Fatima looked at her feet, unsure of what to say.
“Are you concerned for me, child?”
“I don’t feel happy when anyone dies. I’ve never met you before, but I’m not happy to see you suffer.”
“Then you have more kindness in you than any member of your clan. The treachery of your family defeated my father. My one satisfaction comes in seeing you at last, for in you, I have beheld the ruin of the Nasrids.”
Fatima frowned. “I don’t understand.”
“Your children shall destroy your grandfather’s line of Sultans. Neither the Ashqilula, nor the Christians kings shall claim the victory over your family. No, that line shall end with the tyranny of the children you bear, and their sons, and the sons of their sons. My father always said, the blood shall bear out in the end and what is rotten at its core cannot yield better.” She moaned then sagged against the pillows in shudders that visibly wracked her body.
Though puzzled, Fatima could hardly bear the sight of her pain. “Can I help you? Do you want me to call your son?”
“Abdallah cannot help me.”
Fatima waited for a moment before asking, “What did you mean when you said my children would destroy the line of Sultans?”
Her grandmother made no reply. After a long silence, Fatima thought she was dead. Leaning closer, she listened for labored, shallow breathing.
The woman’s birdlike hand caught her wrist, nails digging into the skin. “You shall see the end of your family name. You cannot prevent it. You shall remember my words and know the truth of them.”
Her grip relaxed, arm falling at her side. Her chest still rose and fell, though slower than before. She did not speak again. Fatima fled and found Aisha and Abdallah waiting in the darkened corridor.
“My mother lives?” he asked. At her nod, he said, “I do not think she shall return with me to Naricha.”
Aisha asked Fatima what her mother had said.
“She told me that she was born into the Hud family. Did my father know that when he married you?”
“He did. His desire for me outweighed any thought of my blood ties. What else did Saliha say to you?”
“She said my children would destroy the Sultan’s family. I don’t know what she meant.”
With a faraway look, Aisha whispered, “My mother has always had an understanding of things, beyond the comprehension of others. When I was a child, she always knew with certainty of events occurring miles away. When tragedy struck, she never seemed surprised. She has the gift of prophecy and she is never wrong.”
Abdallah pressed his fists to his temples. “I shouldn’t have done this. I shouldn’t have told you to bring the girl here.”
“I am pleased that you did, kinsman, even if your secrecy is an affront to me. How else might have I have seen the bride I shall claim for my own?”
They turned at an unexpected voice coming from the shadowy hall. Abdallah drew back, his hand going to an empty sheath belted at his side. When he seemingly realized the weapon was not there, his whole body sagged.
Aisha drew Fatima into her arms and pressed her close, enveloping her in silken skirts. Fatima shuddered despite her fervent hold and stared into the darkness.
Heavy footfalls heralded the emergence of two bloodstained strangers. The taller, thinner man hefted a crimson-stained blade. As he approached, tiny droplets dotted the marble floor. Deep lines crisscrossed his leathery complexion, where coarse, dark facial hair did not cover him. His bold gaze pinned them in the corner.
“What other secrets have you been keeping from me, Abdallah? You have brought your aged mother all the way from Naricha. What could have been so important for you to drag a dying woman to Gharnatah? Only this reunion with your sister and her daughter?”
The man behind him stepped closer. Aisha’s gasp echoed along the length of the corridor. “Abu Muhammad! What are you doing here?”
His likeness reminded Fatima of the Sultan and her father. He even had the same hazel eyes, hooded under heavy brows like the Sultan’s own and the hawk-like nose.
He looked down the length of it at her mother, then at her before spitting on the floor near Abdallah’s shoe.
When the first intruder cackled and brandished his sword, Fatima’s skin crawled. Flecks of blood from his weapon spattered the walls.
“I promise, Aisha, this shall not be a sweet reunion between you and Abu Muhammad. You should have married him when you had the chance. Now, you are tainted, cousin, with the blood of those who have turned against us. Abu Muhammad has accepted the truth about you.”
