Читать книгу Hot Arabian Nights - Marguerite Kaye - Страница 17
ОглавлениеFive days spent in a flurry of activity including implementing stricter border controls and poring over detailed financial ledgers, conspired to make the two nights he had spent in the desert with Julia seem like a fleeting dream to Azhar. The news that a prince from a neighbouring kingdom had called without notice meant he had to cut short the latest in a long series of Council meetings, but the man waiting in the Divan was a very different visitor than the one he was expecting.
‘Kadar! This is indeed a surprise.’ Azhar strode across the room to greet his old friend. The two men embraced warmly. ‘You look well,’ Azhar said, and indeed the years had been kind to Kadar, whose scholarly habits and fierce intelligence had always seemed at such odds with his rangy, athletic appearance. They looked much more like brothers now than he and Kamal did.
‘A welcome surprise, I hope,’ Kadar said. ‘When I heard you had returned, yet you did not contact me...’
‘A most welcome one, how can you doubt it?’
Kadar eyed him quizzically. ‘Ten years, with not a word from you?’
‘Kadar, I...’
‘I did not come to berate you, nor to demand explanations for your silence. Allow me to say only that you have been missed. I am glad you are back, although the circumstances that bring you here are to be regretted. My heartfelt condolences on the death of your father. I know you did not see eye to eye with him but he was unquestionably a fine ruler of Qaryma. As you will be, my friend.’
Azhar smiled uncomfortably. ‘Forgive me for receiving you so formally here in the Divan. I was in session with my Council. When they informed me the Prince of Murimon had arrived, I naturally assumed it was your brother. Come, let us retire to my private quarters and we can catch up. We have much to discuss. As you say, ten years is a long time. A lot has happened.’
‘More, obviously, than you realise, Azhar. My brother, Prince Butrus, died some months ago in a riding accident. He was thrown from his horse and struck his head on a rock. I assumed you would have heard.’
‘Dead!’ Azhar came to an abrupt halt. ‘My deepest condolences. But—’ He broke off, only now realising the significance of what his friend had said. ‘You mean you are now—that Murimon is now your responsibility?’
‘It would appear so,’ Kadar said with a wry smile. ‘I can’t quite believe it myself.’
‘But what will you do?’ Azhar asked, aghast.
‘Try to make a better prince than my illustrious and much-loved elder brother? Do not ask me how that is to be done, for I have no idea. This has all been a tremendous shock to me. It was always simply a matter of time for you, but for me—it simply never occurred to me that I would find myself thrust into the public eye.’
Azhar shook his head vehemently. ‘You are wrong, I never expected to inherit either.’
Kadar looked startled. ‘I know that you were always at loggerheads with your father, but you are the first born, how could you have expected anything else?’
Azhar ushered his friend into his sitting room, ordering refreshments to be brought. It was not in his nature to lie, but while he did not doubt Kadar’s discretion, he found himself reluctant to confide in him. ‘For a man whose life has changed for ever, you seem remarkably sanguine,’ he said.
‘It is not in my nature to rail against the fates,’ Kadar replied. ‘What will be, will be.’
‘But in the past, you cared for nothing save your precious books. You will find you have little time for scholarly pursuits, now you have a kingdom to rule.’
‘No less than you will have for foreign travel, now that you too have a kingdom to rule,’ Kadar retorted with a flash of anger that was quickly suppressed. ‘At least I know I can rely on you as a staunch ally. We will be able to visit each other as often as our fathers did back in the old days.’
‘Peace and politics aside, our friendship is one of the most valuable things to emerge from those state visits,’ Azhar said warmly. ‘I remember the first time I saw you on a horse, a wild stallion from my father’s stable, I thought it would be sure to throw you in less than ten seconds.’
‘I believe it took all of forty,’ Kadar said, laughing.
‘You lasted twenty more than I would have done, and even at the age of eleven, I considered myself something of an expert horseman. Until that day, I had taken Butrus’s word for your devotion to your books and little else. You were an abject lesson to me not to make assumptions, and I confess, the excuse I needed to avoid your brother’s company on future visits. I know that your people worshipped him, thought him a perfect paragon of a prince, but I’m afraid he was also a terrible bore.’
Kadar laughed. ‘Exactly what Butrus himself said of me.’ His smile faded quickly. ‘All the same, he was an excellent prince, while I—but there, enough of that. I am glad that you are back, Azhar. I am glad that we will once again be friends as well as allies.’
