Читать книгу Midnight on the Sands - Оливия Гейтс - Страница 13

KATHARINE had been in Hajar for more than a week and the walls of the palace were starting to crush her from the inside out. She was feeling a definite need to get out and see more of the country, or at least see more than the inside of the palace, beautiful though it was.

She’d heard they had some magnificent upscale shopping centers in Kadim, the capital city, but she’d yet to see anything beyond the airport and Zahir’s home.

At least now she was on her way out. She’d spoken to Kahlah that morning about obtaining security detail for a shopping excursion and her needs had been met quickly. Now, just an hour later, she was headed into the city.

She hadn’t spoken to Zahir, but he hadn’t been in his office or the gym, and it wasn’t as though he’d given her a way to contact him. She was beginning to wonder if he ever left the palace.

A sickening weight settled in her stomach. He was like a prisoner in some ways, and yet, he was the one who’d sentenced himself. But she could sense it. Could sense that there was a dark energy in him that was boiling beneath the surface. And that he held it back, along with so many other things.

She could see the skyline of the metropolitan city beyond the highway, providing an elegant and unexpected backdrop to Old Kadim, which was still prominently in the foreground. The buildings made of stone, the narrow roadways lined with open-air markets.

There was a flavor to it, unexpected so near the modern, gleaming brilliance of the city beyond. It fascinated Katharine. Called to her.

As the car passed one of the markets, Katharine craned her neck to see. It was crowded, people out doing daily errands, and tourists who were enjoying the Old World atmosphere of the open-air shopping.

“I’d like to stop here for a while, if that’s all right.”

The two men in front exchanged glances, then nodded and the driver pulled the car into the nearest parking spot—a spot Katharine was a bit skeptical was in fact designed for parking, but that seemed to be driving in Hajar. People following their own arbitrary rules.

The security team got out before her, in a move that seemed a touch obvious, then came and opened her door. “Thank you,” she said.

The men were glued to her side as she made her way from the car down into the main hub of the market. “You can walk behind me,” she said. “Just a little bit.”

When she went shopping in Europe she always had security with her, but they weren’t usually so big. Or hulking. Or obvious.

She breathed in, the sharp scent of meat, spice and dust mingling together, tickling her throat. It was loud here. Talking, laughing and music melting together, indistinguishable from each other.

“I’m going this way,” she said to her detail.

They followed silently, their expressions stoic, their manner no less obvious than it had been a moment earlier.

The crowd was thick and people rushed past her, some nearly running into her. Strange to think that this would be her home for the next few years. It was so different to anything she was used to.

She watched as a mother bent down and picked a screaming child up from the ground. So different, but the same, too. She smiled and turned to one of the stalls, touching one of the glittering necklaces that was tacked onto a flat of velvet with a small nail.

“What is this?” Zahir’s voice, hard, angry, cut through the noise of the market like a knife.

She released her hold on the necklace. “This is me … shopping. How did you know where I was?”

“Kahlah. I certainly didn’t hear it from you. Why didn’t you tell me where you were going?”

People were pausing to stare. Truly, they were gaping openmouthed at Zahir. From what she knew of him, he never made public appearances. He had a face for radio he’d said, and he addressed his people that way. There had also been very few pictures taken of him since the attack, none close up.

But they knew who he was. And it was clear that some were awed, others horrified. Frightened. Because so many of them believed him to be a devil. A beast. Zahir didn’t seem to notice at all. His eyes were on her, and her alone.

He closed in on her and took her arm. “This isn’t safe.”

“I have security with me.”

“I had security,” he roared. “We all had security. It didn’t do any good.”

“Zahir … “

His hand tensed around her arm as more people began to crowd around them, people who had walked through her as though she was invisible. Not now. Add Zahir to the equation and everyone was riveted to the drama unfolding.

He paused for a moment, his body stiff. She saw the same strange, distant look in his eyes, as though he wasn’t seeing her, as though he wasn’t seeing what was around. His eyes locked with hers, bottomless wells of dark emotion. He was like a hunted animal, all fear and rage and primal instinct.

That was when she knew he saw her, unlike the time in his office. But there was something wrong. He wasn’t in this moment. He was in another time, gripped with an emotion so strong that it had dragged him down into the depths of it.

He pulled her away with him, out of the crowd, to one of the crumbling brick buildings behind a market stall. She stumbled, and he held her steady, his strength enhanced by the adrenaline she knew was screaming through him.

They rounded a corner, slipping into a narrow alleyway, and he pressed her against the wall of one of the surrounding buildings, his big body acting as a shield. From what, she didn’t know. His hands were pressed flat against the brick on either side of her, his chest against hers. He was hunched over her, the gesture protective, feral.

His breathing was harsh, unsteady, each gust of air bringing a near growl with it that seemed to rumble through his being. His entire body was rock hard with tension, every muscle, every tendon straining as he fought to keep himself strong against her.

“Zahir,” she said, her voice soft.

He didn’t move, he only stood, braced, a human barrier between her and whatever danger he thought they faced. She lifted her hand and put it on his chest, felt his heart beating hard against her palm. She felt his pain. His fear. It was in her, squeezing around her heart, suffocating. Horrendous.

