The vastness was amazing.
She stared up at the sky and she thought of Sabra and Dave and the energy that had filled their souls. It was the kind of energy that surely had to have been put somewhere. They were both too vital to have simply died and been lost.
She nodded at a guard as she moved further from her tent. Theirs had been erected on the edges of the Bedouin city. In the distance she could see hundreds of smaller tents, some white like theirs, others striped with bright colours. The inky sky set the differences off, rendering the scene with an almost painting-like quality.
Just to her left, a little away from the village, there was a spindly old tree. With its far-reaching branches and long, slim leaves, it reminded her a little of the gum trees of home.
Home.
She closed her eyes sadly on the very thought.
Where was home, really?
For she could never again return to Brisbane, with its humidity and tropical gardens. And she would never feel at home here. Would she?
A frown tugged at her lips as she moved down a small sand dune. The heat had already begun to lick the earth but there was still enough of the desert night’s chill to leave her comfortable. The sun was the real problem, with its unrelenting focus.
The truth was, and she was becoming brave enough to acknowledge it, this wondrous country was beginning to feel more and more familiar to her. Three weeks of travelling and meeting the people, of seeing the small communities that worked tirelessly to keep the country strong, and she had fallen in love.
“Madam?”
She turned at the sound of a servant’s voice, a bland expression of inquiry on her tired face. It hid a growing sense of impatience at her inability to ever be alone.
He seemed to hesitate though, and Evie took pity on him. “I couldn’t sleep,” she said softly. “I wanted to go for a walk before the rest of the camp stirs.”
“Of course, madam.” He bowed a little and Evie began to move again, conscious now that her serenity and contemplation had been snipped in two by her unwanted companion. It wasn’t his fault, she reasoned, turning towards the village with its colourful tents and strange, exotic smells. She was now a powerful woman and, despite the fact Ishala enjoyed political peace, she was also a target for threats, she supposed.
A young boy ran past as Evie rounded a corner, almost skittling her to the ground. The guard captured him by the shoulders and barked at him in their own language. Evie was slowly learning more and more of it, but it was spoken so loudly and quickly now that she caught only the gist.
“It’s okay,” she intervened, quickly walking back towards the guard so that she could disentangle his fingers from the child’s shoulders. She studied his grubby little face and a smile played on her lips. There was a mischief in his eyes, and a sweetness in his expression, that reminded her of Kalem. “I wasn’t looking where I was going,” she said.
The guard immediately stepped backwards, contrite. “Yes, madam.”
Evie crouched down, so that her eyes met the boy’s. “Where are you off to in such a hurry?”
He looked at her, confused, and lifted a finger to Evie’s cheek. He touched her fair skin, and the guard moved closer, ready to intervene should it be necessary.
“It’s okay,” she murmured. “He’s just curious.”
The boy – he might have been seven years old – lifted his fingers higher, to her hair. She hadn’t brushed it that morning and it was a riot of auburn waves around her face. “Fash-lasiyati,” He said, his eyes enormous as he looked from Evie to the guard.
“What is this?” She smiled at the boy, waiting for the guard to translate.
The guard was grinning. “It is difficult to translate.”
She arched a brow and sent him a look of amusement. “Try?”
“It means Magical Temptress.” At the sound of Malakhi’s deep voice, Evie startled and the little boy looked as though he might pass out. He began to shiver on the spot and then he fell to the sand, throwing his face against it and spreading his arms forward.
And though Malakhi had done nothing wrong, Evie’s look was full of cold disapproval. “You’ve frightened him,” she said crossly, crouching down and putting a hand reassuringly on the boy’s back. “Tell him not to do that.”
It was on the tip of his tongue to remind Evie that such displays of deference were normal amongst his people, particularly amongst the impoverished Bedouin tribes, but her demeanour forestalled the comment. Instead, he crouched beside her and spoke softly, as he might to a frightened stallion. “Please, stand back up,” he said in his language.