Azhar smiled uncomfortably. The situation was extremely awkward. Kadar had more than sufficient cares of his own to deal with, without being privy to his. Time enough for him to learn that his ally would not be Azhar, but Kamal. Though now he thought about it, Kamal had always been disparaging of this bookish second son of Murimon. So perhaps not such a staunch ally after all.
The servant brought them refreshments, and for a while the talk turned to old times, but Kadar too seemed to be aware of how much the intervening years had changed both of them. ‘Much as I’d like to, I cannot linger,’ he said. ‘My brother’s untimely passing bequeathed me not only a kingdom, but also his affianced bride. I have no intentions of taking on both, and am on my way to terminate the matter with her family’s representatives. Since I had to pass through Qaryma, I thought to pay my respects to the new ruler. And to bring you this.’
He handed Azhar a small package. ‘You sent out word through your agents that you were looking to reclaim any property stolen from the Englishwoman. In particular jewellery, and a customised trunk? Our port sees a good deal of illegal trade and contraband, unfortunately—or in this case, fortunately for you. This was confiscated from a known rogue trader. I cannot be sure it belongs to her, but it is certainly English.’
Azhar unwrapped the object and read the inscription inside before setting it down on the table. For some reason, he was reluctant to touch it. ‘Yes, there can be no doubt it is hers,’ he said. ‘It was very kind of you to take the trouble to bring it in person. Madam Trevelyan will be extremely grateful. She will wish to thank you herself.’
‘For recovering her property, which a bunch of barbarous thieves who are my countrymen thought to profit from,’ Kadar said grimly. ‘That kind of trade, we can well do without.’
‘Indeed. I have been putting considerable energy into tightening our own border controls,’ Azhar said. ‘That the theft took place within Qaryma still rankles with me.’
‘Perhaps that is something upon which we can collaborate in the future. Please pass on my apologies to Madam Trevelyan. I am sorry not to be able to make her acquaintance. She must be a remarkable woman, to have captured your attention so.’
‘What precisely have you heard?’ Azhar asked sharply.
‘An Englishwoman travelling alone through the desert gathering plants is fuel enough for idle gossip,’ Kadar replied mildly. ‘One with hair the colour of fire, who is the confidante to a future king—you must know perfectly well that will give rise to a great deal of speculation.’
‘I had not thought of it,’ Azhar said stiffly. ‘Julia—Madam Trevelyan—has been—she is—there is nothing—her presence here relates to a matter of private business.’
His friend clapped his shoulder warmly. ‘Unfortunately, you will learn soon enough for yourself that a ruler is afforded no privacy. I brought the matter to your attention only because I thought you should be aware of it. Another unfortunate fact—although our people love to gossip about us, they dare not gossip with us. Now I really must go. I hope that you will not permit another ten years to elapse before we meet again.’
The door closed behind him and Azhar sank on to the couch, picking up the pocket watch that Kadar had brought, opening the case to read the inscription once more. To our beloved son Daniel Adam Edward Trevelyan on the occasion of his coming of age. He set the time and wound the mechanism. The watch ticked as sedately and fastidiously as Azhar imagined its owner to have been.
He snapped the case shut and put it back on the table, eyeing it distastefully. He had not forgotten that Julia was a widow, but he had somehow forgotten that she had once been a wife. The wife of the man who had owned this watch. A man who had singularly failed to appreciate her. Who had thought of Julia, clever, witty, brave, determined Julia, as a mere amanuensis. His dogsbody. His chattel. A man who had denied her the right to speak for herself, had imbued her with the belief that her thoughts were irrelevant, and to add to those heinous crimes, who had denied her the pleasures of the flesh.
Such flesh. Such pleasure. And not nearly enough time to indulge in it. In the last five days, between Azhar’s commitments and her completing her cataloguing, they had scraped only a few precious hours together. Azhar closed his eyes, reliving last night. When they were together he could lose himself in her delightful company, forget the mountain of work he must get through on Kamal’s behalf before he left.
Though he had also come to enjoy discussing that mountain of work with her. In fact it was becoming something of a habit. He had never discussed his business with anyone before. It was not that he needed Julia’s advice, nor even her affirmation but—but it was simply that he enjoyed her company. No, not only that. There had been several occasions when discussing a thorny matter with her had served to both clarify and resolve it, and a number of times her proposed solution was better than his. And the odd thing was, he didn’t mind.