And she could only imagine what it was to be in Zahir’s body now.

She slid her hand up, her fingers curling around his neck. He lifted his head, his dark eyes blazing with something wild, intense. She moved her hand upward, resting it lightly on his cheek, his skin rough beneath her fingertips. “Everything’s fine. We’re just in the market.”

He shuddered beneath her touch, his eyes closing for a long moment before he opened them again.

She lifted her other hand, resting it on the smooth side of his face, and looked into his eyes. “Zahir.”

He swallowed hard, and she felt him shiver, the muscles in his body spasming. “Katharine.”

He pulled away from her. Katharine was relieved to see that the crowd had dispersed, thanks in part of Taj and Ahmed and their ham-handed style of security, she imagined.

“I’m fine,” she said.

“Get in the car,” he said tightly.

She nodded once, moving ahead of him. She kept her head down, ignoring the stares and the conversation in languages she didn’t understand.

“No,” he said. “My car.”

She turned and looked in the direction Zahir was focused on. The sleek black car was identical to the other one, part of the royal fleet, she imagined. “You didn’t drive, did you? Because you shouldn’t drive.”

He shot her a hard look. “I do not drive anymore. I should think the reason for that is quite obvious.”

He jerked the back door open and she slid inside. He rounded the other side and sat next to her, his posture stiff. The driver pulled onto the road and turned back in the direction of the palace.

Katharine’s heart was hammering hard, her hands shaking. Her entire body shaking, from the inside out. From the surge of adrenaline brought on by the whole situation, and from Zahir’s nearness.

Silence filled the space between them. She waited as long as she could before all of the questions swirling in her mind had to escape her mouth.

“How often does it happen?” she asked.

He turned his head to look at her. “Much less frequently than it used to.”

“It happened in your office last week.”

He pushed his hand through his hair, a slight tremble visible to her, making her feel like she should look away. To let him regain his pride. To let him have back what he’d lost in that true, unguarded moment. But she couldn’t.

“A short one.” He didn’t want to talk about it, she could see that. It was written in every tense line of muscle in his body. And yet she had to ask. She had to know.

“Are they … flashbacks?”

“It’s the crowd,” he said, his voice tight. “I saw … I thought you were in danger.” He flexed his fingers before curling them back into a fist. “I’m not insane,” he ground out.

“I know. I never thought you were.” She played the moment over again, his eyes, his face, the true, deep fear in them. It had been real to him, what he had felt and seen. It hadn’t been an overreaction or overprotection. It had been bone deep for him. “I … Is it posttraumatic stress? I’ve volunteered at a lot of hospitals in Austrich. Seen people who have been in accidents. It’s common when someone has gone through something like you did.”

He turned, angled away from her, his eyes on the passing scenery. “It probably is.”

“Haven’t you seen anyone?”

“They gave me medication to help me sleep. That’s all.”

She swallowed. “You don’t take it, do you?”

He let out a short laugh. “Already you know me better than my doctors. No, I don’t take it.”

“Do you sleep?”

The corner of his lip curved up. “No.”

“Maybe you should take … “

“No. Drugs to suppress it. To make me tired. What does that fix? Nothing. It just masks it. Another thing to control me when I … I should … I don’t want this. I don’t want to be affected by it,” he said, his voice harsh.

She wanted to offer comfort, to touch him, and yet, she knew he would reject it. Reject her. “But you are.”

“It’s gotten better.”

“That was not better.”

He snorted. “Sure it was. You should have seen me at first. Ask Amarah how it was.”

Her chest felt tight and she almost didn’t want to ask the question. But she had to. “Who’s Amarah?”

“She was my fiancée. She was there when I woke up, by my bedside. For all of five minutes before she turned and ran from the room. She came back, of course. She tried, for two days she tried, to deal with me, to help the doctors. But I would … I would black out. Or have a flashback and I was … unpredictable.”

Katharine put her hand to her stomach, trying to calm the wave of nausea that washed through her. “Did you hurt her?”

He shook his head. “Never. I was trying to protect her but … how safe did you feel just now?” He laughed, a dark, humorless sound.

Katharine could see how Zahir might be frightening in that circumstance, but she had only been scared for him, not of him. She’d known, from the moment he’d pressed her up against the wall, that he was putting himself between her and whatever danger he thought was there.

That he’d been putting himself in harm’s way. For her.

“Yes.” It was honest, absolutely. “I felt safe with you.”

He swallowed, his Adam’s apple moving up and down. “Well, she didn’t. And can you blame her? I didn’t hurt her any of the times it happened. But if I lost too much of myself? If she were there during a night terror? When I imagined there were enemies all around? What would I have done to her then? Amarah was smart to leave.”

Katharine didn’t want to ask her next question either. “Do you miss her?”

He turned away from her. “I don’t feel anything for her. About her.” He looked back at her, his expression stoic, and she could see, from the flat look in his dark eyes, that it was true. He’d said he didn’t feel love anymore. He didn’t seem to regret the loss of it, either.

“Don’t leave again,” he said. “Not without telling me.”

