Sultana's Legacy by Lisa J. Yarde Read Free Book Online Page B

chuckled. “Is Marzuq still such a trial when he is ailing?”
    Leeta rolled her eyes heavenward. “You could not understand.” Her shoulders sagged. She disappeared into the family quarters again, where she and Marzuq shared a room.
    Niranjan gestured toward the entrance. “Come, my Sultana.”
    Fatima led the way and he followed. A groom held the reins of two horses, already saddled. Niranjan rounded Fatima and cupped his hands, offering her aid as she mounted. She grabbed the reins.
    “My beloved has returned, hasn’t he? That is why you wanted me to visit the marketplace instead of Leeta. Why hasn’t Faraj come to us? Is he hurt, Niranjan?”
    The eunuch avoided her gaze. “I cannot say.”
    She frowned at him. More likely, he would not say for some obscure reason only he understood.
    Why did Faraj’s return require such secrecy? If he had come home, surely it meant the defeat of the Castillans and the recapture of Tarif. Then Faraj should have arrived in triumph, not entered his own city in secrecy.
    Concern and confusion preoccupied Fatima, as she left the grounds with Niranjan by way of the bridge between her home and al-Jabal Faro . Guardsmen at the citadel averted their gaze while she and her eunuch rode past in a flurry of dust, which obscured the rectangular towers and massive walls. She and Niranjan took a steep hill at daring speeds, whitewashed and red-roofed houses all a blur on either side of the cobblestones. They entered the bustling precincts of the silk market. Each section of Malaka’s marketplace, allotted to a special area of commerce, reminded Fatima of the crowded Qaysariyya at Gharnatah.
    Behind a horseshoe archway, expensive garments of every variety and color beckoned buyers’ eager hands brimming with gold dinars . A long string of camels, each beast held in the croup of its leader, blocked the entrance to an inn. Fatima pulled her hijab over her nose and quelled the stench of the animals. She dismounted without Niranjan’s aid. He led the way up a staircase to the second landing. Loud curses echoed from within. When Niranjan pushed the door open, three merchants rained down violent epithets on each other’s heads.
    “Cheaters! Deceivers! I piss on both of you and your wretched silks!”
    “I piss on your mother, you filthy dog! You’re the cheat. Your dinars line the pockets of the market inspector. God confound you and your lies! Wait until Governor Faraj returns to the city!”
    “You dare call anyone else a liar? You miserable son of a donkey and a whore!”
    Niranjan pushed past them and grasped Fatima’s hand, pulling her along behind him. They dashed down the narrow hall. Niranjan scratched at the olive wood door at the end. “Master.”
    The portal creaked on its hinges. Fatima rushed inside.
    Faraj rose from his crouch on the wooden floor, his eyes widening. Fatima swallowed at the sight of him as he unwound the turban that hid the lower half of his face. His sun-burnished cheeks glistened like copper. He wore a simple tunic, trousers and leather slippers, not the armor she had last seen him don nearly four months ago. She rushed toward him, but he grasped and held her at arms’ length. Behind her, the door snapped shut and consigned them to the gloom of the windowless chamber.
    He whispered, “I have the stink of the siege and a hard day’s ride upon me, beloved.”
    “I don’t care!” She struggled against him. “Faraj, why won’t you kiss or hold me? Why are you here at this inn? Why haven’t you come home to us?”
    “I cannot, Fatima. I need you to listen.”
    She shook her head, her fingers itching for the coarseness of his beard, the planes of his cheek. “What has happened? Did the Marinids overcome the Castillans?”
    “I do not know. I abandoned the siege.”
    Her hands fell away. Tears stung her eyes. She drew back from him. “The Sultan has ever been good to you. How could you do this to my father?”
    Faraj raked long fingers over his face.