Azhar stared down at the watch. Its relentless ticking seemed to be mocking him, reminding him that his time with Julia was rapidly coming to a conclusion. Tick-tock. Less than two weeks left before she left for England. The day he had looked forward to for so long, when he would leave Qaryma for ever was also approaching at a frightening rate. Tick-tock. So little time to accomplish so much. Precious little to spend with Julia. It hadn’t occurred to him until now that he would miss her, but he would. There was no other woman like her. Daniel Adam Edward Trevelyan had not appreciated Julia, but Azhar did.
Tick-tock. Azhar pushed the watch away from him with the tip of his index finger. In the days they had left together, he would do his best to demonstrate that to her.
* * *
It was late afternoon. Julia opened her notebook with some reluctance. Though cataloguing and cross-referencing was a crucial element of her botanical work, it was also the part she disliked the most. This was partly due to the fact that there was a tedious and repetitive element to it, but mostly, she realised with a flash of insight, because it had been a task which her husband had regularly delegated to her when he found something more interesting to occupy him.
‘Your diligence is proof that you are a true woman of science,’ he had once said to her. And on more than one occasion, when she had protested at his demand for her to make yet another fair copy of something, ‘But your elegant feminine hand is much neater than my masculine scrawl.’ Julia rolled her eyes. Daniel would have vehemently rejected any suggestion of condescension, but then he would have equally vehemently denied Julia’s ability to execute any component of his research on her own initiative—even though that was exactly what he’d been forced to demand of her on his deathbed.
It was that, she thought broodingly, the assumption that she had no mind of her own, that she had resented more than anything. No, actually what she had resented was her own inability to tell him so. She would not be such a timid little mouse now.
She rearranged several specimens which she had laid out on the table. Was that true? In the five days since they had returned from the desert, there had been several occasions when she could have shared her concerns regarding Kamal with Azhar, yet she had deliberately refrained from doing so.
They had had so little time together. Like him, she had been very busy, documenting and painting and consulting with Johara, who had made two trips to the palace with her precious book. And Azhar—for a man set upon renouncing his kingdom, Azhar was putting a great deal of effort into setting it to rights. No one understood better than Julia his desire to be free, but while the duties she must discharge to gain that freedom were finite, Azhar’s sense of duty to his kingdom seemed to her quite the opposite. With every passing day, he assumed more and more responsibilities under the guise of easing Kamal’s path. As he increasingly embraced matters of state, and dug deeper into the issue of the diamond mines, she became more convinced that Azhar’s fate was to rule Qaryma. If he could have refrained from pursuing the anomaly of the diamond yields, if he could delegate more tasks, if he could force Kamal to make some of the decisions he was taking upon himself, it might be different. But his conscience and his deep sense of honour made it impossible for him to do any of these things.
The personal consequences were potentially ruinous for him. No wonder Azhar did not want to face them. With a sickening jolt, Julia discovered that she was not particularly eager to think about them either. Despite her resolution not to wish for more time with him, she had been hoping there would be some times in the future that they might spend together. She had fantasised about trips she might make once she was free, when Azhar had resumed his old life, to visit him in his home in Naples perhaps, or even return to Damascus again. Her dreams were vague, she had no idea the form these visits might take, or whether Azhar would welcome them, but they existed none the less.
Julia swore under her breath. ‘What the devil are you thinking?’ she demanded of herself. ‘That once you have finally freed yourself from Daniel, you will immediately set about attaching yourself to a man who has made it perfectly clear that he wants no attachments?’
But she wasn’t contemplating any sort of formal arrangement. She did not want to marry any more than Azhar did. ‘What, then?’ she asked. ‘You become his occasional mistress, spending nine months of the year pining for the three months or three weeks or whatever it is he allots to you? And you think a man as attractive as Azhar would take no other lovers? How would you feel about that?’
She did not want to think about that, and that fact should be caution enough for her. She cared. She was very, very close to caring too much. Azhar liked women, he’d told her so. Women. Plural, not singular. Stupid, foolish, unrealistic Julia to imagine that he would want only her when there was a world of women for him to choose from while she waited alone for a summons as if she was part of a harem. Where was the freedom in that?
