“Because you’re hurting and you’re angry,” he says quietly, coming closer to me, but I stiffen, flinching away from him. How can I go from such euphoric passion to this intense pain, and so quickly?
“What is it?”
“Do you even need to ask?” I sniff. “You’re treating my father like dirt. What kind of daughter would I be if I weren’t offended by that?”
“You’re an excellent daughter, of this I have no doubt. After all, you married a man you know nothing about and all for his sake.”
“That’s not true,” I demur, wanting to hurt him as he’s hurting me. “I knew a lot about you, Zahir.”
“I can imagine your father made sure of that.”
“My father said nothing about you,” I hiss angrily. “You keep thinking he’s some kind of villain who’s out to get you but he never once mentioned your name to me. Everything I know about you is from my mother or from the internet. The articles in the press quoted you at the time, the things you said about him. My hatred of you comes from here,” I point to my heart, “Not from dad.”
His face is like steel. He stares at me for several long seconds and then jerks his head once, in a small nod of agreement.
“I understand.” His fingers lift my thumb towards his face, holding me there until my bravado slips and crumbles and fresh tears fill my eyes. I feel deflated and awful. “You’re an excellent actress, Amy. I wouldn’t have guessed you hated me when you were in my bed.”
My fingertips itch and before I realise what I’m doing, my hand presses to his cheek, hard, leaving a perfect mark on his skin.
I stare at it in shock. I’ve never hit a person in my life, and never out of anger or violence. I clasp my hand to my mouth, taking a step backwards.
He regards me steadily for a moment and then turns away, walking towards the door. “I will have someone notify you once he’s arrived.”
The setting sun is magnificent. Every evening I’ve looked out over the skies of Qabid and felt this same sense of connection with the land, a yearning to see it all, every single grain of sand, to meet all the people and experience the different cultures of each town and city. I want to see more, feel more, be more of a part of this ancient country. After all, this country’s blood runs through my veins too.
I watch as the golden orb dips towards the horizon, streaking the sky in golds and mauves, dramatic and beautiful, the stars twinkling like silver, and a moment later, there’s a knock at the door. My stomach is in knots, waiting to hear about dad. I cross Zahir’s apartment with shaking knees, wondering about my father and his return, how he felt flying in over the city, seeing this land for the first time in decades. I draw the door inwards to see a staff member on the other side. He extends a piece of card to me.
Frowning, I take it, my fingers shaking as I unfold it.
Zahir’s handwriting is unmistakable.
Meet me in the almrisad.
I shake my head, blinking up at the staff member. “What does this mean? Where’s the almrisad?”
“I will show you, your highness,” he offers.
“Thank you.”
I’m casually dressed and my hair is out and quite wild, in one of the styles Aliya loses patience with, but I don’t care. I’m anxious for any word on my father. I slip on a pair of shoes and fall into step beside the man, moving quickly. The almrisad is not far from Zahir’s apartment. The man leads me down a long corridor then points to a wide timber doorway.
“Up the steps, madam,” he bows low.
“Thank you.” I move quickly, gathering my skirt at the knees and pushing through the doors, taking the steps two at a time so that I’m breathless when I emerge at the top. And even if I weren’t breathless, the sight awaiting me would have definitely made me so.
The almrisad is a completely open-air space, with arches carved into a dome shape, no glass windows to fill the voids, just twinkling starlight. It’s large enough to accommodate a group of perhaps a hundred people, but tonight there is only Zahir, a selection of brightly coloured scatter cushions and dozens of candles.
He eyes me cautiously, and I return the sentiment, reserve in my features even as the beauty of the setting has bowled me over.
“Well?
” I walk quickly to him, pushing our argument from my mind. “Is he here?”
He dips his head once. “Yes.”
“Oh my goodness.” I clap my hands together. “Zahir, I can’t believe it.” Tears sparkle on my eyes. “How is he? Did he have a good flight? What did he think when he came in over the country for the first time? Has he asked about me?”
He lifts a finger and presses it to my lips.