Princess of Dhagabad, The (29 page)

“As long as you like, princess.”

Her head, leaning against your shoulder,
turns heavier; her breath becomes quiet and even. Turning to her
and seeing that her eyes are closed, you carefully lay her down
onto a bed of reeds that you crush and flatten down for that
purpose. It is probably time to take her home where she can rest
much better and completely recover from the shock. But you feel
reluctant to leave this wet bank of the river, the transparent
dusk, the stars appearing in the sky one by one, the cries of the
frogs and night birds, and the light breeze that you, as a spirit,
are unable to feel, the breeze that slightly moves a strand of hair
over her face, so peaceful in sleep, and brings from the shoreline
thickets the sweet aroma of the flowers.

Whatever your intentions at the beginning of
the duel with Abdulla, you are glad everything turned out the way
it did; and now you and she, alive and well, are able to spend this
beautiful evening on the shore of the Ghull. You are thinking that
you, an all-powerful spirit, can learn something from this little
girl who, without giving much thought to wisdom and eternity, can
simply name her wish in a way that it will immediately come true.
You suddenly realize that when she dies, running out of her
sparingly measured human lifetime, you will miss her terribly, that
you enjoy your long talks, your trips to mysterious places, the
expression of joyful amazement on her face. You inhale the night
air as if you, a spirit, are able to feel its taste, inhale to the
last bit all its aromas, all its fresh coolness, overwhelmed by a
hitherto unknown to you feeling of happiness.

The invisible garden surrounds her with the
magnificence of smells and sounds; but she can still see only the
dunes. She knows where the temple is and she walks straight there;
her feet infallibly find the path ahead, where her destiny lies.
Domes rise before her—domes and arches and columns—she takes a
step and, instead of the sand, feels the chill of the rough stone
surface. All is going well today, and, without looking back, she
climbs the stairs into the dark gallery under the arched ceiling.
Through the open doors she sees a giant hall ahead and, holding her
breath, she steps inside.

 
PART III.

 
ANCIENT BONDS

Chapter 17. The Heir to the Throne

“The great sultan wishes to see you, your
majesty.”

The sultaness nods, forcing herself to rise
from her seat unhurriedly, with the appropriate royal dignity,
suppressing the urge to jump up like a little girl at the sight of
the master of ceremonies. Fighting her impatience, she straightens
out her shawl with deliberate slowness, wrapping it around herself,
making herself look fit for appearing before the sultan. She
beckons Nimeth, silently standing at her side, and walks toward the
door, ready to follow the master of ceremonies to the hall of the
State Council.

The sultaness’s heart is racing with anxiety,
and she is barely able to retain her majestic calm. She knows that
today is the day when the princess’s future is to be decided. Now,
in only a couple of hundred steps, in only several turns of the
corridor, she will finally learn who was appointed by the State
Council of Dhagabad to be the chosen suitor of her daughter. Though
the sultaness knows that the choice of the sultan and the royal
sages will definitely fall on a prince of one of the neighboring
countries, most likely even an heir to the throne, the very
predetermination of this choice makes her heart sink in fear for
the princess.

In a week the princess will turn seventeen.
By the law of Dhagabad this day is considered to be the day of her
coming-of-age; and on this very day the princess must choose a
suitor from a number of the sons and younger brothers of the kings,
sultans, caliphs, and pashas—the rulers of the neighboring lands.
The gods have never lifted their curse from the sultan’s dynasty.
The sultan has no living sons, and it is now up to the princess to
assume the unwomanly role of heir to the throne, the role for which
she was prepared ever since she was three. It is now up to her to
fulfill her destiny, if only by serving as a wife of the future
sultan, securing by her marriage the presence of a male ruler for
her country.

No one has any doubts that on the day the
princess turns seventeen the number of suitors arriving in Dhagabad
to seek her hand will be greater than anything ever heard of in
other kingdoms. Besides the incredible beauty of the princess,
praised even in the realms lying very far from Dhagabad, the
sultan’s lands are rich and fruitful, and the country is so
prosperous that any one of the rulers would be happy to join forces
with it.