Aisha trembled so violently that Fatima clutched her tighter. She realized these men must be the Ashqilula chieftains, Abu Ishaq Ibrahim of Qumarich and Abu Muhammad of Malaka. If so, what cause did her mother have to fear these two men so much? They were kin, after all.
Her mind grasped that Ibrahim was a cousin to Aisha, but the news that Abu Muhammad had wanted to marry her startled Fatima. She truly did not know the woman who had given birth to her.
Abdallah stepped between them and the men. “Please, my lords Ibrahim, Abu Muhammad, my kinsmen. Let us speak in private. My lord Ibrahim, your bloodied sword frightens the princesses.”
“Did you know they were coming to Gharnatah, too, Abdallah?” Aisha’s voice was shrill. When Fatima looked up at her, her bosom rose and fell rapidly and her olive skin paled.
“Go back to the room across the hall, sister. Take Fatima with you.” He spoke without looking at either of them.
Aisha rounded him, still clutching Fatima against her. “Did you know, brother?”
“Go, damn you, before you make things worse. I should not have asked you to come. Go, Aisha!”
She dragged Fatima with her and Abdallah followed. When he slammed the door shut in their wake, Aisha turned and rattled the handle. The door would not budge. She collapsed on the floor, cradling her head in her hands. Her scream pierced the silence of night, carried on the breeze that stirred the damask curtains.
Chapter 4
Blood Ties
Princess Fatima
Gharnatah, al-Andalus: Muharram 664 AH (Granada, Andalusia: October AD 1265)
Fatima crouched beside Aisha on the marble floor. Her hand rose in mid-air and fell. She did not know if she should comfort her mother, as her governess often did when her sister Muna had nightmares. Would it be better if she left her crying alone? Lost in uncertainty, she lapsed into cold silence.
Aisha rose and clasped her hands together. “I shouldn’t have brought you here. I should never have trusted….”
She hesitated at the first step, but after regaining her footing, she walked to the window. She sat on the sill and gestured for Fatima, who joined her on the stool. She peered through the lattice and Fatima followed her gaze, seeing little in the shadows of night. Even the flickering lights were gone.
“Forgive me, child. I thought I could have saved you, but it seems it is your destiny to remain at Gharnatah.”
“What are we going to do?”
“You shall return to al-Qal’at Al-Hamra.”
“What about you? You mean, we shall return to al-Qal’at Al-Hamra, right?”
When Aisha looked at Fatima, her sad smile returned. “Dawn is almost upon us. We don’t have much time. Abdallah told me he had hired the help of a Jewess, the Sitt al-Tujjar. She is a widowed merchant’s wife, who sells silk and other goods in her husband’s stead. She travels throughout al-Andalus, even to al-Qal’at Al-Hamra, where your grandfather’s wives and other courtiers rely on her trade and her gossip. I could persuade her to help. She would do it, for the right fee.”
“But we’re locked inside the room. How can you talk to her?”
“Have you eaten?”
“Yes, but….”
“Do not be fearful, my child. Allah, the Compassionate, the Merciful shall watch over you, all of your days.”
Aisha opened her arms and beckoned her close. She hesitated just before flinging herself into that embrace, fi
nding the comfort she had never known.
Fatima stirred groggily. Opening her eyes, she realized her head rested on the leather satchel from which Aisha had retrieved the brush. The pallet cushioned her again, though someone had moved it next to the brazier. With a quick glance at the water clock, she realized the fifth copper bowl was nearly full.
The slave Ulayyah stood with a platter of uneaten food before Aisha at the window, their heads bent together. Fatima closed her eyes and listened to their conversation.
“…life is forfeit, but you can help me save my daughter. Go to the Inn of the Merchants in the heart of the marketplace. The Sitt al-Tujjar arrived there two days ago. Give her my message.”
“Mistress, my lord Ibrahim shall surely know that I am missing.”
“Why should he care?”
“Because, my lord Abdallah sent me to him after they met. He always sends me to him, to be his…companion.”
Silence followed. Fatima kept herself very still on the pallet, though she did not think either of the women were paying attention to her.
“Ulayyah, is Ibrahim the father of the child you carry?”
“Yes and of the son I have already borne, though he would never acknowledge him.” The slave’s voice was low and bitter. “I have every reason to hate him.”
