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She nodded. Phoebe had felt pain before. She’d felt fear like this. But she didn’t like feeling it in front of Hakim.
Hakim waited, and waited, and waited. Time seemed to slow down to the point of stopping. He didn’t sit. He couldn’t. Instead, he walked the same five paces in one direction, and then back again, in front of the wide double doors that led to the examination room.
After what felt to be an interminable time, Anja emerged again.
“Well?”
Anja didn’t meet his eyes. “Would you come in a moment please, sir?”
“Of course.” He burst through the doors, freezing when he saw Phoebe. They had changed her into a hospital gown, and lying there, in the middle of the white bed, in the cavernous room, she looked so… breakable. He swallowed and looked away. “What is it?”
Anja looked to Phoebe, but the Sheikha had her face averted from them. She was in the middle of a terrible nightmare.
Anja cleared her throat and moved towards a couple of backlit boxes. Several slides hung on them, presumably showing Phoebe’s bones.
“Here is Her Highness’s arm. You can see the break quite clearly.” He nodded. Anja moved onto the next slide. “And her left leg.” She pointed to another dark line through the pale bone. “Her right leg is not broken, but her ankle has sustained a sprain that will require rest.”
Hakim let out a long, pent-up breath. “So that is it? She will be okay?”
Anja cast a look at Phoebe, and switched to Mehranese. She also lowered her voice, leaning closer to ensure their words were not overheard. “Can you see these small marks?” She asked, pointing to two points on the screen.
He nodded.
“They are evidence of old breaks.”
Something like fear lodged in his chest. He pushed it aside. “So?”
“Well, your highness, of course I don’t mean to intrude, but… has your wife ever been in a motor vehicle accident?”
He frowned. He would know if she had. Etienne would have informed him. “No.”
“The amount of injuries I can see in these x-rays is only explained by some kind of prolonged physical trauma.” She took in a deep breath. “It is not my business, but I discovered something else, which neither you nor the Sheikha may be aware of.”
His heart was beating so fast that it was at risk of cutting through his chest. “Yes?” His impatience was extreme.
Anja’s face was slightly flushed as she continued. “I have found evidence of some adhesions. They would make it very difficult for a pregnancy to develop.”
If he had not been the most powerful man in the country, he would have given in to his need for support, and leaned against the wall. His eyes drifted to Phoebe, so wan and listless. “Does she know?”
“No.” Anja shook her head. “She has been through enough today. The thing is, Sir, these adhesions are further evidence of some kind of physical trauma. They don’t simply develop.”
“What kind of trauma?”
Anja frowned. “Usually a car accident,” she said, her forehead crinkled. “If not that, some kind of very forceful, very targeted impact.”
His first instinct was to punch something. He restrained his anger, with effort. He was surprised to hear his voice sounding so calm and businesslike when he spoke, as he felt like his world was being dismantled, piece by piece. “Can anything be done?”
Anja’s smile was kind. “Yes. I can operate. It is not a major procedure. I would suggest we complete the operation now, as she will be reduced to a reasonably immobile state for at least a month.”
Hakim nodded, but his mind was piecing together a puzzle, and the image that was being formed was horrifying. Only one thing could explain the marks he could clearly see on the x-ray screens. One fact that he had discounted as impossible. One explanation that she had offered him, and he’d solidly refused to credit. One undeniable fact that meant everything he’d thought about Etienne was false. And so too had his assumptions been about Phoebe.
He looked at Anja, his face displaying none of his inner-torment. “Please leave us. And your team. I need to speak privately to my wife.”
“Of course, sir.”
One by one, they filtered from the room, a stately procession of people in bright white coats, until only Phoebe, Hakim, and a impassable torrent of misinformation, remained.
“How do you feel?”
