Читать книгу Rising Stars & It Started With… Collections - Кейт Хьюит - Страница 40

HE HEARD the twins wail and sob late into the night. He need not have—his suite was far from the nursery—but he walked down there several times and knew Fatima could not quieten them.

‘They will cry themselves out soon,’ Fatima said, putting down her sewing and standing as he approached once again. She had put a chair in the hallway while she waited for the twins to give in to sleep.

Still they refused to.

He could not comfort them. They did not seem to want his comfort, and he did not know what to do.

He walked from the nursery not towards his suite but to Amy’s quarters. It was a route he took in his head perhaps a thousand times each night. It was a door he fought not to open again and again. Now that he did, it was empty—the French doors had been left open to air it, so he didn’t even get the brief hit of her scent. The bed had been stripped and the wardrobes, when he looked, were bare, so too the drawers. The bathroom had been thoroughly cleaned. Like a mad man, he went through the bathroom cupboards, and then back out to the bedroom, but there was nothing of her left.

He walked back to the nursery where the babies were still screaming as Fatima sewed. When she rose as he approached he told her to sit and walked into the nursery. He turned on the lights and picked up his screaming girls.

He scanned the pinboard of photos and children’s paintings. There he was, and so too Hannah, and there were hundreds of pictures of the girls. But there was not a single one of Amy—not even a handprint bore her name. Emir realised fully then that she was gone from the palace and gone from these rooms—gone from his life and from his daughters’ lives too.

The twins’ screams grew louder, even though he held them in his arms, and Emir envied their lack of restraint and inhibition—they could sob and beat their fists on his chest, yell with indignant rage, that she was gone.

He looked out of the window to the sky that was carrying her home now. If he called for his jet possibly he could beat her, could meet her at the airport with the girls. But she was right, Emir thought with a rueful smile—she would make a terrible mistress.

She should be his wife.

‘Ummi?’ Clemira begged. Now she had two mothers to grieve for. He held his babies some more until finally they were spent. He put them down in one crib, but still they would not sleep, just stared at him with angry eyes, lay hiccoughing and gulping. He ran a finger down Clemira’s cheek and across her eyebrows as Amy had shown him a year ago, but Clemira did not close her eyes. She just stared coolly back, exhausted but still defiant. Yes, she was a born leader.

As was Emir.

Except the rules did not allow him to be.

‘I’m leaving for the desert,’ he told Fatima as he left the nursery. ‘The new nanny starts in two days.’

Fatima lowered her head as he walked off. She did not ask when he would return, did not insist that he tell her so she could tell the girls. That was how it was supposed to be, yet not as it should be, Emir realised.

He joined Amy in the sky—but in his helicopter.

Once in the desert, he had Raul ready his horse and then rode into the night. He was at the oasis for sunrise. The first year was over and now he must move on.

He prayed as he waited for counsel from the wizened old man—for he knew that he would come.

‘Hannah will not rest.’

The old man nodded.

‘Before she died she asked that I promise to do my best for the girls.’ He looked into the man’s blackcurrant eyes. ‘And to do the best for me.’

‘And have you?’

‘First I have to do the best by my country.’

‘Because you are King?’

Emir nodded. ‘I made that promise to my father when he died,’ he said. He remembered the loss and the pain he had suffered then. His vow had been absolute when he had sworn it. ‘The best for me is to marry Amy. It is the best for the girls too. But not the best for my country.’ Emir told the old man why. ‘She cannot have children.’ He waited for the old man to shake his head, to tell him how impossible it was, to tell him there was no dilemma, that it could not be; instead he sat silent, so Emir spelt it out for him. ‘She cannot give me a son.’

‘And the new wife you will take can?’ the old man checked.

Emir closed his eyes.

‘Perhaps your new wife will give you girls too?’ the old man said. ‘As Queen Hannah did.’

‘Without a son my lineage ends,’ Emir hissed in frustration. ‘Alzirz will swallow Alzan and the two lands will be become one.’

‘That is the prediction,’ the old man said. ‘You cannot fight that.’

