the basest ways of finding out information. Yet, her gut told her that she needed to find out what they were talking about. Mayhap, this was what her father had hinted at when he had said that he feared what Razilan would do once he sat on the throne.

  Nalini stepped forward, onto the grass, to follow her brother and aunt. Her dress swept over the pin-like blades, and the grass rustled. Nalini’s heart banged against her chest, but she approached the hedge where Razilan and Ríma had turned all the same.

  Nalini stopped before
the hedge. She did not want to peer round. So, she put her ear against the bush and did her utmost to decipher what they were-

  “Ouch!” Razilan grunted.

  Nalini jolted and walked around the hedge. “Is everything all right?” she asked.

  Then, she exhaled through her nostrils and forced herself to smile, so as to cover the grimace forming on her face. The whole point of her sneaking and spying on them had been to avoid being seen. How was she going to find out what they had been discussing now?

  Sitting on a patterned blue-and-white mosaic bench under a tree, Razilan chuckled to hide his pain. “It is just my shoulder, that’s all,” he said, rubbing it. “It is a small price to pay for the sins of my youth. Abyar has been merciful to me. I cannot complain.”

  “That’s… good,” Nalini said, unsure as to what she was meant to say. Razilan had been a man of debauchery until their father’s revolt, seven years ago. At the Battle of Fort Orchard, he had taken an arrow to the shoulder. After having it removed, Razilan had thanked the Divine and His Messenger for the arrow not piercing him several inches lower. And he had vowed then to lead a devout life and had kept his word ever since. “Father would like to speak with you,” Nalini said. “Please go to him.”

  “Of course.”

  Subsequently, Razilan smiled at their aunt to bid her goodbye and stood up. His broad, warrior’s physique casted a shadow over Ríma, before he walked away.

  Nalini did not move. Normally, she would have followed her brother and left Ríma alone. But Nalini had yet to speak with her aunt since her arrival at Flourish, the capital of the Kingdom of Al-Jaraba. Now was as good a time as any to talk to her. Plus, if she could find out what had made Razilan walk with her, Nalini could then gauge the purpose of Ríma’s surprise visit.

  Nalini turned to look at her aunt and was spell-bound by her striking features. At forty-two, Lady Ríma was near two decades older than her. But the years had been kind to Ríma. Her olive skin was smooth, with few wrinkles to note; her unnaturally straight, dark hair still had its healthy, colourful shine; her cheekbones were chiselled as if from stone; her slim figure was elegant; and her eyes glowed like potions of molten amber. How did a woman age so gracefully?

  She’s a witch, for sure.

  “Princess Nalini,” Ríma said, in her melodic voice. “I rode to the capital to speak with His Majesty, Sultan Daquan, in person. But I will soon take my leave. Do you know if I will have the chance to speak with His Majesty? Prince Razilan refused to answer me.”

  Heat rushed to Nalini’s face, and she smiled in an attempt to conceal her discomfort. There was no chance that Ríma was going to speak with her father. The Sultan had not permitted any visitors in months, not since the Skin Scales had spread to his face. He had claimed that he did not want anyone outside of his immediate family to know the extent of his illness, even his brother, Lord Talekh of Date-Palm Port and the Guardian of the East.

  Nalini had sensed that her father’s decision had more to do with his vanity and pride than fear of rumours spreading. They spread regardless, after all. Either way, Nalini could not go against her father’s wishes and tell her aunt the truth. “I would not want to overrule my brother,” Nalini said, carefully. “How fairs my uncle?”

  Ríma raised one of her immaculately plucked, arching brows. She knew that Nalini had asked about Lord Talekh to deflect conversation away from the Sultan. Nalini could only imagine how that would fuel the little her aunt thought of her. “Talekh is well,” Ríma said. “While I was not initially happy to marry the brother of Sultan Daquan, Talekh is devout. In addition, he treats my daughter, Ahnja, and my son, Samu, from Cadman like they were his own, and he dotes upon our twin girls as a father should. I could not have asked for anything more, certainly not after the revolt.”

  Nalini nodded. Lord Cadman Gherda had been the Lord of Date-Palm Port before Daquan’s Revolt. He was a cousin of Sultan Jashan the Fanatic and Lady Ríma’s first husband. Lord Cadman had allied himself with Sultan Jashan during the revolt, until being taken captive after his defeat at Fort Orchard. He had spent the rest of the war in captivity before Sultan Daquan had beheaded him when it was all over, in exchange for allowing his last living son to live under Talekh’s lordship. “I… am happy to hear it,” Nalini said, again unsure as to what else to say. “My uncle is a good man. A sensible one, too. I am happy that your marriage is… a happy one.”

  Contempt oozed from Ríma’s eyes as she dulled the amber in them, seemingly on command. “Talekh would have liked to have ridden with me to Flourish,” she said. “He wanted to see His Majesty again. I fear he may not now.”

  Nalini froze. She knows. “W-why do you say that?”

