Kalila blinked back yet more tears. She was tired of crying, tired of being sad. She wanted happiness; she wanted it for herself and for Aarif. ‘And you live life like a dead man, Aarif, waiting for your judgment. You refuse any joy, any life or love or happiness, and that is not right. No one wants that for you.’ He shrugged, unmoved, and Kalila felt a sudden, clean surge of fury that even now, after so much time, so many tears, he was still implacable. Determined to mire himself in his façade of duty, live a shell of a life that no one wanted for him.
‘You know what I think?’ she demanded in a raw whisper. ‘I think you wear your sense of duty like a shackle. Chains that bind you, keep you from trying. It’s safe, isn’t it? It keeps you from risking—
anything
. I think you’ve become so used to being numb that you’re afraid to live again. To love. And that isn’t the action of an honourable man. It’s the action of a coward.’
Aarif’s breath came out in a hiss, and Kalila wondered if she’d gone too far. She hoped she had. It was the only way to reach him now, to pull him back into the living.
‘You don’t know anything about it,’ Aarif snarled. ‘You’re willing to throw over everything you’ve promised simply because you want to grasp a little happiness for yourself! That, Princess, is the act of a selfish woman.’
‘Maybe so,’ Kalila replied steadily, ‘but I told you before, I will still marry Zakari
if he wishes it
. Unlike you, Aarif, I am not willing to prostrate myself on this altar of self-sacrifice for no reason. Needless martyrdom does not appeal to me.’
He shook his head, turning away from her, cutting off the argument. Hopelessness crashed over her. Was this it, then? Her last appeal, that desperate gamble, for nothing?
The minutes ticked by in silence and finally, from a fog of despair, Kalila forced herself to speak. ‘If you cannot see the sense in what I am saying, there is nothing to be done.’ The words were stiff, and hardly conveyed the ache of loss that left her feeling no more than a hollow shell. ‘But at least allow me what you promised, that I shall tell Zakari.’ Aarif gave a jerky nod, his back still to her. ‘I will tell Zakari that I am not…innocent,’ Kalila continued, amazed at how steady her voice sounded. She felt ready to break apart. ‘But I will not tell him that you were my lover. I’ll say it was someone from university, a long time ago—’
‘A lie?’ Aarif interjected, whirling around, his voice incredulous and cold.
‘Sometimes a lie serves better than the truth,’ Kalila returned, her head held high. ‘What purpose would it serve to tell Zakari about us, except perhaps to allow you to feel punished by your damnable duty?’ Aarif jerked as if she’d hit him, but Kalila ploughed on. ‘It certainly doesn’t do him any favours, Aarif, or me, or my marriage to him. It doesn’t help the stability of your family, or your country. All it does is make you feel like you’ve sacrificed something else, something that
balances these scales that haunt you. But you’ll never make up for what happened all those years ago, you will never make it right. You can only forgive yourself, and allow yourself to be forgiven by others, and you refuse to do that.’
‘You don’t—’
‘Know?’ Kalila finished. ‘But I do know, and I understand you better than perhaps you want me to. I thought you loved honour, but now I wonder if it is just a shield, a mask. A way to protect yourself because it’s easier. I thought you loved me, but if you really did you’d be willing to take a risk.’
‘I
can’t
—’ Aarif burst out, and there was such trembling anguish in his voice that Kalila stilled, her self-righteous anger trickling coldly away. ‘Kalila, I can’t. I cannot betray my brother—my family, myself—further. And I can’t believe you would love me if I did.’
‘No,’ Kalila said slowly, ‘I wouldn’t, if that’s what it was. But it’s not betrayal, Aarif. It’s honesty.’
He shook his head, and there was such despair in that movement that Kalila’s heart ached. Yet she knew she couldn’t rescue him; you couldn’t rescue anyone. She’d wanted to be rescued from her marriage to Zakari, but she knew now it wasn’t possible. You could only forge one destiny, one identity, and that was your own.
She took a step closer to him, and then another, until they were only a whisper, a breath apart. Standing on her tiptoes, she traced his cheek, his scar, with her fingers. ‘I love you,’ she whispered.
Aarif made a choking sound and then, suddenly, she was gathered in his arms, and he was kissing her with a hungry intensity as if he planned to never let her go, even as they both knew it would be the last time they touched.
His hands tangled in her hair and he drew her to him, her body pressed against every intimate contour of his, and yet still he wanted to be closer, kissing her as he did with an urgency and passion that left Kalila breathless and yet wanting more.
