“It’s not true,” Nalini said, wanting to believe it with all her heart. “I don’t know why Father didn’t make you a vizier. But-”
Wumla wailed again. “I cannot rule. I cannot ru…” He choked on his words, prior to burying his head into the crook of Nalini’s neck, weeping.
Nalini looked up. The two Dowager Sultanas were staring at her, as if they expected her to have answers for Wumla and what would happen next.
In the name of the Divine, why are you looking at me!? Nalini wanted to shout at them, to get them to do something. What made them think that she had the answers? What was she meant to do? Nalini had never known a situation where a man cried like a child at the prospect of being Sultan. Most men wanted the Crown. Yet, here was a man as frightened by it as a rabbit caught in a net, with the hunter’s blade approaching.
Wumla wept. Nalini Inhaled deeply and stroked the back of his neck, like she did to her son to soothe him, while she looked within herself for inspiration. “Stay strong, Wumla,” she said, with all the compassion she could within her. “You will be a better sultan than you give yourself credit for.”
Wumla lifted his head. “Do you think so?” he said, as tears streamed down his face. “Even though I know nothing about ruling?”
Nor do I. But I am learning as I go along. The weight of responsibility then pressed down on Nalini again, but harder. This time, it dug into her shoulders. The workloads had been burdensome whilst Razilan had been Sultan. They were going to become mounds now that Wumla sat on the throne. “Yes,” she said. “And I will help you.”
“You will?” he asked.
I promised Father that I would do that all that I could to hold Al-Jaraba together. The promise had been made to curtail one sultan’s intentions. Now, it applied in reverse: to ensure that another would rule. “Yes, just… stay strong,” Nalini said, as much for herself as for her brother. “For the sake of the family and the Kingdom, stay strong.”
6
-The Treason of Date-Palm-
(Nalini)
Nalini put down the scroll. Her eyes were sore and her head throbbed. She rubbed her eyes and then her head, to alleviate the aches. A spot bulged from her temple, and it burst like a bubble when her fingernail pierced it. Puss and blood oozed out, wetting her finger. “Curse Abyar,” she swore.
Nalini had not had spots in years, and hoped that this one was not the start of many. She had to aid Sultan Wumla rule the Kingdom. She could not afford to break out into spots. All those around her would mock her, claiming that the stresses of ruling were too much for her. No doubt, some of those snakes at court would use that as an excuse to sway her brother to remove her from her position, for their own benefit.
Nalini put the thought aside and picked up another of the dozens of scrolls littering her desk. She internally prayed that this one would tell her something about what was happening at Date-Palm Port. Like a woodpecker at a tree, what Razilan had said before he died pecked at her mind. What had he meant when he said that their aunt was an ambitious woman? What did that entail?
Nalini unwound the scroll. But it was not about events at Date-Palm. Rather, it was about taxes from Greatmouth. Nalini groaned, prior to picking up a blank sheet of parchment to write down the numbers, before she would place the totals into the ledger; or write Lord Adelram Elnakhya a letter to remind him to hand over the correct amount of tax money if he had not-so-accidentally miscalculated the total amount he was required to send to the royal coffers.
The door to her work chamber opened and an ambling gait walked toward her. Nalini did not look up to know it was her husband, especially as his gait got more pronounced as he neared her desk. “Can I help you?” she asked.
“Are you ruling on crime and trade disputes,” he said, wryly. “Or are you writing threatening letters to your brother’s vassals to keep them in line?”
Nalini chuckled. “Something more boring than either of those,” she said. “Taxes.”
Emilio smiled wryly. “And what does His Majesty, Sultan Wumla, do if you are doing seemingly everything?”
It’s a good question. Has Wumla even left his chambers today? “Later today, I will speak with him and find out…” But she trailed off as Lord Krarim hurried down the corridor toward her work chamber. “My Lord, is something wrong?”
“Date-Palm Port is gathering its armies,” he said, abruptly.
“Why?” Nalini asked. “The holy war to conquer Zenith has been delayed indefinitely. I sent word to my uncle, following Razilan’s death, telling him as much. And I doubt my brother told aunt Ríma that she could assemble Al-Jaraba’s eastern armies against the express will of the Crown were he to die while they walked in the gardens.”
“That I can’t say. No-one overheard their conversation.”
“Did the witch cast a spell on everyone? Usually, gossip abounds the palace when two people speak alone. But on this occasion, how is it no-one heard a thing? If this isn’t an instance of dark magic, then I don’t know what is.”
Lord Krarim looked at her dispassionately. “I have yet to find any information connecting Lady Ríma with the use of dark magic,” he said, matter-of-factly. “All I have heard is that since Sultan Razilan died Lord Talekh has written to his vassals, claiming that the Kingdom is cursed; that plague, famine and war will come to Al-Jaraba so long as a bastard sits on the throne.”
His words knifed a nerve. “The traitor!” she shouted. “Uncle Talekh would never have said that while Sultan Daquan or Razilan sat on the throne! Now, I suppose he believes that he is Sultan, since he is the nearest legitimate male relative to Razilan. How convenient!”
“But Lord Talekh has no sons and Lady Ríma is old,” Emilio put in. “So, what would he gain rebelling against his own family? The male line of House Reba will die out with him if he does so.”
Realisation gonged in Nalini’s mind. How had she not seen it before? Aunt Ríma still had a son from her first marriage. Samu Gherda was Sultan Jashan the Fanatic’s last living male relative. “Ríma intends to put Samu on the throne,” Nalini said. “If uncle Talekh and aunt Ríma have no sons and seize the throne, then Samu will assume the throne, undoing Father’s revolt.”
Lord Krarim nodded and gave her a flicker of a smile, like she had gone up a notch in his estimation. “I believe you are right,” he said. “And let us not forget that Sultan Razilan, May He Be Worthy of Abyar, gave her three thousand of his men, which she can now you use against the Crown.”
A figurative pincer locked around Nalini’s head. She rubbed her eyes and head, her fingers pressing on the spots as she attempted to loosen the tightness. “How many men does that mean Date-Palm has?” she asked.
Lord Krarim scratched at his turban as he did the calculation in his mind. “Ten thousand, I estimate,” he said.
Curse Abyar! Even if all of the armies west of Date-Palm Port now combined, the royal forces would only have a numerical supremacy of a few thousand. That was not enough to deter an ambitious woman, wanting to make herself regent to an impressionable boy. She would practically rule the Kingdom and enforce the most hardline, fanatical interpretation of Abyar’s laws.