The boy immediately obeyed, but he remained terrified.
Evie stood, brushing her hands on her pants. She had enjoyed the little boy’s interest but with her husband’s arrival, an air of tension had wrapped around her heart. “Please tell him it was lovely to meet him.”
Malakhi, cast as her translator, fought a grimace before doing as she’d bid.
The little boy’s eyes moved to Evie’s face and he relaxed visibly. He leaned forward, pressing a hand to her wrist. Malakhi stiffened and the guard did likewise. Evie, however, reached down and wrapped her fingers around his little hand.
He said something in his beautiful foreign words and then skipped away.
Before she could ask, Malakhi said, “He believes you are a fairy creature. Too pretty to be a woman.”
Evie laughed and shook her head, watching him go. “What a sweetie.”
The guard took a respectful step backwards, enforcing their solitude. Evie cleared her throat and turned her attention back to the tent city. Though Malakhi hadn’t criticised her, she said defensively, “I wanted to have a walk before we move on.”
He suppressed a sigh for he knew she would take it as yet another insult. “It’s a nice morning,” he murmured.
“It’s hot.”
He took a step towards her and she startled, her eyes flicking to the guard.
“I’d like to go back now.”
“Of course.” He wouldn’t let his irritation show, though he felt it keenly.
Her mood didn’t improve for the next two days. By the time they arrived back at the palace, the tension between them was thick enough to sever with a sword.
Malakhi saw her safely deposited in their suite and then moved back to the door.
“I have work to catch up on.”
“Sure,” she said, not looking in his direction. Her fingers were busy with the tie of her robe. He watched as she pulled on it, her cheeks pink, her brow dotted with sweat.
“Do you need help?”
“No,” she snapped, and then, her blush deepening, she added, “Thank you.”
He gritted his teeth as he left. They had been married less than a month and they were barely speaking. What the hell did that mean for the rest of their lives?
CHAPTER TWELVE
A day after returning to the palace, Evie was met by a most unexpected guest.
She had only just dressed and finished her hair when a knock sounded at her door.
“Yes?” She padded towards it, a smile on her face.
Amira returned it without hesitation. “Madam, Miss Leilani would like to speak with you.” She lowered her voice. “I have told her I think you have plans.”
Evie laughed at her friend’s thoughtfulness. “That’s fine. I’ll meet her.” She frowned, casting a glance at her wristwatch. “Would you tell her to join me for tea in the courtyard?”
“Tea? Are you … sure?”
“Yes. Why? Are you worried she might throw boiling water over me?”
Amira’s eyes glinted. “She does have prior form for this, madam.”
Evie laughed. “I’ll be fine.”
“Very well.” Amira left without bowing, which Evie considered an enormous breakthrough after weeks of begging the younger woman to stop being so formal with her.
The courtyard was set at the heart of the family rooms. Many looked down on its verdant luxury. Evie had
come to adore the space, with its large sandstone tiles, pots of spiky green plants and view of the ocean. She settled herself in one of the canvas chairs, her legs crossed, her body language relaxed despite the throbbing tension emanating through her. Moments later, Leilani appeared, shadowed by Amira.
Damn the woman, she was effortlessly chic. Dressed in an aqua pantsuit with her dark hair flowing in luxurious curls over one shoulder, her lashes were so long they looked fake and her caramel skin seemed to glisten like dew.
Evie stood slowly, trying to project a similarly elegant image, absolutely certain she failed miserably. So she smiled to compensate.
“Your Highness,” Leilani murmured, her eyes shifting a little as she moved closer to Evie.
And Evie realised Malakhi’s mistress was nervous. The surprise was profound. “Please, sit,” she gestured to one of the chairs and sent Amari a kind wink.
Amari spun and moved back to the door, holding it open for another servant to move in and place a tray between the two women. It held not just tea, but scones and colourful biscuits as well.
