Her husband’s panting and footsteps subsequently receded, while Nalini made her way back to her father’s bedchambers. Captain Ghasím of the Sultan’s Regiment and Saíf, another guard, opened the gilded, rectangular doors as Nalini approached.
She entered the room as her mother, Padma, now the Dowager Sultana, went outside onto the balcony, crying. Nalini’s brothers, Razilan and Wumla, on the other hand, stood over their father’s bed. Nalini had always noted how different the two brothers looked. But, now, they looked more different than ever: where Razilan was broad and muscled, Wumla was tall and lanky; where Razilan had a thick mop of curly hair, Wumla was bald; where Razilan was straight-backed, Wumla was hunched forward; and where Razilan had brows furrowed and eyes hard with thought, Wumla had brows raised and eyes veiny red with sorrow.
Then, Nalini took note of their father’s covered body and emotion rose inside her, like a wave. Her eyes filled with water and when she blinked, tears streamed down her cheeks. “What happened?” she asked, fighting against the emotion choking her. “Father was alive and in jovial spirits when I left him. I never thought…”
Razilan came over and enveloped her in a hug. “I know,” he said. “Amina said the same. He spoke to her while she mixed his food. But then she pushed the spoon into his mouth, and he did not swallow. He was gone.”
Nalini gulped, forcing down the lump clogging her throat. She needed to speak clearly for what she was about to say. “You know… Father wanted his body to be burned, not buried, don’t you?”
Razilan let go of her. “No,” he said. “Father cannot ask for something that’s-”
“Abyar forbids bodies to burned!” Wumla interjected. “Father must be buried.”
Nalini shook her head. “Abyar commands us to honour our parents, even in death. I don’t agree with what Father wanted. Abyar states that a person’s physical form is the one he takes to be judged by the Divine. Furthermore, many pre-eminent clerics argue that when a body is burned, the person loses his form in the Land of the Judged and will be forever shamed for teaching his descendants incorrect practices.
“Nevertheless,” she continued. “Disease is an exception to the conventional burial in order to prevent the sickness from spreading. Abyar values life, so that the living can defend His word and propagate it further.”
Wumla shook his head, and turned to Razilan. “Brother, you are the Sultan now. Your word is final. You cannot mean to burn Father?”
Sultan Razilan grimaced. “Wumla,” he said. “It is wonderful that you have got out of bed for a change and that you feel passionately about this matter. Under normal circumstances, you would be right, and I would never contemplate burning a person.” He turned and looked at their sister. “But Father had Skin Scales,” he continued. “He looked deformed by the end and wore a mask to defend his dignity. If the Divine is just and merciful, as we all believe He is, He has returned Father to his prime and glory in the Land of Judgement, and will not make him walk among our forefathers humiliated by his ailment.”
Razilan’s words warmed Nalini’s heart. She had never known him to listen to her before. Mayhap, their father had been right and that Razilan gave her more respect than she had previously realised.
“The last time a sultan was burned,” Wumla countered. “Abyar cursed his family. Within the Kingdom, there are some who whisper that He cursed Father with Skin Scales for bringing down Sultan Jashan. Do you not fear that burning him could bring terrible misfortune to us all?”
Cursed? Terrible misfortune?
Nalini’s chest contracted and time seemed to slow, as the words reverberated inside her; as images of plague, famine, war, and of the capital burning swirled round her head. She had not considered the consequences of burning a body when she promised her father that she would go through with his request.
Nalini wanted to voice her concerns, to go back on her promise. But she stopped herself from doing so. Sultan Daquan had told her many a time that decisiveness was respected, whilst indecisiveness was mocked. If Nalini wanted to be listened to, she had to stick with what she had said, regardless of whether it would anger Abyar or not.
“Wumla, do not speak to me of misfortune or of being cursed,” Razilan said, spitting out the final word with disgust. “Unlike you, I have been married for nine years and at this rate I will not have any sons or daughters to carry on what Father built.”
Footsteps of a heavy heel clunked behind them and Nalini turned around. Their aunt stopped and stood behind her. “How did you get past the guards?” Nalini asked. “Only family members are allowed in here.”
“I am family,” Ríma said. “Surely, you don’t mind me visiting a deceased member of our family?”
“I am sorry but only immediate family are allowed-”
“Nalini!” Razilan interrupted. “It is fine. Aunt Ríma is welcome to come in and pay her respects to His Majesty, if she so wishes.”
What spell has she cast on you, Brother? The Razilan of even yesterday would have backed her, instead of interrupting and embarrassing her. But Nalini bit her lip rather than humiliate herself by voicing her thoughts.
“Your Majesty,” Ríma said, bowing to Razilan. “I overheard that you are having… difficulties with your wife. As you know, there is a way we can fix that.”
There was something menacing about her words, and the hairs on the back of Nalini’s neck stood on end. What was Ríma talking about?
Nalini glanced at Razilan to apprise their aunt’s meaning. But Razilan stared at Ríma, with a crinkled forehead and eyes bulging with desperation. The sense of helplessness tumbled down Nalini like a collapsing edifice. Razilan and his wife, Olella, had been trying for a child as long as they had been married. They had prayed, been blessed by the Grand Cleric of Flourish, and tried herbal remedies. Nothing had made Ollela’s womb quicken.
Nalini’s back rippled with prickles. What had Ríma suggested to Razilan? What did her suggestion entail?
“I grant you your request,” Razilan told their aunt. “You can take with you three thousand of my men to help uncle Talekh defend Date-Palm and Al-Jaraba’s eastern borders. You will find the men readying to leave at the garrison. If you still need more men, write to me and I will ride to the Kingdom’s defence.”
Ríma smiled. “Thank you, Your Majesty,” she said. “You will hear from me or my husband in time.”
She bowed, never taking her eyes off Razilan, before exiting the royal bedchambers. Wumla snorted once the doors had closed behind her. “The woman is a witch!”
Razilan raised a brow, oozing mockery. “Do you really think our aunt spends her days and nights stewing potions and cursing people through incantations?” he said. “Or is she just a witch because you don’t understand her?”
“And you do?”
Razilan smiled. But his smile lost its usual vibrancy as he lowered his brows and sighed. “I don’t concern myself too much with what our aunt says as she speaks in riddles. Mayhap her meaning will become clearer in time. Mayhap not.”
“Oh, that’s true,” Wumla concurred. “She sometimes talks in riddles, yes.”