From Sultana: The Bride Price Chapter One The Offer Jazirah Shalabuniya, al-Andalus or Salobrena, Andalusia 26 Dhu’l-Qada 756 AH / December 2, AD 1355 / 27th of Kislev, 5116 Harun’s bellow shattered the moment between father and daughter. She shuddered and burrowed against her father’s chest. His light kiss alighted on her hair. “I do not want you to see this, but I know you will defy me even if I command you to remain here.” He raised his head. “Lubna, her hijab. Yours as well.” The slave pressed trembling fingers to her mouth. Rooted to the floor, tears coated her cheeks again. Ismail sighed. “Lubna. You must be strong for Jazirah. Can you do that?” With a whimper, she nodded and fled to the adjacent cell. Her loud sobs echoed. Jazirah sighed. “She’s been in love with you since I was a little girl.” Ismail patted her shoulder. “I know. You must be strong for her too.” She aided him to stand. By the time Lubna returned, Jazirah had brushed the straw from her father’s clothing. He chuckled, a rasping rumble. “Your fastidiousness is unnecessary. I will be dead soon. Allah will not care for my dirtied clothing.” Jazirah could not fathom his levity in their desperate hour. With a sigh, she veiled herself, the dingy cream-colored hijab yellowed and frayed at the edges. She and Lubna held hands again and followed Ismail out of his cell. They went up two flights of stone stairs. Waiting guards ushered them out into the golden light over Shalabuniya. Ismail shaded his eyes with a hand and lingered on the steps between two rows of sentries at the balustrades. Their jailor stood in the courtyard among lemon trees set against walls the color of burnished brass. He awaited the deliberate progress of a group on horseback. Jazirah stepped in front of her father with her mouth agape. Sleek Arabians soon topped the crest of a precipitous slope, in dappled silver, chestnut, and dark bay colors. The stray cats in the forecourt scattered. Hooves click-clacked on the rough cobblestones before the riders slowed them near Harun, who waved over three stable boys idling at the base of the steps. The horses radiated more strength and agility than the simple mounts at Shalabuniya. Unlike Harun’s men, the riders did not have to whip the animals to control them. As one, Jazirah’s father and Lubna gasped when the lead rider dismounted and raised a pale, womanly hand to the gold headcloth. Swathes of costly fabric cascaded around angular shoulders draped in a jubba. A wide opening in the cloth revealed the narrowed features of a woman. Golden flame stirred in her fierce gaze as she looked across the shaded courtyard and reviewed the trio on the stairs. She ignored the jailor’s greeting and spoke in low tones to the lone figure who had alighted from his horse beside her. Jazirah recoiled from the sight of the livid, pink scar bisecting his face. The warrior in his scarlet cape pinned her to the spot with a sharp glance, before he bowed to the woman beside him. She left him and approached them. Harun trailed her, but she glanced over her shoulder and muttered something unheard to him. Patches of red crept up the jailor’s bull neck to his cheeks. The woman’s guard drew his curved sword against Harun, while she continued to the steps. The hem of her brocaded garment trimmed with black fur at the hems swept the dust. Ismail rounded Jazirah and stood in her path. Lubna joined him, but even before Jazirah offered her ready protest, the slave commanded, “Stay there!” Jazirah stiffened. “Father?” Over his shoulder, Ismail whispered, “Do as you are told, daughter.” She glared at both of their backs. Why had they shielded her from this woman? At less than a hand’s span from them, the stranger stopped and regarded Jazirah’s father for the space of several breaths, before she offered him the traditional greeting. His knees wobbled, but he managed a stiff bow and straightened with Lubna’s discreet help. The finely attired woman said to him, “I am pleased to see you again, Prince Ismail. It has been too long.” “I remember our first meeting. Much has changed since then. Now your son sends you, his most ardent supporter to my side. Some say you are his best assassin in the harem.” The fire in her narrowed gaze seethed. “My son is no cruel murderer! Do not speak of Muhammad ibn Yusuf with such disrespect. He is your Sultan, as he is mine.” Jazirah quivered before the Umm al-Walad of Gharnatah, who then focused on her with the same enigmatic stare she had granted Jazirah’s father. With deep, even breaths, the girl slowed the furious beating of her heart. The Sultan’s mother addressed her. “I am Butayna and you are Jazirah. Will you speak with me alone?” How rude! She had not even asked for permission from Jazirah’s father. Jazirah pressed her shoulders back and lifted her chin. “Surely, my father should attend our discussion.” The Sultana pursed her lips. “When I require his presence, I shall summon him.” “My father should be aware of matters concerning his future,” Jazirah insisted. “Ismail’s fate has not brought me to Shalabuniya this morn. Rather, your destiny intrigues me, girl. You will lead me to a place where we may talk in private. I will not ask you again.”
Posted on: Mon, 29 Jul 2013 01:38:56 +0000
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