“Then, do this to thwart his intentions. He shall take Fatima to Qumarich. His fortress is impregnable, on a rock promontory with sheer sides except for one that is gated and heavily guarded. If he steals her away, her family shall never see her again. I cannot bear to think of my child in his clutches. It would truly be a worse fate than even her grandfather would have in mind for her.”
A little squeak escaped Fatima’s throat. Surely, her grandfather could never be as cruel as Ibrahim.
Aisha continued. “If you want me to believe Abdallah’s vow that he did not betray me, save my daughter.”
Then silk swished across the floor.
“She’s awake. She’s listening to us,” Aisha said. Silk rustled again before long fingers cupped Fatima’s chin. “Open your eyes, my girl.”
When Fatima did so, Aisha hovered at her side, with a watchful Ulayyah behind her.
“Mistress, I must go,” she said, glancing over her shoulder at the door.
“Leave the food, Ulayyah, or they shall become suspicious. Go to the Sitt al-Tujjar. If Abdallah would prove himself to me, he should give you the payment for the Jewess.”
“I understand, Mistress.” Ulayyah glanced at Fatima before she left the room.
When they were alone again, Aisha sat down on the pallet. She tore the flatbread and broke a piece of cheese. She gave the rest of the meal to Fatima. “Eat. You shall need strength at dawn.”
Fatima chewed the hard cheese, nearly choking on it. “What’s happening? What are you doing?”
“I intend to save your life and get you far from this place. Eat and stop asking questions I cannot answer.”
Just then, the door latch clicked.
Fatima stopped chewing. Her breath escaped in a short gasp as the Ashqilula chieftains entered.
Ibrahim said, “There. You both look much better now that you are eating.”
Abu Muhammad crossed the distance between them and stopped at Fatima’s feet. Although she trembled, she stared up at him in silence and would not retreat or move closer to Aisha.
“This one has strength, but it is clear she is the Crown Prince’s whelp.”
Ibrahim bent and reached for her, fingers tangling in her curls. His dark eyes gleamed. He jerked her forward. Wisps of hair tore from the roots. Pain seared her scalp, but she pressed her lips together and smothered her cry.
Aisha dropped the flatbread. “Don’t dare touch my daughter.”
Ibrahim swung his hand wide. The blow connected with Aisha’s cheek. She crashed with a sickening thud against the alabaster wall behind her. Fatima reached for her, but Ibrahim’s cruel grip tightened. Aisha clutched the side of her head and righted herself. Blood smeared the wall.
“Soon enough, she shall be the least of your concerns, woman.”
Ibrahim leaned closer to Fatima and smiled. His breath smelled of cinnamon, his teeth white and even. “Yes, this one shall breed strong sons and beautiful daughters for the Ashqilula. Not like her aunt Mu’mina, who managed to bear me only one weak-willed son.”
When he released her, she jerked away and hugged Aisha. “Are you hurt?”
Aisha groaned. “Do not worry for me.”
Fatima glared at the chieftains. “My father shall kill you for hurting her and me.”
“No, little Fatima, your father shall never see either of you again.”
He stood and wiped the hand that had slapped Aisha on the side of his trousers. “The preparations for our wedding feast are at hand.”
Still clutching her head, Aisha whispered. “She is already married, you must know that.”
Ibrahim laughed at her. “Ismail’s boy? He is of no consequence, just like his dead father. Besides, I know the marriage remains unconsummated. It seems Faraj has qualms about bedding his child bride.”
His gaze fell on Fatima again. “I have no such reservations. Her blood shall stain my bed soon enough.”
She huddled against Aisha, who clutched her tightly.
Ibrahim knelt before Fatima once more. He framed her face in his large hands and forced her to look at him.
“I shall sire beautiful daughters on you, ones with eyes of fire like yours, but you shall first give me sons, strong sons to claim the throne of Gharnatah. What do you say, my princess?”
She clamped her mouth shut again. His grip on her flesh tightened. She sucked in all the spittle she could and spat. A white blob landed on his face. He grabbed her hand, crushing her tiny wrist. He used the back of her hand and wiped the spittle from his cheek. Then he shoved her back against the wall.