She returned the kiss, imbued it with all the love and hope and sorrow she felt, and when it felt as if it could go on for ever she was the one who stepped away, before Aarif could thrust her from him as she knew he would make himself do.
‘Goodbye,’ she whispered, her voice cracking on the word, and then she fled back into the hallway and the darkness.
A
ARIF
was awake to see the morning dawn. He’d been awake most of the night, until at least in the grey half-light before sunrise when he’d fallen into an uneasy sleep, and once more the old nightmare had returned.
‘Aarif…Aarif…help me…’
Aarif thrashed among his twisted sheets, Zafir’s voice haunting him as it always did, an endless, unfulfilled supplication.
‘Aarif…’
He moaned aloud, felt himself slip under the sea, the salty water filling his mouth, his lungs—
‘Aarif.’
There was no cry this time, no desperate rending of the air. Instead the voice was quiet, gentle. Forgiving. Aarif broke free from the water, climbing to the surface, and found that the sea was still. Calm.
Lying in his bed, he felt the dream recede from his consciousness like a wave from the shore, slowly slipping away until there was nothing left but silence and peace.
Zafir was gone. He was no longer crying out, no longer pleading for help, and Aarif knew he would not hear his brother’s desperate voice again.
The realisation was a blessing tinged with sorrow, and
Aarif felt a sense of relief, of release. The dream was gone, and he was no longer afraid.
He opened his eyes to see the first pink finger of dawn creep across the sky, and took a deep, shuddering, healing breath.
It was finished.
Aarif swung his legs over the side of the bed and padded to the window. Outside the desert shimmered in the morning light, and the air was still fresh and cool.
Today was Kalila’s wedding day. He pictured her in her bedroom, lying in her bed—had she suffered a sleepless night as he had? Had she had bad dreams?
Yet she, he knew, was responsible for the banishing of his own nightmare. He felt, for the first time in over twenty years, at peace with himself. Forgiven.
That, he thought, was Kalila’s gift to him.
What would his gift to her be?
I thought you loved me, but if you really did you’d be willing to take the risk.
If he loved her. Of course he loved her; he loved her spirit and her sense of humour, her honesty and her honour. He loved the way her eyes reflected her every thought and feeling, like a mirror to her soul. He loved her with every fibre of his being, heart, mind, body, and soul. And he knew then that Kalila was right; you couldn’t throw that kind of love away.
You needed to take a risk.
Kalila awoke to the same dawn, the soft pink light streaking across the sky in pale fingers. Her body ached and her eyes felt dry and gritty; she’d barely slept at all.
As she lay in bed she heard the palace stirring to life around her: the cheerful twitter of sparrows in the garden, the whistling of a kitchen servant gone outside for an errand.
Today was her wedding day. Strange, she thought distantly, how it failed to affect her now. She felt dull, leaden, lifeless.
The life had drained out of her last night, when Aarif had let her walk away.
Had she thought he wouldn’t? Had she actually believed that Aarif might confront Zakari, insist on making her his bride? Kalila’s mouth twisted in a grim smile. It seemed incredible now, and so it was.
Aarif didn’t love her, or at least not enough. And that was all that mattered.
Although now, she supposed, it didn’t matter at all; what mattered was her marriage, and the life marked out for her as Queen of Calista, King Zakari’s bride.
A brisk knock sounded on the door, and before Kalila could bid someone to enter Juhanah peeked her head around.
‘Good morning, Princess.’
‘You’re awake early,’ Kalila said, trying to summon a smile and failing.
‘And so are you. Today is a busy day.’
‘Yes.’ Kalila knew she sounded completely unenthused, but she knew she could be honest with Juhanah. Later she would need her energy to present the charade of a loving, happy wife. Now she leaned back against the pillows and closed her eyes.
‘Kalila.’ Juhanah perched on the edge of the bed, one plump hand resting gently on Kalila’s arm. ‘You must not torture yourself like this.’
Kalila opened her eyes. ‘I can’t help it, Juhanah.’ She lowered her voice to a whisper, conscious even now of who could be listening. ‘I don’t want to marry him.’
‘No, and I am not surprised,’ Juhanah replied with a sad little smile. ‘You have not even seen him! He has not courted or wooed you, there have been no flowers, no jewels, not even a letter or message.’
Kalila shook her head, managing a wry smile. ‘That wouldn’t have made a difference.’