The answer was starkly simple. There was none. It was folly, utter folly to allow herself to think that way—or even to dream. She had come to care for Azhar, there was no harm in admitting that, but to cherish any notion that this was anything other than a moment out of time was madness.
Outside, the sky was a strange shade of violet. Aisha, bringing her afternoon mint tea, closed the windows leading on to the terrace, indicating that there was a storm brewing. ‘Prince Azhar had a visitor today,’ she said, speaking in the mixture of English, Arabic and gestures in which she and Julia customarily communicated. ‘The Prince of Murimon, an old friend. For ten years, since Prince Azhar left, he has not been here, but he is every bit as tall and handsome as I remember,’ she added with a saucy smile. ‘After our Prince, the second most handsome man in Arabia. Now they will be rulers together.’
After Aisha had gone, Julia sipped her mint tea pensively. Outside, the sky looked bruised, a mixture of violet and pink, the clouds an odd golden brown, leaden with dust. She felt tense and edgy, a little like the weather, as the sky grew more ominous. On impulse, she opened the long window and stepped out on to the terrace. The paving was gritty, covered with a thin film of sand. She sat down on the edge of the pool, dabbling her feet in the water. The surface of the water was gritty too.
Azhar had not mentioned any friends in their various conversations. Another bond he had cut from his life when he left Qaryma, determined to set himself free of his past. He had severed every single tie, and now he would have to sever them all afresh, if he were to leave again.
If?
She lay back on her hands and gazed up at the sky. A single large drop of rain fell on to the tiles. Above her, the clouds swirled. The surface of the pool rippled and the leaves of the lemon tree shivered as a breeze blew up. Another fat drop of rain fell, followed by a distant rumble of thunder, and then the skies opened.
It was warm, soft rain, not the cold, sharp rain of home. The thunder grew closer, more muffled than the sharp cracks of noise that used to split the sky above Marazion Bay, but she relished both all the same, leaning back on her hands, closing her eyes, letting the rain fall on her face, soak through her tunic, darken her hair and empty her mind.
* * *
Having received no answer to his knock on Julia’s door, Azhar entered, calling her name. The window was open, the gauzy curtains flapping in the breeze. A rumble of thunder was followed almost immediately by a bolt of lightning that lit up the rain-drenched courtyard outside. And illuminated Julia, splayed like a fallen angel on the tiles beside the pool, her feet in the water, her hair streaming out behind her.
His heart in his mouth, Azhar dashed out into the storm, calling her name. So convinced was he that she had been hit by the lightning, when she sat up Azhar thought he was hallucinating.
‘Julia?’
She smiled at him dreamily. ‘Isn’t it fantastic?’
‘It’s dangerous to be out here in a storm. Come in.’
Her clothes clung to her body. Her hair hung in long ropes down her back. Her feet were bare. ‘I love it,’ she said, making no move.
A clap of thunder sounded in the distance. The rain stopped with a suddenness that made the silence seem to ring. Above them, the clouds began to part, and the sun shone weakly through. Julia stared up at the sky looking acutely disappointed. ‘It’s finished.’
‘When I saw you lying there on the ground, for a horrible moment I thought you were dead, struck by lightning.’
‘I was imagining being on the beach at Marazion Bay.’
‘Then you must have a very vivid imagination, because you look as if you have been swimming in the sea there. This bay, it is in Cornwall?’
‘Marazion Bay. Near my father’s home. I learned to swim in the surf there, and to sail.’ Julia’s eyes lit up. ‘It is almost a perfect crescent of sand, set into the cliffs. The path down is almost as steep as a staircase. In the winter, the sea is treacherous, the waves can be thirty feet high. The noise they make as they crash on to the sand is like a lion’s roar, and even when you’re sitting high above the tide line, the spray can drench you.’
‘You are drenched now. Come inside,’ Azhar said, leading her back into the sitting room and closing the latch on the window.
* * *
‘Aisha told me you had a visit from an old friend today,’ Julia said a few moments later, having changed her tunic for a flowing robe of soft lemon muslin sprigged with pale blue flowers.
‘Kadar. Prince Kadar of Murimon, as he is now. The kingdom of Murimon is on the coast, some distance from here.’
‘Was he here on official state business? You must have been delighted to see him after all this time.’