  Ríma stood up. Even though she was smaller than Nalini, her presence made it seem like she were looking down upon her niece. “Talekh had to remain at Date-Palm because war is coming,” she said. “Is His Majesty aware of the threat being posed to his eastern borders?”

  Nalini blinked like a doe. Her face mirrored her lack of knowledge on the matter, making her look stupid against her aunt.

  Nalini opened her mouth to question Ríma as to whether it was the Kingdom of Sharaf or the Kingdom of Zufa that was threatening Al-Jarabra’s eastern borders. But to ask would have made her look even more stupid. It was better to wait and ask those who would not think her a fool for asking. Now that Nalini was the royal treasurer, she would be on the council and would find out these matters naturally.

  Yet, that would not help her on whether or not Sultan Daquan knew of the threats to the east; the question that Ríma was asking her about. Now.

  “It matters not,” Ríma said, smiling widely. “Prince Razilan will see to the threat.”

  Nalini raised a brow. “How?” she asked. “Only the Sultan can-”

  “Nalini! Nalini!”

  Nalini spun round. Emilio halted behind her. Nalini furrowed her brows, as her husband bent over and panted. Emilio Duasta, the third son of King Fransisco II of Volído, the heathen kingdom across the Trade Sea to the north-west, was short, portly and preferred eating to exercising. It was small wonder he was out of breath after running. “What’s the matter?” she asked.

  “You’ve got… to come inside,” he said, in between heavy breaths. “His Majesty has died.”

  2

  -What Did You Discuss, Brother?-

  (Nalini)

  Emilio’s words pierced Nalini like an arrow to the heart. Her father was dead? She had left him only a short while ago, and he had been in his best spirits in recent weeks. How was he dead?

  I should never have left his side. The Sultan would never have slipped from this world if she had stayed. She should have stayed with him while Amina had fed him and got someone else to look for Razilan. Then, her father would still be alive.

  “Nalini?” Emilio asked. “Did you hear what I said?”

  Her husband’s voice sounded distant and it echoed inside her. Her head shook, like someone else were controlling it. “What?” Nalini said.

  “It’s quite all right,” he said. “I was saying how sorry I am for your loss, that I cannot believe His Majesty is gone. Also… well, as you spent a lot of time with His Majesty, do you know if Sultan Daquan had any last requests?”

  Nalini back into focus. “Yes!”

  She had no idea if Razilan or anyone else knew of her father’s request to be burned. So, she spun and marched back in the direction that she had come.

  “Wait!?” Emilio shouted, panting after her. “Where are you going?”

  Use your head for a change. Now that her father was dead, Razilan was the Sultan and he would be making the decisions. And the chances were that Razilan was close to their father. “You need not follow me,” Nalini said, as she went inside the palace again. “You will be more helpful if you look after Payam for the moment.”

  Her husband’s panting and footsteps subsequently receded, while Nalini made her way back to her father’s bedchambers. Captain Ghasím of the Sultan’s Regiment
and Saíf, another guard, opened the gilded, rectangular doors as Nalini approached.

  She entered the room as her mother, Padma, now the Dowager Sultana, went outside onto the balcony, crying. Nalini’s brothers, Razilan and Wumla, on the other hand, stood over their father’s bed. Nalini had always noted how different the two brothers looked. But, now, they looked more different than ever: where Razilan was broad and muscled, Wumla was tall and lanky; where Razilan had a thick mop of curly hair, Wumla was bald; where Razilan was straight-backed, Wumla was hunched forward; and where Razilan had brows furrowed and eyes hard with thought, Wumla had brows raised and eyes veiny red with sorrow.

  Then, Nalini took note of their father’s covered body and emotion rose inside her, like a wave. Her eyes filled with water and when she blinked, tears streamed down her cheeks. “What happened?” she asked, fighting against the emotion choking her. “Father was alive and in jovial spirits when I left him. I never thought…”

  Razilan came over and enveloped her in a hug. “I know,” he said. “Amina said the same. He spoke to her while she mixed his food. But then she pushed the spoon into his mouth, and he did not swallow. He was gone.”

  Nalini gulped, forcing down the lump clogging her throat. She needed to speak clearly for what she was about to say. “You know… Father wanted his body to be burned, not buried, don’t you?”

  Razilan let go of her. “No,” he said. “Father cannot ask for something that’s-”

  “Abyar forbids bodies to burned!” Wumla interjected. “Father must be buried.”

  Nalini shook her head. “Abyar commands us to honour our parents, even in death. I don’t agree with what Father wanted. Abyar states that a person’s physical form is the one he takes to be judged by the Divine. Furthermore, many pre-eminent clerics argue that when a body is burned, the person loses his form in the Land of the Judged and will be forever shamed for teaching his descendants incorrect practices.

  “Nevertheless,” she continued. “Disease is an exception to the conventional burial in order to prevent the sickness from spreading. Abyar values life, so that the living can defend His word and propagate it further.”