‘No? You think not?’ Juhanah arched one eyebrow, clearly sceptical. ‘If you knew your bridegroom was eager to meet
you—to
bed
you—then you would not have looked to Aarif for attention.’
‘I understand what you are saying,’ Kalila said quietly, wanting—needing—to be honest, ‘but it wasn’t like that. I never expected to fall in love with Aarif. There was very little to love about him at first, you know. But even if Zakari were here, dancing attendance on me, it would have happened.’ She thought of Aarif’s words:
it is written.
Perhaps it was. ‘I could not have kept myself from it, Juhanah, even if I tried, which I confess I did not.’
Juhanah regarded her quietly for a moment, her lips pursed. ‘Well,’ she said at last, ‘it is finished now. Today you will be a bride, a wife, and there is no place for Aarif.’ There was a note of warning, even censure, in Juhanah’s voice that made Kalila blush. What if her nurse knew the truth of that night apart? Or had she already guessed it?
‘I know that, Juhanah. I doubt Aarif and I will even speak in private together again.’ How would they deal with one another? she wondered. How would she survive seeing him every day, pretending he was no more than an honoured brother? How would he cope with seeing her as Zakari’s wife, holding Zakari’s children, when the only children she wanted were—?
Kalila let out a sudden, choked cry as the enormity of Aarif’s decision last night hit her with a hammer blow. He’d exiled her for the rest of her life, forced her into a prison of unhappiness that she would never escape.
‘Kalila,’ Juhanah said gently, her hand tightening on Kalila’s arm, ‘you must let it go. Let him go. Your future is with Zakari, and by God’s grace you can still love him as a wife should.’
The thought was anathema, yet Kalila knew Juhanah was right. Zakari was innocent, if negligent; she could still try to be a good wife to him. It was the only hope she had, thin thread that it was.
‘Yes, you’re right,’ she managed at last. ‘I know it, Juhanah. It’s just so very hard right now.’
‘Of course it is,’ Juhanah soothed. ‘I shall fetch your breakfast. Take a moment to compose yourself,
ya daanaya
, for the other women will be here soon and you will not be left alone all day.’
Juhanah spoke the truth, Kalila soon realised, for after breakfast her room was filled with a flurry of women, servants and siblings and guests, who were eager to help in the preparations. Kalila felt like a spectator, a ghost; she let herself be dressed, her mother’s antique white gown sliding easily over her slight curves—had she lost weight? She let her hair be teased into a high cluster of shiny curls. She let her face be painted, and pearl drops fastened in her ears, a magnificent Calistan diamond necklace around her throat.
The sun was high in the sky, the palace courtyard filled with spectators and guests, luxurious black sedans and sports convertibles as everyone began to assemble for the wedding of the decade.
The wedding was in less than an hour, and Zakari still wasn’t here.
Kalila choked down some lunch, although her stomach seethed with nerves. She felt awkward and stiff in her wedding gown, unused to the endless yards of pearl-encrusted satin, the veil’s comb that dug into her scalp. She felt hot and uncomfortable, and almost desperately she searched for some kind of happiness or hope to carry her through the rest of the day.
‘Come, they are waiting downstairs,’ Juhanah said. The room had finally emptied out of people and Kalila was alone, blessedly alone. ‘You must be ready.’
Kalila swallowed. It was time. Time to face her destiny, her duty. ‘Is King Zakari here yet?’ she asked, her voice dry and papery.
Juhanah shrugged, but then Kalila heard the answer to her question in the hectic whirring of a helicopter above the palace. She moved to the window, and saw the helicopter with the
Calistan royal insignia descend to the helipad. It was Zakari, she knew it was, and in a moment she would see him—
Then she saw another figure striding towards the landed helicopter, a figure that was familiar and beloved. Aarif. Aarif was going to meet Zakari, and suddenly Kalila knew that he was going to tell him everything. He wouldn’t be able to keep from being honest, no matter what the cost to either of them.
Kalila closed her eyes, unable to bear the sight.
‘Come, Princess,’ Juhanah murmured, pulling her away from the window. ‘There is nothing for you to see. You will see your husband as you walk down the aisle. That is as it should be.’
Kalila nodded, and let herself be led away. Her mind and body was numb, blessedly numb, as Juhanah led her through the palace corridors to a sitting room Kalila had never seen before.
‘You will wait here,’ Juhanah said, ‘until it is time. A servant will knock on the door when it is time to go out.’