‘Kadar was merely passing through. Yes, it was good to see him. You also have good reason to be glad he came to Qaryma.’
‘Whatever do you mean?’
‘He brought you a present.’ Azhar handed her a small package.
‘A present? But I’ve never even met him.’
‘Open it.’
Julia did as he bid her, staring incredulously at the timepiece. ‘It is Daniel’s watch. How on earth did your friend come by it?’
‘It was recovered from rogue traders at the port in Murimon. He asked me to pass on his apologies, and his regrets that urgent business prevented him from making your acquaintance.’
‘But how did he know it was mine, or that I was here?’
‘When we first arrived at Qaryma I sent out word of the crime which had been committed against you. I know the markets, I know the places where such thieves operate, but I confess, I held out little hope of recovering any of your possessions. It is not your trunk containing your precious notebooks and sketches unfortunately, but I remember you said this watch held great sentimental value for you.’
‘It does.’ Julia pressed it open and read the inscription. ‘It is so—symbolic of Daniel,’ she said softly. ‘Practical and reliable.’ She blinked, for she was close to tears. ‘I’m sorry, it is not like me to be at a loss for words. I hadn’t realised how much I’ve missed it. Thank you, Azhar. What a considerate gesture.’
‘It was nothing.’
‘No,’ she said fiercely, ‘it is not nothing. It matters a great deal to me that you thought of this, of me, when you had so much else to deal with—I am—I don’t know what to say.’
Azhar kissed her forehead. ‘You have said enough. My reward is seeing your delight at being reunited with it.’
Julia sank on to the divan, flicking open the case once more and studying the fascia. The mechanism vibrated slightly in her hand. ‘Daniel is buried in the family plot beside his father, but his mother is still alive. I wonder if I should return this to her when I am back in Cornwall.’ She gazed, mesmerised by the second hand as it relentlessly counted down the time she had left here in Qaryma, second by inexorable second. She wished it would go slower. Absurd thought. Snapping the case shut, she set it down on the table beside her painting materials. ‘Only one more week after the end of this one, and I shall be setting out on that journey,’ she said.
She had meant it as a warning to herself. Her voice wobbled. Azhar flinched. ‘Your task will definitely be completed by then?’ he asked.
How she longed to lie. ‘Yes,’ Julia said. ‘I will even have time to do some paintings of the secret garden in the Fourth Court.’
‘I wish...’ Azhar picked up Daniel’s watch and opened it, staring at the second hand mesmerised, just as she had done. Setting it down, he cleared his throat. ‘If you had time to spare, I would very much like a painting of your bay in Cornwall. It would be good to imagine you there. Looking at it would make you seem not so far away, somehow. Does that make sense?’
‘Perfect sense, I shall make time,’ Julia whispered. Azhar took her hands between his, rested his forehead against hers. A tear escaped from her eye, trickling down her cheek, and was swiftly followed by another, which splashed on to his hands. ‘I’m sorry,’ she said.
‘Don’t be. Don’t cry, Julia. Please don’t cry.’
‘I am not crying,’ she said, but another tear fell, and then another. ‘I’m sorry.’
‘Julia.’ He caught her in his arms, pressing her tight against his chest, stroking her hair. ‘Julia, don’t be sad.’
She hugged him tightly, breathing in the warm male scent of him, relishing the familiar hard strength of him. ‘I’m going to miss you so much, Azhar.’
He did not reply, but her yearning was reflected in his eyes as he picked her up and carried her into her bedchamber. Their kisses was all-consuming, urgent, kisses fuelled by hunger, a primal craving to amass as many kisses as they could before the time arrived when there could be no more. They made love with the same passionate abandonment, pressing themselves together, clinging together, skin on skin, as if trying to meld themselves together, become one entity, crying out together, then lying together, sated, slick with sweat, their hearts hammering, mindless at last.
* * *
Azhar sat on the throne in the Audience Chamber of the Royal Kiosk awaiting the arrival of the Chief Overseer of the diamond mines. He had made the decision to summon the man last night, after leaving Julia’s chamber. The watch—that fateful watch—ticking away the hours and minutes relentlessly, had compelled him to take the action which he had known in his heart for some days was inevitable.
This summons would, he knew, set in motion an inexorable chain of events which would bind him to Qaryma for ever. He could not bear to think about it. If he thought about it he would hesitate, and he had hesitated too long already. Honour forced his hand. He would pay a heavy personal price for his sense of honour.
