Does she? Nalini could not think of a time when their aunt had spoken in riddles to her. But, then again, the only previous time that Nalini had seen or spoken to Ríma was when she had wed uncle Talekh five years ago.
Mayhap, Ríma did speak in riddles and often. Mayhap, she had regularly done so with their father, Razilan and Wumla. Nalini didn’t know.
“You may be pleased to hear, Nalini,” Razilan said, turning to her. “I want to uphold Father’s last decree. Indeed, my first decree as Sultan is to keep you as a vizier at court and the royal treasurer.”
“Oh… err… thank you,” she said. Amidst their father dying and Razilan’s conversation in the gardens with Ríma, she had forgotten about her new role at court. “I am honoured that you want me at court. But… I will not lie. Your decision surprises me. No woman has ever been a vizier before, and I would have thought-”
“Father may have thought me a fanatic,” Razilan interrupted. “But nowhere does Abyar forbid a woman to take up duties at court. Thus, I have no problem with keeping you as the royal treasurer. I have every faith that you will serve the Kingdom well.”
An invisible weight pressed down on Nalini’s shoulders. If her father was right, and she was one of the only people Razilan listened to, she had a kingdom’s-load of responsibility resting on her now, to prevent her brother from acting recklessly. “I’ll try,” she said. She looked down at the ground and the yellow fabric of her dress caught her attention. It dawned on her that her clothes were inappropriate for someone in mourning and she needed to change. But before she did that, she had to know something. “Razilan, on a separate matter, what did you and aunt Ríma discuss in the gardens?”
Razilan shrugged his shoulders and scratched his bearded chin as if he were trying to remember. “Nothing of great import,” he said, insouciantly. “She wanted to find out about Father’s health. I told her that he was better than the rumours suggested. But then he died, so my efforts were in vain.”
Nalini sucked on her lips. She had no doubt that Razilan had said that to aunt Ríma. However, she had inkling that it was not the sole matter they had discussed. What else had they spoken about? Could it have been the matters that had concerned Sultan Daquan enough to make him call for his heir? “Nothing else?” she asked.
“We discussed the weather.”
Nalini frowned. She may not have been the sharpest arrow in the quiver. But that did not mean he had a right to pratonise her. “Anything else?”
Razilan shook his head. “With Father being unwell, I was in no mood to talk.”
That’s not what it looked like. From what Nalini had seen, he had looked more interested in Ríma than in his own wife. Why was that? For all his faults, Razilan was not a man seduced easily by beauty, even that of an enchantress.
Nalini opened her mouth to voice her thoughts. But then she stopped herself, because there was no point to it. Razilan was only going to give her more half-truths at best, and lies at worst. To find out the complete truth, she needed to ask better questions; and she needed to ask them to someone who had reason of his own to be concerned about Razilan’s intentions.
3
-A Sultan More Sympathetic To The Cause-
(Nalini)
“May His Majesty, Sultan Daquan the Daring, the Fourth of His Name, of the House Reba, be Worthy of Abyar,” Sultan Razilan proclaimed, holding a torch at the top of the pyre. “May the Divine show mercy upon him and reward him for his valour.”
The air stiffened as Razilan lowered the torch. Nalini’s eyes watered and looked around her. A mix of sobs, curled down mouths, furrowed brows, and wide-eyes stared at the pyre. The royal family, the members of the court, and the soldiers who had gathered to attend the burning ceremony all knew that what Razilan was doing was against the laws of Abyar; that it was wrong and sinful, and that Al-Jaraba would be cursed for it. And it was all because of Nalini.
I should never have promised Father that I would go through with his request. Then, Sultan Daquan would have been buried like every other Believer of Abyar. Then again, if I had not left his bedchambers, he might still be alive.
Tears streaked down Nalini’s cheeks as the flames at the pyre licked at the oil-soaked grass-green cloth, which signified lush and prosperity in the desert-like Kingdom of Al-Jaraba, before the fire devoured the tightly-bound knot that was the symbol of House Reba and unity. Her father was gone. Nalini had done all that she could for him while he had been alive. But it had not been enough. Now, she could but watch his body burn. Sultan Daquan deserved better than to die of Skin Scales and be cremated. Lesser sultans had had a more elaborate, appropriate funeral than one that was likely as not to bring about ill-fortune upon the Kingdom.
Wumla jolted a sob, next to her. Nalini wiped her face and looked at him, as Razilan made his way back to them from the pyre. He grimaced at Wumla, before standing next to his wife, Sultana Olella.
Nalini sighed with relief that Razilan had not seen her shed tears. If she wanted authority at court, she could not be seen crying. “Wumla,” she whispered. “Stop crying. You are the brother of the Sultan. You must hold yourself together in public.”
Wumla shook his head. “I can’t,” he said. “I miss Father, and this is wrong.”
“We all agree on that, but only cry when you are alone… or alone with me. Not before the court and the soldiers.”
But Wumla did not hear her. He put his hands over his eyes, hunched over and sobbed further.
“I don’t know how Father had the patience for him,” Razilan muttered. “He is an embarrassment to the family. Not even his own wife has attended the funeral because she does not want to stand next to him.”
Nalini glared at him. Wumla had a sad, unhappy nature; of that there was little doubt. But he was not an embarrassment. And his wife, Princess Yasmeena, the daughter of Sultan Jashan the Fanatic, had not attended the burning ceremony because she was with child and sick, not because she could not bear to stand next to Wumla.
Nalini had half a mind to speak her thoughts, there and then. But it was neither the time nor the place; and, judging by Razilan’s canyon-like frowns, he did not look like he was in a mood for listening either. So, Nalini said nothing on the matter. Her father had once told her that half of being an effective counsellor entailed gauging the right time to counsel, and now was not it. “Leave Wumla to me,” she said. “I’ll speak with him later.”
Razilan grunted and turned back to face the pyre. As the smoke blackened, he grimaced and shook his head. His dark eyes had a glint of distance to them, like he were mentally somewhere else.
Nalini glanced sideways, waiting for him to mutter something under his breath, to give her a clue to his thoughts. Mayhap, he would reveal something about his conversation with Ríma in the gardens. Thus far, he had said little about it, and the little he had said had only verified Nalini’s suspicion that he was conspiring with their aunt on a concerning matter. But about what?
Nevertheless, Razilan said nothing and Nalini looked away. Subsequently, she spotted the handsome, well-groomed Pallab Bazak. The thirty-seven-year-old Royal Admiral for the Kingdom’s Ships was the brother of Lord Nahmet of Carob Castle and of Sultana Olella, Razilan’s wife. If there were a man who had reason to be concerned about Sultan Razilan’s intentions, it was him.