Kalila nodded. The wedding ceremony, she knew, was in the formal reception hall of the palace, an ornate room with marble pillars and a frescoed ceiling. She’d seen the servants setting up chairs there yesterday, row upon endless row.
It was tradition, borrowed from the Greeks, for the groom to hand the bride her bouquet, and distantly Kalila wondered if Zakari would remember her flowers. But of course he wouldn’t have to; someone would hand him a tasteful bouquet of roses or some such and he would give them to her with a smile as if he’d chosen them himself…
False. It was all going to be false.
The minutes ticked by in agonising slowness. Juhanah stood by the door, stout and grim-faced. Kalila was grateful that they were alone, at least; the other women had taken their seats as guests. She couldn’t have borne any more chatter or gossip, winks or sly looks. It was all meant in fun, she knew, but it made her feel sick.
‘What’s taking so long?’ she cried out in frustration after
a quarter of an hour had gone by. It was past time for the ceremony to begin, and by now she just wanted it to be over.
‘I don’t know,’ Juhanah said. She opened the door and poked her head out. ‘I can’t see anyone—’
‘I’ll go, then,’ Kalila said. She felt frantic from the inactivity, the endless waiting.
‘No! You cannot be seen.’
‘I don’t care—’
‘Propriety, Kalila, is important now,’ Juhanah said sharply. ‘I’ll go.’
Juhanah slipped out, and Kalila let out a sigh of frustration, pacing the small room like a caged animal, needing to be free.
She caught sight of her reflection in the mirror, and for a moment she stopped and stared. Her face was pale beneath the make-up, her eyes wide. Yet the dress was beautiful, her mother’s gown, a dress made for a woman in love.
And I had love
, Kalila realised with a pang of surprise. She knew what it was like to love and be loved, no matter for how short a time, and that was a wonderful gift. A blessing. She would cling to it for the rest of her life, knowing that Aarif had loved her.
It would have to be enough. It would be enough, she vowed, to see her through this day at least.
Juhanah returned, her eyes clouded with anxiety, her lower lip pulled between her teeth. ‘I don’t know what is going on,’ she said in a low voice. ‘There has been some delay…’
‘Delay?’ Kalila repeated, and heard her voice rise in fear. ‘What? Why?’
Juhanah shook her head. ‘I don’t know. Your father—King Bahir—has been called out of the ceremony. Perhaps King Zakari wishes to discuss…’
‘No.’ Kalila pressed a fist to her lips. Had Aarif told, and Zakari was furious? Was she going to be shamed in front of everyone, and not just her, but Aarif too? Her heart ached for him, having already endured so much, to suffer this as well.
And yet it could provide freedom, if Zakari refused to go through with the marriage. A pointless freedom, useless without Aarif.
Just as that thought was unfurling within her a sharp knock sounded on the door, and Juhanah conversed rapidly with a servant. She turned back to Kalila, her expression resolute yet still filled with apprehension. ‘It is time.’
Time. There had been so much time, and now there was none. Now it was mere minutes—seconds—before she came face to face with Zakari, without ever having spoken to him even, and pledged her life. Said her vows.
Kalila walked down the palace corridor, heard the rustle of her gown on the stone floor, felt the relentless drumming of her heart. Her hands were cold and damp and she resisted the impulse to wipe them on the sides of her gown.
Ahead of her the reception hall loomed, its wide doors thrown open, garlanded with lilies.
Kalila moved to stand on the threshold and saw a sea of faces turn expectantly to face her. Her gaze went past the rows of guests to the man standing at the end of the aisle, tall and broad-shouldered, with short, dark hair like Aarif’s, his back to her.
Kalila swallowed and she felt Juhanah give her a little nudge in the small of her back. Her legs felt as if they were made of cotton wool, and her vision swam.
Think of Aarif. Think of his love.
She could do this.
She had to.
Slowly she made herself move. One foot in front of the other. The crowd had fallen to a hush, and Kalila saw people smiling. She tried to smile back, but the smile trembled on her lips and slipped right off. She was so close to tears; she felt them at the backs of her lids, in her throat…
She swallowed them down, blinked them back, and moved on.
The aisle was endless. The papery rustling of the stiff folds
of her gown was loud in her ears, loud in the expectant hush of that room. She wished Zakari would turn around, so she could see the expression on his face, except perhaps she didn’t want to. Perhaps that would be worse.