Aboard the larger ship at last, Azura stood by the rail as it set sail. Her eyes went to the Moonlight Serai, shining and white in the sunlight, cradled by the soft green hills that surrounded it. She felt Amir’s arm go about her shoulders as the sadness threatened to overwhelm her. She could see the small figures of the Tartars battling through their gardens, flames rising from the empty barn that had once housed their horses. “I do not know this Besma,” Azura said, “but I think for the first time in my life I hate someone.”
“She is not worthy of your scorn,” Amir told Azura. “And all of her efforts are for naught, beloved. We are together, and we are capable of making a new life in El Dinut for ourselves and for our family. I believe our destiny is to live into old age, happy together. We will see our daughter grow to womanhood, marry, and give us grandchildren. These things will never be Besma’s, but they will be ours.”
“I pray for it, Amir,” she responded, but her heart was still sad to see the place that had once been their home being destroyed. Would it ever again be someone’s home?
“I am an expert reader of kismet, beloved,” he told her. “It shall be as I say. Do you trust and believe in me, my love?” He looked down into her beautiful face, her marvelous aquamarine eyes shining with their unshed tears. Allah! How he loved her.
“I have left everything that I knew and held dear once before for you, Amir,” Azura told him, smiling up at him. He was a man grown, and yet he still needed her reassurance, and she gladly gave it to him. “I love you, my infidel prince. I once again gladly follow you because you have never promised me anything that you did not give me. I trust you, Amir. So we will live happily together into our dotage with our grandchildren about us. We are fortunate, my dear lord, when so many are not.”
Above them the sails creaked as the wind started to fill them. The vessel began to move slowly from the Moonlight cove and out into the open sea. Azura, once known as Bianca, felt the swells rise gently beneath the ship’s prow. It was a new day. A new adventure. Ahead lay El Dinut and their new life. Nothing else mattered. They had allowed no one to part them. No one ever would. They were together. Always and forevermore!
And Afterwards
I n the year 1512, Selim, son of Bayezit and his favored kadin Kiusem, succeeded to the Ottoman throne. He had been recalled to Istanbul by his father months before when Besma’s ambition for her son had driven her too far. She had been caught attempting to murder Selim and his now large family. Bayezit had strangled her himself in a blind rage and then suffered what was probably a small stroke.
With his mother’s death, Prince Ahmed fled his younger brother, going to Adrianople, where he boldly declared himself sultan. A civil war broke out, but though it took two years’ time, Prince Selim was in the end victorious. To his small credit, Ahmed died fighting in that last battle. Prince Korkut remained loyal to his father and his younger sibling, governing the Macedonian provinces.
Bayezit, now sixty-five and in worsening health, decided to resign the sultanate, naming Selim as his heir. The new sultan’s uncle, Prince Jem, was now dead. He had died in Naples of poison. It was rumored that the Borgia pope had seen to Jem’s demise at the request of Sultan Bayezit, whose patience had run out prior to his retirement. As for Jem’s only son, Prince Amir, he had long ago disappeared from his home on the Black Sea along with his entire family. Where they were, or if they even lived, was unknown. Bayezit died shortly after his son’s reign began. Selim was free to rule without interference of any kind, as he and his sons were the only male heirs to the throne now.
In the house of Giovanni Pietro d’Angelo, his wife, Orianna, had come to regret that she had not understood her eldest daughter’s great love for the Turkish sultan’s grandson. She missed Bianca and the warm friendship that they had once shared. Although Marco had made the effort to find and see his sister, bringing them word that she was happy and safe with her infidel, it brought no peace to Orianna.
And Bianca would never know that it was her own mother who had freed her from her first marriage by consorting with the family of the vengeful apothecary whose innocent niece had died at Rovere’s debauched hands. It had been Orianna who had insisted to them that she deliver the fatal blow to their mutual enemy. It was Orianna who had plunged the poisoned dagger into the chest of Sebastiano Rovere, killing him and freeing Bianca from his evil possession.
Of course, upon her return to Florence she had gone immediately to Santa Anna and confessed her sin to Father Bonamico. The priest was shocked and briefly rendered speechless when the unrepentant Orianna said to him, “I will do whatever I must to protect my family, good Father. Even if it will endanger my immortal soul.” Bound by the oath of the confessional, Bonamico could not expose her. Orianna had relieved her own small guilt at taking a human life by putting it on the elderly priest’s shoulders.
He hardly knew what penance to give her because he did understand her motive and secretly agreed with it. Realizing that, he knew he would have to give himself a severe penance as well. “Donate one hundred gold florins to Santa Maria del Fiore,” he finally said. “And you will continue to do so each year on this date until your death, my daughter. I will pray for your soul and that you are not again driven to such an extreme.”
“Will you not pray for Rovere’s soul too?” she wickedly asked him.
“Even his two sons did not pay for Masses,” the priest said drily.
The silk merchant’s wife had then departed the confessional. She and Giovanni had three other daughters to match. She would be more careful the next time. She would not make the same mistakes with Francesca, or Luciana, or Giulia as had been made with Bianca. Wherever her eldest daughter was, Orianna hoped she was happy. She would have been glad to know that in a place called El Dinut, Bianca, now called Azura, was indeed very happy with her prince and their daughter. The kismet that Amir had promised Azura was even now fulfilling itself.
About the Author
Bertrice Small is a New York Times bestselling author and the recipient of numerous awards. In keeping with her profession, she lives in the oldest English-speaking town in the state of New York, founded in 1640. Her light-filled studio includes the paintings of her favorite cover artist, Elaine Duillo, and a large library. Because she believes in happy endings, Bertrice Small has been married to the same man, her hero, George, for forty-eight years. They have a son, Thomas, and four wonderful grandchildren. Longtime readers will be happy to know that Finnegan, the long-haired bad black kitty, and Sylvester, the black-and-white tuxedo cat who is the official family bed cat, are thriving.
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