Subsequently, Captain Ghasím, Saíf, Haluk, Peder, Egemen and Jar’eth lifted his body, which was wrapped in a shroud of green, emblazoned with the knot symbol of their House, and lowered the late sultan into the pit.
Thud.
The noise stabbed Nalini’s gut. There was no mistaking that thud. It represented the end; that there was no way back; that most people, including herself, would end up in a coffin, buried six feet under, with the same thud stabbing their loved one’s guts. Nalini just hoped that when her turn came it would not be for many decades and that she would have lived a long life, unlike-
“Nalini,” Emilio whispered. “You must go forward.”
Nalini cursed under her breath. She had been taken by her emotions like a stupid, weak woman. She should have stepped forward already and been among the first to shovel earth on top of the coffin, as Sultan Wumla, their mother, and Dowager Sultana Olella were doing; as was outlined in the Rakimist sect of the Believers of Abyar. An immediate family member was commanded to bury the dead, as it was the starting point for adapting to life without that person. One could not deny that a loved one had died after he or she had physically partaken in the burial.
But Nalini could not admit to being emotionally overcome by the occasion. Not to her husband, and not before the noblemen of the Kingdom. So, she snarled at Emilio, instead. “I know what I have to do,” she hissed. “There isn’t a shovel free, in case you hadn’t noticed.”
“Err… there’s one free now,” he said, pointing. “Do you want to go first or shall I?”
Nalini looked forward. Her mother held out a spade for her, and Nalini grimaced. She tried so hard not to look like a fool; yet, she always did, somehow. “Razilan was family to you, too,” she said, lowly. “Let’s do this together.”
Subsequently, she marched forward. Her mother gave her a spade. Nalini sweated, as much from the heat as from the exertion, as she shoveled up a load of earth. Dust rose, and she coughed as she pushed the earth on top of the coffin. She did it once more and then handed her spade to Lord Anané.
Nalini stood and observed the powerfully built lord chuck the earth into the pit, like it were flour. Lord Anané’s efforts ensured that neither she nor anyone else could see the coffin anymore, and the realisation knifed Nalini’s neck. How was Razilan dead? At twenty-eight, he had been in the prime of his life. Seldom had he ever been unwell until he caught a chill. How was life so perilous?
Nalini’s back spasmed, jolting her out of her thoughts. As she massaged the muscle, she observed her surroundings. It was the first time she had been to the shrine that her father had built for himself and his dynasty, several leagues down the Sapphire River from Flourish. Her intuition told Nalini that when Sultan Daquan had organised for the shrine to be built, he had not envisioned that he would be buried in it so soon; nor that his heir would join him in both the shrine and the Land of Judgement shortly afterwards.
Nalini shook her head and yawned. The familiar sensations of weight and exhaustion flooded back, like the tide at night. She wanted to go back onto the ship that would take her back to the capital. Mayhap, she could lie down in the cabin and sleep for a couple of hours...
But then Nalini caught sight of Lady Vanna Elnakhya of Greatmouth. She stood a few paces away, next to Lord Krarim, his wife and their three children, the latter four of whom would remain at Flourish during the campaign for safety. But Nalini could not spot Lady Vanna’s husband, Lord Adelram. “Lady Vanna,” she said, walking up to her. “I do not see your husband here. Is he on his way?”
Lady Vanna stuttered. She was a small, slender woman of forty-four, but she looked older than her years and seemed to shrink and age with each word she stuttered on. “I-I’m sorry, Princess Nalini,” she said. “He sent me in his stead.”
Nalini’s innards turned the wrong way and sweat moistened the back of her neck. “Did Lord Adelram at least send you with his army?” she asked, even though she suspected the answer was negative. “He has been called by His Majesty to defend the Kingdom from a rebellion led by fanatics. Can we not expect his support?”
Lady Vanna shook her head. “M-my husband vows that he is loyal and that he will never side with the rebels,” she said. “But it s-saddens him to say that he cannot spare a man at this moment.”
Nalini did her utmost to keep a straight, dispassionate face as she grinded her teeth. She had been counting on Lord Adelram Elnakhya and his two thousand soldiers. He had been a loyal vassal to her father; so loyal, Sultan Daquan had handed him the keys to House Reba’s ancestral stronghold of Greatmouth as a reward, following the rebellion. Nalini had questioned the wisdom of her father’s decision at the time. Now, she wished he had never given Lord Adelram the fort.
“Most of my husband’s men are at sea,” Lady Vanna continued. “They are keeping watch of the coastline against pirates, as well as the Galutli, Lorancan, and Al-Yutamite fleets. And the men that are not aboard a ship are helping to keep the city under control. We had riots not long after His Majesty, Sultan Daquan, died.”
Liar. Nalini had read nothing about riots in Greatmouth recently. Lord Adelram, therefore, had an ulterior motive for holding back his men. She would have to investigate it when she returned to the palace.
Nevertheless, she did not want to give a hint of her suspicions or intentions to Lady Vanna either. “Thank you for relaying your lord husband’s message,” she said, diplomatically. “It is appreciated.” Although, his men would have been appreciated even more.
“You are most kind, Princess Nalini.”
As the conversation concluded, Pallab Bazak walked past them without a glance. Nalini found that odd. “Pallab,” she said. “You will not give me your condolences?”
Pallan halted, turned around and snorted. “No words can describe how sorry I am for your loss… and for that of Al-Jaraba,” he said, feigning sorrow. “My deepest sympathies go out to you and your family. May Abyar console you in these difficult times.”
Nalini tensed, aggravating her spasmed back. Pallab’s manner irked her. Just because Pallab had not seen eye-to-eye with Razilan did not mean he needed to mock the dead or her.
But Nalini decided against speaking her mind for the second time in a matter of moments. There was another matter she needed to discuss with Pallab that was more pressing. “I don’t see your brother here,” she said. “Can we expect Lord Nahmet to arrive soon, to support the Crown against the fanatics of Date-Palm?”
“You think he tells me his plans?” Pallab responded, with a derisive laugh. “I seldom hear from my brother. And when I do, it is to give me orders at court. Nothing more and nothing less.”
“You do realise that if Lord Nahmet doesn’t come-”
“I assure you, my brother has foreseen all possible scenarios and outcomes. He probably foresaw them all before you did. But if you would like to know, the last I heard from Lord Nahmet was that he was still dealing with skirmishes west of Carob Castle. If anything, he needs more men. It is only his pride that stops him from asking the Crown for help.
“Besides,” Pallab continued. “Until recently His Majesty, Sultan Razilan, would have declined any request in the hope that we Gautamist heretics would get smashed, and then he could come take Carob Castle for the Rakimists. And himself. So, Princess Nalini, bearing all that in mind, what would you like my brother to do?”