The sultaness knows that for the past few
months the State Council has faced a difficult task. The sultan and
the court sages were in session day and night, studying books,
scrolls, and maps, learning all they could about the kingdoms that
could be expected to send their heirs to Dhagabad. It was necessary
not only to prepare for the visit of the noble guests but to make a
decision about who would be the one capable of making the sultan’s
only heiress happy, and at the same time of properly multiplying
the riches and glory of the great Dhagabad. The sultaness has no
doubt that the best minds of Dhagabad have made the right choice,
but the very thought of their discussing her daughter’s future the
same way merchants discuss selling their precious merchandise to
make more profit fills her with protest.

“Her majesty, the sultaness!” the master of
ceremonies announces, swinging the doors open in front of her.

Gathering all her strength, the sultaness
steps forward, over the threshold of the horrifying room. She moves
her gaze, which she hopes is full of dignity, over the rows of
gray-bearded sages who rose at her entrance, and, nodding to them,
fixes her eyes on the sultan sitting on the pillows at the head of
the gathering. His dark face, still handsome in spite of some new
lines around his eyes and mouth, is serious; his bushy beard, now
slightly shimmering with gray, is sticking out in a particularly
unruly way. His gold-embroidered turban is pushed to the side of
his head, and his robe has swung open, baring his dark hairless
chest. The sultaness can see that whatever the decision reached by
the State Council, it was not an easy one.

Walking with effort on her stiff legs, the
sultaness covers the last ten steps and stops right in front of her
husband.

“Madam.” The sultan pauses and she suddenly
feels against all logic that he is almost as nervous as she is.
“Thanks to the wise counseling of those learned sages—” the sultan
nods at the room and the gray heads respectfully bend in response
“—we were able to reach a decision regarding who will be the
future husband of the princess.”

Feeling completely unable to speak, the
sultaness bows her head in waiting.

“We were able to determine,” the sultan
continues solemnly, “that one of the richest kingdoms sharing a
border with Dhagabad is Veridue. We know the sultan of Veridue very
well and we were informed that the heir to the Veriduan throne is
the noble prince Amir.”

The sultaness raises her head. Veridue
doesn’t sound as terrible as, for instance, Megina or Avallahaim.
Veridue is separated from Dhagabad only by the river Hayyat el
Bakr, the same river that flows in its upper reaches through the
city of Dhagabad itself, crossing her usual path to the bazaar.
Veridue’s border, as she heard, can be reached on horseback in only
one day. Filled with joy, the sultaness feels enough strength to
join the conversation.

“What do you know of prince Amir, your
majesty?” she asks shyly.

“Only the very best,” the sultan replies
patronizingly. “He is young, only a little older than the princess,
and rumors grant him all the fine qualities of a future sultan. We
are quite certain that prince Amir will be capable of making the
princess happy.”

The last words sound almost gentle and the
sultaness throws a searching glance at his face. Is it possible
that her husband is worried not only about the interests of his
country, but also about the well-being of his daughter? The
sultaness notices a new, more human expression on the sultan’s face
and feels the invisible hand that squeezed her heart somewhat relax
its grasp, letting her breathe easier, letting her shed part of the
unbearable burden of her worry for the princess. It seems that
everything is going to be settled in the best possible way. The
princess will be living close to Dhagabad, her husband will be
young, handsome, and noble. Maybe the princess won’t even be afraid
of him as much as she herself is afraid of her royal husband.

The sultaness is startled out of her thoughts
by ringing laughter echoing in the giant hall.

A little child of no more than two years old
runs into the hall, awkwardly moving on its short legs. The
sultaness freezes at the sight of its blue eyes and soft golden
curls. There is only one woman in the entire palace who could be
the mother of this fair-haired child.

Albiorita!

The beautiful Albiorita, the sultan’s
“bride”, as he affectionately called her a couple of years ago when
this extraordinary concubine appeared in the palace. A fair-haired
beauty from the mountains of Baskary who made the sultan Chamar Ali
forget his beloved harem. The woman who gave the sultan the new
hope of begetting a son, who made him, as the sultaness believes,
postpone the princess’s wedding and the official appointment for
the Dhagabad heir.

And now she sees the fruit of all these
efforts. A fair-haired child.

But why does this child run alone in the hall
of the State Council? All the children of the sultan’s concubines
live with their mothers in the harem until they turn twelve.
Perhaps Albiorita is not living in the harem anymore? Can it be
that the sultan allows one of his concubines to live in the palace
itself? Can it be that the sultan finally has a son?