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“I remember the card games,” I murmur, the inexplicable burn of tears hurting my throat. For no reason I can think of, I look to Zahir, as though I want to share this moment with him. Why? Why would I do that? “And I remember alum habi.”
Something ignites between us, something fierce and tangible. I turn away.
“My wife has been looking forward to returning to this part of Qabid,” he says. We haven’t discussed it, yet it’s not a lie. “Shall we begin?”
His hand on the small of my back is designed to guide me my chair – and perhaps to send a message to the people assembled that we are a unified force, and yet it does so much more than that. Heat spirals through me, the intimate connection sending trembles through my body. I ignore it as best I can.
Once seated, the other men join us in the circle – twelve of them in total. Whatever tensions there are between this region and Zahir, it’s not evident in this room. If anything, I see total respect – adoration, even – on the faces of these men. When Zahir speaks, they all listen intently, nodding quietly. One even applauds when he finishes addressing them, then flushes to the roots of his hair when no one joins in. I have to dip my head to hide a smile.
As the meeting continues, I understand why Zahir has such an effect on them. He speaks effortlessly on a wide range of subjects – addressing the percentage of students in school in the community, the infrastructure in place to link Thakirt with the nearest city, healthcare availability, including progress towards two dedicated medical helicopters to ensure easy, safe and fast transit to the nearest major hospital.
His ability to command has been evident from the first moment I met him, but now I feel it one thousand times more. He speaks and it’s as though his words are being silently codified into rock, powerful and absolute.
As the meeting draws to a close, I begin to think he’s imagined the threat altogether. There is no hint of animosity in this room, no hint of anything besides abiding respect.
“I would like a moment alone with her highness,” Zahir says, standing. The gesture is immediately obeyed, each man in attendance standing, bowing, then leaving the building through the large doors at the front, until we are alone once more. He encompasses the handful of guards next. “Completely alone. Thank you.”
They too leave, though I see two remain on the other side of the doorway.
I wait, on tenterhooks, for whatever he wants to say that requires me to be on my own. “You did well.”
I shake my head, instantly demurring. “I just sat at your side. It was hardly a masterclass in diplomacy.”
“You’re wrong.” His eyes flare. “All I require is the visual messaging you just provided. They’ve seen you sitting with me, supporting me. That’s very powerful.”
That rankles on so many levels. I hate being reduced to an ornamental accompaniment, but that’s all I am to him. He didn’t marry me for my brain or any insight I might be able to offer on Qabidi matters. He needs me to show that the Hassan and Al Adari families are at peace. I square my shoulders. “So I’ve outlived my usefulness?”
He bares his teeth in a wolfish smile. “For now.”
My eyes narrow. “Then I’ll leave you to it.” I turn to leave but his voice stills me.
I don’t turn back to face him, instead, I stand waiting, my head tilted ever so slightly to catch his words. “Remember, Amy, there is danger here. Try to behave yourself.”
I stifle the response I want to give, a curse flooding my mouth. I leave without issuing it – or any other word.
“We should not wander the streets too much longer.” Aliya’s warning is strict, her impatience obvious. I almost feel sorry for the older woman. It’s hot, after all, and this has been far less fun for her than it has for me. I’ve been walking down memory lane, finding signs and shops that have hammered me with unexpected, thrilling recollections, unlocking parts of myself I hadn’t realised I still possessed. At a small store – little more than a window in a wall, really – I bought a box of alum habi, the small treat the older man mentioned earlier; it’s something I haven’t tasted since I was a girl. The aroma of it – saffron, pistachio and honey – makes my heart float, and as I lift one to my lips, I almost sob for the joy that floods me.
“Please, have one,” I offer Aliya, holding the box to her.
She eyes them cautiously.
“They’re delicious,” I promise.
Still she hesitates.
“Have one and I’ll find us somewhere cool to sit,” I suggest, so she sighs and reaches for the box. I move from ‘almost’ feeling sorry for her to feeling actual pity, as well as guilt. I’ve kept her out too long. It’s nearing night fall, and I barely realised.
“I’m sorry, Aliya,” I say as she takes a bite of the small orange disc. “I didn’t mean to be out so late. You’re right. It’s time to leave.”
The concession is obviously unexpected.
“Can we walk back to the car this way?” I nod down another alley.
Mollified by my agreement, she nods.
“Our house was near here,” I say, though I couldn’t find it for sure. Not for a million dollars. I know it’s out of the town, on the edges. We had a garden, with a small swimming pool. I used to find stones on the edges of Thakirt and bring them home, pitching them into the water so that I could watch them sink to the bottom, and stare at them deep under water, their beauty both marred and improved by ripples in the aqua surface.
“Was it?” I hear her disapproval and sigh.
