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Rashid felt chills down his spine. ‘A small child,’ he repeated. ‘Me.’
The vizier nodded. ‘You. The new Emir was leaving nothing to chance. But your father’s life came at a cost. To protect the lives of those who had saved him and his son, he had to swear he would never return to Qajaran, and he would live his life as an exile with a false identity. Your names were both changed, your histories altered, but, even so, as a father and son you would have been too recognisable together, and so, in order to keep you safe, he had to cut you free.’
Rashid’s hands curled into fists. ‘I grew up alone. I grew up thinking my father was dead.’’
The vizier was unapologetic. ‘You grew up in safety. Had Malik suspected even one hint of your existence, he would have sent out his dogs and had you hunted down.’
Rashid battled to make sense of it all. ‘But Malik died, what? Surely it’s a year ago by now. Why did my father keep silent then? Why did he not move to claim the throne then if he was still alive?’
The older man shrugged and turned the palms of his hands up to the ceiling. ‘Because he had made a solemn promise never to return and he was a man of honour, a man of his word.’
‘No, that doesn’t cut it. He still could have told me! He could have sought me out. Why should I have been denied knowing my father was alive because of a promise he’d made to somebody else years ago?’
‘I know.’ The vizier exhaled on a sigh. ‘Rashid, I am sorry to be the one to tell you this, but your father decided it was better that you never knew of your heritage. I sought him out after Malik died. I begged him to reach out to you—I begged him to let me reach out to you—but he refused. He said it was better that way, that you never knew the truth, that it couldn’t hurt you any more than it already had. He made me promise not to contact you while he lived.’
Rashid shook his head, his jaw so tightly set he had to fight to squeeze the words out. ‘So he decided to keep me in the dark—about everything. Even the fact my own father was still alive.’
‘Don’t you think it cost your father—to be cursed with only seeing his son from afar and searching the papers for any hint of where you were and what you were doing? But he was proud of you and all that you achieved.’
‘He had a funny way of showing it.’
‘He saw all that you achieved by yourself and, wrongly or rightly, he chose to let you remain on that path, unfettered by the responsibility he knew would come if you knew the truth.’
The sensation of scuttling insects started at the base of his neck and worked its way down his spine. He peered at the vizier through suspicious eyes and asked the questions he feared he already knew the answers to. ‘What do you mean? What responsibility?’
‘Don’t you see? You are Qajaran’s true and rightful ruler, Rashid. I am asking you to come back to Qajaran with me and claim the throne.’
CHAPTER FIVE
RASHID LAUGHED. He couldn’t help but laugh, even though he’d half suspected something similar, but the old man was so fervent and the idea so preposterous. ‘You can’t be serious!’
‘Please forgive me, but I am not in the habit of joking about such matters.’
Rashid got the impression the man was not in the habit of making jokes at all, the complete lack of humour in the vizier’s response stopping Rashid’s mirth dead. ‘But I haven’t lived in Qajaran since I was a boy, if what you say is true, because I certainly can’t even remember a time when I did. I have visited it briefly two or three times since at the most. There must be someone better, someone more qualified?’
‘There has been a power vacuum since Malik’s death. A Council of Elders has taken over the basics of governing, but there is no clear direction and no one person to take responsibility. Qajaran needs a strong leader, and there can be no one more fitting than the son of the true successor. In the beginning, I know it is what your father wanted for you, to reclaim your birthright, even though with time he changed his mind and wished for you the freedom that he had found. He had made a life here, after all, and I think the longer he was away from Qajaran, the less connection he felt and the less your father felt he owed his homeland.’
‘The father I never knew,’ he said, not even trying to prevent the bitterness infusing his voice. ‘If indeed he was my father. Why should I take your word that he was?’