At his side, Abu Muhammad said, “Do not taint her too much, cousin.”
Ibrahim stood “No bruises shall ever mar her face, but when she is disobedient, she shall learn never to test my patience. When I have her in my bed as my lawful wife and my child is in her belly, her grandfather the old fool shall know I have defeated his plans. Now, what shall we do about her traitorous mother? Honor demands a decision.”
Aisha’s trembling coursed through her body and Fatima felt her shaking, before Aisha stood and stared at both men.
“Do what you must with me, but I pray, do not let my daughter see it.”
Fatima clutched at the folds of her jubba. “No, stay with me! We have to stay together.”
Ibrahim chuckled. “Foolish girl.” He turned to his companion. “Take her for a while, if you still want her. Do not deny yourself a little pleasure, before the end.”
Although his gaze was hard and his mouth a thin, firm line, Abu Muhammad shook his head. “I am sorry, Aisha but it truly would have been better if you had died years ago. Instead your father broke our betrothal and wed you to the Sultan’s son.” He glanced at Ibrahim. “I want no part in her fate. I am returning to Qumarich in advance of your wedding feast.”
Ibrahim replied, “Coward. Take that wretch, Abdallah, with you. I don’t trust him.”
Abu Muhammad bowed and turned. Halfway to the door, he spun on his heels.
“And, what if he should ask after his sister’s welfare?”
Ibrahim laughed, throwing back his head covered in a black turban. “I do not doubt your ability to tell lies, cousin.”
When Abu Muhammad left, Ibrahim eyed Aisha. Then he drew his long sword from its sheath. Traces of dried blood coated the metal. “Kneel, woman.”
Fatima’s heart lurched inside her. She covered her mouth with her trembling hand. “No, my lord! Please, you can’t.”
Aisha hushed her. Fatima grabbed at the hem of her mother’s robe again, her cries buried in the silk. “Please don’t leave me, Ummi. Don’t….”
Aisha crouched beside her and held her shaking hands. “How sweet you are. At the end, I finally he
ar you call me ‘Mother’ as you should have always done. Forgive me for never letting you say it before now. It is the most beautiful word I have ever heard.
“Have courage, this shall soon be over. Never show your fear before the enemy. He shall only use it to defeat you. Keep your wits and survive another day and the next. Be happy in your marriage to Faraj, unlike mine. Above all else, love your children. Show them your devotion every day of their lives. Tell them how precious they are to you, always. Never leave them in doubt of your love. Never doubt my love for you again. It is unending, not even death can stop it. And, remember your promises to me.”
She backed away even as Fatima reached for her desperately. “Now, close your eyes, child. This horrid night has been naught more than a bad dream and soon you shall awaken, in your father’s palace.”
“No! I won’t pretend.”
“You must heed me in this, the last request I shall ever make of you.”
“No, Ummi! I cannot.”
Ibrahim growled low in his throat and hauled Aisha against him by the collar of her robe, before he shoved her to the ground. On her hands and knees, she bowed her head, leaving her neck exposed. “Avenge me, daughter.”
Despite the tears blurring her vision, Fatima stared straight ahead. When she blinked, the terrible whoosh of Ibrahim’s sword came down in a terrifying arc. His eyes glittered like black opals, lips pulled back over his teeth in a savage growl. Warm blood sprayed her face. Aisha’s body sagged and sprawled forward. A viscous blotch spilled and drained from the still form. It trickled between the tiles and into the water channel. Fatima drew her knees up, rested her chin on them and covered her face with her arms.
Chapter 5
Vows
Princess Fatima
Gharnatah, al-Andalus: Muharram 664 AH (Granada, Andalusia: October AD 1265)
Heavy footfalls on the marble barely warned Fatima. As Ibrahim roughly seized her and threw her over his shoulder, her limbs flailed. Her tiny fists battered his back, as he stepped over the headless body and headed for the door.
Fatima’s screams pierced the rafters, as she stretched out her hands toward the murdered figure. “No, Ummi, Ummi!”
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