“Thank you for seeing me,” Leilani said softly, her eyes still not able to hold Evie’s for longer than two seconds.
“Of course.” Evie’s heart was swelling with compassion. “Why wouldn’t I?’
Leilani laughed but it was a hollow sound. “I can think of at least ten reasons,” she said with a shake of her head. “Shall I start with the most obvious? I was horrible to you.”
Evie stood, unaware that she too cut quite an imposing figure. She wore a pair of steel coloured culottes that fell to her ankles, forming the appearance of a skirt, and a matching shirt that had bell sleeves. A beaded necklace she’d seen at a market while on her honeymoon added a splash of colour to the elegant ensemble. She poured two cups of tea and handed one to Leilani before taking her seat once more.
“You have reason to hate me,” Evie said finally, her smile lopsided.
The silence was thick with emotion. Grief, compassion, sorrow, regret.
“Yes,” Leilani said, squeezing her eyes shut. Tears danced at the corners of her eyes.
Evie expelled a soft breath. “You have to know how little I mean to him,” she said finally. “You, of all people, know what a lie this marriage is.” She sipped her tea, hoping the water would wash away the pain of the truth.
“You are still his wife,” Leilani said with a shrug of her slender shoulders.
“For our nephew’s sake.”
“What are you saying?” Leilani asked, leaning forward a little.
Evie shook her head. “I’m only telling you that you have no reason to be jealous of me.”
Leilani sipped her tea thoughtfully. “Your marriage ends what I had with him.”
“Does it?” Evie wasn’t so sure. “On my wedding night you said …”
Leilani shook her head desperately. “Please don’t repeat my words. They were vile. I was so upset.”
“I understand that. If I was in love with someone and he married a virtual stranger, I would be similarly furious.”
Leilani ran an elegant finger around the tip of her coffee cup. “I believe you do love someone,” she said finally.
Evie’s heart flipped in her chest. How could she be so transparent? “I love my nephew,” she said finally. “I would make any sacrifice for him.”
“You consider this marriage a sacrifice?”
Evie chose her words carefully. She would not outright lie to the other woman, but nor would she open her heart to her. “I know that you would wish our positions reversed,” she said gently. “I’m sorry to you, for the love you feel that can’t be returned now.”
“He does love me,” Leilani whispered. “He is as trapped by this situation as you.”
Evie felt half-dead. The words were torture to the feelings she nurtured. Had he said as much to his mistress? Of course he had. She nodded to save herself from the humiliation of arguing. “Yes.”
She sipped her tea, her eyes drifting towards the ocean. Where was the balm she usually took from its reassuring rhythm? Was he trapped? Is that how he felt? Her breath shuddered from her.
“Neither of you will be happy.”
Evie sipped her tea once more and fixed a smile tightly to her lips. It hurt. “This is hardly helpful,” she explained gently. “Our marriage, whatever you may think of it, exists.”
“I know,” Leilani was chastened. “And I came only to apologise for my behaviour. We are both in his life. It is … simpler if we are not enemies.”
We are both in his life.
Jealousy was a flame in her veins. “We aren’t enemies,” Evie promised, but oh! How those words cost her!
“Good.” Leilani stood, and she moved closer to Evie. Neither woman was aware of the man who, at that very moment, passed by an overhead window and happened to look down.
Malakhi recognised his wife first. Her shock of fiery hair had been tamed into an elegant bun, but he could imagine how it would feel beneath his palms. Leilani , in comparison, was a study in formality and beauty.
He could hear nothing of what was said, but the fact they were meeting like this was deeply displeasing to him.
He had no wish for the two of them to speak. And he would make them both aware of that fact as soon as possible.
* * *
It was May fourth and Evie awoke with a pain in her chest. At first she thought it was because of her conversation with Leilani the day before. Then she believed it to be because her husband hadn’t come to their bed that night.
And then, horrible, nauseating reality shifted into focus.