A sharp rap on the door of the kiosk heralded the beginnings of proceedings. It did not take long. In the face of the compelling evidence which Azhar cited, the Chief Overseer prostrated himself at his Prince’s feet, sobbing and begging incoherently for mercy.
Azhar ordered the guard to take him to the Cage, noting with satisfaction the surprise on the guard’s face and the horror on his prisoner’s. The name, he well knew, conjured up dark dungeons, perhaps even a torture chamber. In fact, the Cage was a suite of disused rooms which had once, many, many years ago, housed the illegitimate progeny from the harem, in the days when it held more than one wife and many concubines. In recent times the Cage had served as the schoolroom for the King’s legitimate sons, and was comfortably furnished. Azhar had chosen it merely as a secure place to hold the Chief Overseer until his fate was decided. He pitied the man, who was in one sense nothing more than a greedy puppet, but even a greedy puppet must be punished for the dishonour he had brought to the Council and to the kingdom he served.
* * *
The puppet master himself threw open the door of the kiosk a mere ten minutes later. Kamal flew into the chamber, his face red with rage. ‘Why did you summon my Chief Overseer? What game are you playing?’
‘Once again I must correct you, Brother. My Chief Overseer, and this is no game. I am the future King of Qaryma,’ Azhar said, surveying his brother haughtily from the throne. ‘Or had you forgotten? My actions are not to be questioned, even by you.’
Kamal made a show of dropping slowly to his knees. ‘I see you have overcome your dislike of standing on ceremony.’
‘I have been forced to reassess my opinion on many matters since my arrival.’
‘You have certainly made your opinion of my regency very clear,’ Kama said, glaring at him defiantly. ‘I doubt there is any aspect of my rule which has met with your approval.’
‘It is not for want of trying, believe me, Brother.’
Kamal swore. ‘Do not take me for a fool. Ever since you arrived here, you have been determined to undermine me, systematically removing my supporters from the Council, interfering in countless petty matters of state, questioning my Treasurer and examining my accounts. You travel to our villages with that English woman trailing behind you to whip up support—as if you needed to—and now I discover you have been interrogating a man who...’
‘Has been helping you misappropriate my diamonds.’ Azhar waited, but Kamal said nothing. ‘I know all about the whole sordid scheme,’ he said. ‘Not only has the Chief Overseer confessed fully to his role—’
‘But has implicated me in order to save his own skin,’ Kamal interrupted with a sneer. ‘By the heavens, Azhar, is it not obvious! If there has been any pilfering...’
‘The scale of the theft goes far beyond pilfering.’
Kamal waved his hand impatiently. ‘You cannot possibly think that I would be involved in this.’
‘And you cannot possibly grasp how very much I have wanted to prove you innocent.’
Something in his voice put fear in Kamal’s eyes. He scrambled to his feet. ‘Brother...’
Azhar shook his arm free. ‘I came here intending to abdicate,’ he said. ‘I came here with the sole purpose of handing Qaryma over to you. You think I cannot resist claiming the crown and power. How wrong you are, Kamal. How very, very wrong. I wanted you to have it because you deserved it more, wanted it more.’
‘Then give it to me, I still want it. Free yourself from the burden, leave Qaryma in my hands.’
‘No. You have forfeited any right to be trusted with the safekeeping of the kingdom.’ With cold precision, Azhar ticked off the facts he had uncovered. Sick at heart, he watched as Kamal’s bravado turned to blustering rage, removing any faint hope that he would do the honourable thing and confess his guilt.
‘I hope you are not expecting me to apologise,’ Kamal spat at the end of the damning summation. ‘For ten years, I have remained here doing our father’s bidding while you indulged your selfish desire to see the world, making your personal fortune, earning your pathetically important reputation. For ten years I have served our father, this kingdom and these people, and for what? A few diamonds are as nothing compared to what I am owed for my sacrifice.’
That the ‘few diamonds’ amounted to a significant part of Qaryma’s wealth was beside the point. It had never, for Azhar, been the value of the stolen goods which mattered, but the greed and the lies which motivated the crime. ‘You had ten years in which to prove yourself worthy,’ he said. ‘Ten years to prove to our father that you were fit to be his heir.’