Emir was sick of predictions, of absolutes, of a fate that was sealed in the sand and the stars. ‘It must not happen,’ Emir said. He thought of his people—the people who had rejected his daughters, was his first savage thought. Yet they were not bad—they were scared. Emir knew that. He loved his people and his country so much, and they needed him as their leader. ‘I cannot turn my back on them. There are rules for Alzan …’

‘And for Alzirz too,’ the old man said, and Emir grew silent. ‘You are King for a reason.’

He reminded Emir of his teachings and Emir knew again that the year had passed and it was time for Hannah to rest, time for him to face things, to come to his decision. He stood. The old man stayed sitting.

‘You will know what to do.’

He knew what to do now, and nothing could stop him.

Emir mounted his stallion and kicked him on, charged towards a land where he was not welcome uninvited. No one stopped him.

On his entering Alzirz, Rakhal’s guards galloped behind and alongside him, but no one attempted to halt a king propelled by centuries of fury.

King Rakhal was alerted, and as Emir approached he saw Alzirz’s King standing waiting for him outside his desert abode. His tearful wife was by his side, refusing to return to the tent; yet she would be wise to, for both men would draw swords if they had to—both men would fight to the death for what was theirs.

Emir climbed from his horse and it was he who made the first move, reaching not for his knife but deep into his robe. He took out the two precious stones that had been sent to taunt him and hurled them at Rakhal’s feet. ‘Never insult me again!’

Rakhal gave a black laugh. ‘How did my gift insult you? They are the most precious sapphires I could find. I had my people look far and wide for them. How could they offend?’

‘They arrived on the morning of Sheikh Queen Hannah’s death. The insult was for her too.’ He spat in the sand in the direction of the stones and then he spat again, looking to Rakhal as he told him how it would be. ‘I am marrying soon.’

‘I look forward to the celebrations,’ Rakhal said ‘Who, may I ask, is the fortunate bride?’

‘You have met her,’ Emir answered. ‘Amy.’

‘Congratulations!’ Rakhal answered, and then, because of course his wife would have told him, he smiled at Emir. ‘Shouldn’t you also offer congratulations to me? After all, Alzan will be mine.’

‘No.’ Emir shook his head.

‘What? Are you considering your brother as King when you step aside?’ Rakhal laughed. ‘That reprobate! Hassan would not stay out of the casino or be sober long enough to take the vow.’ Again Rakhal laughed. ‘Congratulations to me will soon be in order.’

‘Not in my lifetime,’ Emir said. ‘And I plan to live for a very long time. I am the King and I will die the King. Alzan will cease existing when I do.’ He watched the mocking smile fade from Rakhal’s face. ‘I pray for a long life for your son, who will inherit all that you pass on to him. I pray that the rules are kind to him and he marries a bride who gives him healthy children. I pray for a long life for her too—for your father was lonely when his wife died, was he not? But because of your rule he could not marry again. I will pray history does not repeat for your son.’ He heard Natasha really weeping now, but Rakhal stood firm.

‘Your people will not be happy. Your people will never accept—’

‘I will deal with my people,’ Emir interrupted. ‘And I will continue to pray for your son. I hope that his time in the desert proves fruitful, and hardens and prepares him for all he faces. Yes, my people will be unhappy when their King has gone. They will rise and fight as their country is taken.’ He watched as for the first time Rakhal faltered when he realised the burden being placed on his newborn son, the weight both Kings carried being passed onto one. ‘We are Kings, Rakhal, but without real power. For now I will rule as best I can, and do the best that I can for my children too.’

He meant it. Knew this was the right thing to do. He could no longer fight the predictions.

He rode back through the desert with rare peace in his soul. He could feel the peace in Hannah’s too, for now she could rest.

Suddenly Emir halted his horse so abruptly it rose on its hind legs for a moment—or was it the shock that emanated from his master that startled the beast? Emir’s realisation dawned: he had not yet discussed this with Amy. Yet surely his concern was unnecessary, he told himself. Surely no woman would refuse such a request.

But she was not from this land, and she was like no woman he knew. His last words to her had not been kind. He was back to being troubled as he realised she might not want to rule with him a people who with each passing year would grow more and more despondent. She might well prefer not to live in a land where her fertility or lack of it was a constant topic.

It dawned on him fully then—Amy might not say yes.