May fourth.
David’s birthday. May the Fourth be with you, she’d always teased, for he was a Star Wars buff and had relished the fact his birthday fell on the date.
She pushed the sheets off her body as though they were suffocating her.
His first birthday since the accident.
She groaned under the weight of her grief and let the tears fall unchecked. She dressed quickly, pulling on whatever she could lay her hands on instead of the outfit her servants had laid out for her the night before. Hundreds of shoes were displayed elegantly in her palatial wardrobe; she chose the first practical pair she could find – a suede set of ballet flats.
They had been made for her, and they fit like gloves. She moved through their suite quickly. At the door, she hesitated, but no one appeared to stop her. She refused to think about her husband; to wonder where he’d spent the night.
This was what their marriage would be like and the sooner she adjusted to that reality the better. Her only defence was to perfect the air of unconcern that she’d been working on.
Evie moved through the family suite with no real idea of where she wanted to go; only that the walls of the palace were now suffocating her.
She slipped downstairs and moved into the courtyard she and Leilani had shared tea in the day before. At its edge, there was a gap in the pot plants, but she had to shift one to fit through it. She pushed at it, remembering how her mother had encouraged her to always be strong and courageous. Once it had shifted sufficiently, she moved through the gap and into a little uneven patch of soil. It was rough terrain, not meant to be navigated, but it offered the singular advantage of a way out of the palace without guards bothering her.
She didn’t want to be spoken to or questioned. She didn’t want Malakhi to be disturbed – wherever he was and whomever he was with – because she’d simply needed to be alone. To be truly alone!
The palace grounds, within the ancient wall, were extensive. Illuminated by the moon overhead, she moved quickly, gripping trees for support when the ground became uneven, until finally she found herself in a grass clearing. She recognised prickly fruit trees, meaning she’d ended up in an orchard. She walked through the rows, and at the edge of the last one, she sat, her knees pressed to her chest, her chin resting on them, her arms embracing her legs.
And there, like a little ball, she lay huddled against the daw
n: free to bask in the entirety of her grief.
Of course, Evie couldn’t really be discarded from palace life. When the first of her servants brought her morning coffee, her absence was discovered. A quick check with security showed that she hadn’t moved from the palace, and yet a more substantial investigation didn’t reveal her whereabouts. An hour elapsed between her bed having been found empty and Malakhi being alerted.
His reaction was, at first, subdued. “She is probably swimming,” he said, remembering how she’d enjoyed the water. The morning was searingly hot, even for him.
“No, sir,” the servant said softly. “All the pools have been checked. The palace has been checked. No one has seen her since yesterday.”
And then, fear began to dredge his veins. “Is she with Kalem?”
“No, sir. Fatima reports Kalem hasn’t been disturbed.”
Malakhi stood, pacing the room. “She wouldn’t leave Kalem,” he said under his breath, his eyes focussed on the view beyond his window. “Where is Fayaz?”
“He is in England, sir. You recall the trade negotiations?”
“Of course,” he dragged a hand through his hair. “Double the efforts. She is somewhere within the palace.” A smile tugged at his lips despite his concern. “If she doesn’t have her little map with her then she is possibly lost in a library or underneath a piano.”
“Yes, of course.” The servant bowed and disappeared, his goal clear.
But Evie would not be found. Having stood with the sun, and turned back to the palace, she’d realised how far she’d wandered. At least a mile, and the terrain was uneven and the sun high and hot. Somewhere near the edge of the orchard, her gaze trained on the eastern wing, her mind focussed on her brother, she’d lost her footing and stumbled.
Trying to walk was agony. At best, she could limp, and limp slowly. The sun scorched her pale flesh and she wished, again and again, that she hadn’t been so foolish. Thoughts of Malakhi’s criticism powered her forward, but a small part of her almost relished his angry response. Anger, surely, was better than the cold indifference they’d approached one another with since the wedding.
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