‘Do you think I did not try?’ Kamal replied with a snarl. ‘I reminded you when you returned that you were always his favourite. Do you think I said that to flatter you? Oh, yes, in the early days he was angry enough with you to turn to me, but he made it clear even then that I was second best. He never trusted me. Always, he watched me and questioned me. Always, he made it clear that I was but a poor substitute. And later—’ Kamal broke off abruptly.
‘Later?’ Azhar repeated. His brother shrugged. ‘What happened later?’ Azhar persisted.
Kamal snorted with derision. ‘I thought you might have guessed, since you pride yourself on your astuteness. Didn’t you ask yourself how we knew where to send that summons, Azhar? Didn’t you ask yourself why, when he knew he was dying, our dear father did not summon his nominated heir earlier, why he settled for making me acting Regent instead?’
‘I did ask,’ Azhar said with a horrible sense of premonition. ‘I remember very clearly that I asked you, Kamal, when I first arrived here in Qaryma, why our father insisted the summons was sent after his death.’
‘And I told you that it was because he believed you wouldn’t return while he was alive,’ Kamal replied. ‘Which was true enough, but far from the whole truth. Our dear father knew all about your houses in Europe and Damascus and Cairo. He was so secretly proud of you, his wealthy, successful trader son, he arranged to have bulletins on your progress sent every six months.’
Azhar felt faint. He sat down on the throne, gazing at his brother in disbelief.
Witnessing the effect of his words, Kamal continued with renewed malice. ‘When he became ill he asked me to send for you. I told him that I had done so, and then I am afraid I informed him that your response had been singularly disappointing. You would not come to Qaryma, I told him. You made it clear that you never wanted to see Father again. He was most upset, as you can imagine. And bitterly disappointed.’
Azhar clenched his fists so tightly his nails dug into his palms, drawing blood. ‘So you gave him no choice but to appoint you his Regent, which was your plan all along.’
‘Not quite. My plan was to make him so angry he disowned you completely and named me his heir.’
‘But he didn’t.’ Azhar got to his feet once more. ‘I thought my father bequeathed me Qaryma to punish me for leaving. I see now that he did it to keep the kingdom safe from your treacherous clutches. He knew—or he must have strongly suspected—that you lied about the first summons, why else would he insist the second was made in the presence of Council?’
‘The act of a dying autocrat, no more,’ Kamal protested. ‘He cannot possibly have guessed that I...’
‘...deceived him. He must have,’ Azhar interrupted, his mind racing. ‘To swallow his pride, to be prepared to make the first move to heal the rift between us, my father must have feared greatly for Qaryma’s future at your hands. It must have cost him dearly to be forced to appoint you Regent.’
‘It was my right. It was my right.’
Kamal, fists clenched, expression sulky, took a hasty step forward. Azhar put a restraining hand on his brother’s chest. ‘Attempt to strike me,’ he said with icy calmness, ‘and we will be spared the need to secure the services of an executioner to despatch you for a treasonable act, for I will throttle you myself with my bare hands.’
He would never mete out such draconian punishment, but Kamal did not know that. The colour drained from his face, his knees gave way and he crumpled, prostrate on the tiled floor below the throne, sobbing and begging for mercy, just as the Chief Overseer had done an hour previously.
‘Get up,’ Azhar said, sickened.
‘What will you do with me? I am your brother, your only brother of true royal blood, you cannot possibly mean to...’
But Azhar had had enough. ‘You have brought nothing but shame and dishonour to our royal lineage,’ he hissed, white with fury. ‘I came here willing to overlook your weaknesses, to help you to become the King that Qaryma deserves, and you have done nothing but lie to me, cheat me, deceive me. I came here, Kamal, to give you what you wanted most because I thought you deserved it, and because it is the last thing that I wanted. You have not only done your best to ruin our kingdom, you have destroyed my life in the process. Get out! Get out and do not dare show your face to me again. I will decide your fate when I am ready.’
Kamal hesitated, but whatever he saw in Azhar’s face persuaded him that further pleas for mercy would fall on stony ground. Deliberately refraining from bowing, he turned his back and left the kiosk, head defiantly high. Azhar watched him go, waiting for the door to close behind him, another moment for the garden door to close, and then he slumped down on the throne, dropping his head into his hands. Ten years ago, he had been on the other side of that door when it had slammed shut. Now, he was on the inside. Not just inside but locked inside. For ever.