“I’ll try to keep you in the loop, Zahir, but I couldn’t find you. And I’m not a prisoner. Anyway, Kahlah knew and I had security with me. I know that doesn’t keep you safe, not completely, but it’s the best I can do. And I’m used to moving around freely.”

“And now the entire country will know.”

“That you were concerned for my safety,” she said. “Nothing more. The truth of the matter is between us. Although, I think if people knew … I think they would understand.”

“Some would,” he said. “But here … there is a mix of old and new thought. Those out in the tribes, the bedouin … There are already rumors amongst the more traditional people that it was not Zahir who rose from the attacks, but the devil who now possesses him. I’m sure some of the people in the market believe it now. Or at least believe their Sheikh is insane, that my position as leader reflects a certain … weakness.”

“Then we will show them otherwise.”

“Katharine … “

“Why not, Zahir? Why not? You’re going to have to handle the wedding.”

“I will handle it,” he said, his voice hard. “I am not a child.”

“I know you aren’t. I don’t doubt your strength, not for one moment, and that’s why I believe that you can take this and defeat it.”

“As if I haven’t tried?”

“You stay alone. Your solution has been ignoring it, and we found out today that doesn’t work.”

“It has. It did before you.”

“But I’m here now.” And part of her was sorry she was. Sorry she had burst into the order that Zahir had created for himself. Sorry for what she had done to his pride. He was strength, he embodied it, exuded it. Even in the moment when he’d been in the flashback, he had been bravery and honor, working to protect her above himself.

And she had exposed him to ridicule and shame.

“Yes, you are.”

“What happened that day, Zahir?”

He tightened his jaw, then relaxed it, tendons in his neck shifting with the motion. “Read the articles about it.”

“I have read the articles about it. I went to the funeral for your family, but I want you to tell me.”

He shook his head. “I don’t remember all of it and I can’t … I can’t remember it without seeing it. Like that. Like it was out there. I can’t just remember it. I have to live it. Again and again.”

The thought of that, of reliving that hell, made her feel cold all over. “All right. You don’t have to tell me. But we can work on you going out.”

“I’ve been out. I go to functions when my duty dictates I must.”

Zahir fought against the rising rage that was filling him, threatening to drown him. To be seen in such a way … it was weakness beyond what was acceptable. He despised it. Despised that it lived in him. That it could overtake him.

That she had seen him that way. At his most vulnerable. That there was vulnerability in him … He had let his guard down. When he’d discovered her gone, when he’d found out where she went … Adrenaline had taken over, and from there it had broken down. The thin veil between the present and past rent, allowing the past to flood in.

Terror, pure and real, had filled him, and Katharine had been all he could see. Save her. Save her. It had pounded through him like a drumbeat, a constant directive, drowning out the terror, any concern for himself. It had been about her.

And then he’d seen her face, heard her voice, and the flood had receded.

“But the wedding will be more than that and … we need to go to Austrich. To be officially blessed in the Orthodox church. If not then we will not be legally married in the eyes of the people. Custom dictates it and my father has reminded me that it was a part of the original agreement.”

The demand that it be altered was on the tip of his tongue and yet he could not bring himself to issue it. To do so would be to admit defeat. No one had asked him to do more than what he had been doing for the past five years. Everyone had been content to leave the Beast of Hajar in his cave, to wallow in his misery.

So long as the economy kept moving, nobody cared. And they didn’t have to face the shame of a damaged ruler. Half of the people imagined him blessed by God. The others imagined him to be a demon. Most days he imagined the latter half was closer to the truth.

No one had challenged him … except for Katharine. She’d walked in challenging him and hadn’t stopped since. His pride wouldn’t allow him to turn her down. His pride also wouldn’t allow him to go before a crowd of people and … lose himself like that.

The flashbacks were like waking nightmares. His subconscious taking control and forcing him to watch what he’d already experienced. He was still there, but the pictures in his mind … the memories … they made him feel what he’d felt that day. The acrid taste of panic on his tongue, the knowledge that he was powerless. The horrible, debilitating helplessness.

It took him right back to the worst moments of his life and forced him to not simply remember them, but to relive them.

The simplest thing had been to avoid anything and everything that might trigger the flashbacks. They had been hard to predict at first. A noise that was too loud, the scent of sulfur from a lit match, could all send him back down into hell. So it had been better if he simply stayed in the palace.

Even now that they had grown so few and far between, they weren’t triggered by the obvious.

“It’s the crowd,” he said. He hated talking about it, liked explaining it even less, but it was preferable to her thinking he was crazy. “It’s the last thing I truly remember of that day. We were driving through the city. It was a parade, a national celebration. So many people were there.

“And I noticed there was a crowd around the car … I thought they were just citizens but … there’s always a barricade. By the time I realized it … “

He had to stop there. Had to. Because if he went too far into what had happened next, if he forced himself to remember, he would have to relive it. It was the way it worked.

“You couldn’t have done anything different.”

Such a tired refrain. One he had heard from every doctor, every visitor. He believed it no more from her than from any of them. “I could have died instead. Malik could have lived. It would have been better.”