fought both betrothals as furiously as was possible against the implacable wall of her brother’s determination to marry her off, to absolutely no effect. The fates had twice intervened in her favour, but she doubted they would do so again.
It was time to deploy a risky strategy. ‘If there is such a very large stain of shame attached to me, perhaps we should accept that I am simply not marriageable,’ Tahira said. ‘Very soon now, you will have your hands full taking care of your new son as well as your daughter. You will not wish to be distracted by having to look after the welfare of my younger sisters too. Let me be their official chaperon. Let me take the burden of that responsibility from you. I would be content with that role and would carry it out dutifully.’
‘So now, finally, you allow your true colours to show,’ Juwan said disdainfully. ‘Ghutrif and I are of one mind, Tahira. Your one and only duty, the purpose for which you have been bred, is to enhance the power and wealth of Nessarah through marriage. As the wife of the Crown Prince, it is my duty to ensure that your sisters are taken care of and married appropriately when the time comes, not yours.’
‘Juwan, I promised my mother...’
‘Tahira, that is another lesson which you have signally failed to learn. Your allegiance is not to a woman fourteen years dead, but to your brother, and to myself as his consort. Our wish is to have you married as soon as possible, sparing us all the pain of your most childish behaviour in defying us. Ghutrif will have his way. The easiest thing for yourself and the sisters you claim to love is to accept the inevitable with good grace.’
‘I do not claim to love my sisters. I love them with all my heart. Ever since our mama died...’
‘Spare me.’ Juwan made no attempt to hide her animosity. ‘You think yourself a surrogate mother to those three, but you are serving them very ill. It is not only my husband who believes you are an unhealthy influence. I see it for myself, the effect you have on them—but Tahira says, but Tahira doesn’t think—so many times every single day I hear those words. I am the wife of the Crown Prince, this is my harem, those girls have a duty to obey me without question.’
‘I don’t teach them disobedience, but I will not deny that I do encourage them to question what does not seem right or fair. My mother raised me to—’
‘Your mother is long dead,’ Juwan spat. ‘Your mother, who put her daughters before her only son, who failed to give Ghutrif his rightful place as the King in waiting. Your mother is no shining example to follow.’
Tahira struggled, but no amount of deep breaths and clenched fists could hold back the tears which gathered on her lashes. It was far too late now for her to rein her emotions in. ‘Ghutrif was always jealous, especially of me. You must not believe the stories he tells, for you must know how he slants things, colours things...’
‘How dare you criticise my husband!’ Juwan heaved herself to her feet. ‘Ghutrif is right. The sooner you are gone from here, the better. We cannot risk those other three following your bad example. It is time they learned that it is in everyone’s interests, not least their own, to let you go. Time they learned how selfish they have been. Alimah and Durrah in particular are forever begging me to ask my husband not to make another match for you.’
‘They are young. Do not judge them too harshly. Ishraq is more reconciled to her fate.’
‘Perhaps, but where you lead they will all follow eventually, even Ishraq. Do you really want them to reject the excellent marriages your brother will make for them? Do you wish to deprive them of the joy of children of their own?’
‘No, of course I do not! Quite the opposite, in fact. I’m offering to give up any prospect of marriage in order to better prepare them for theirs.’
‘Have you asked them if that’s what they want, for their dearest sister to sacrifice so much for them?’
‘It’s no great sacrifice from my perspective.’
Juwan shook her head, smiling in that condescending way that made Tahira wish to knock her turban off. ‘You have been a mother to those three for many years, but they no longer require a mother. Ishraq is almost twenty years old, more than ready for marriage. You are spoiling her chances and, fiercely loyal as she is, you may believe me when I tell you that she is becoming frustrated with your intransigence. She wants to establish her own harem, to raise her own family. As for Alimah and Durrah, they may be young yet, but in three or four years’ time they too will wish to fly this nest. It is the natural order of things. Only you are behaving unnaturally. Fortunately, though you may not believe it, my husband and I know what is best for you. The Murimon alliance would have been an excellent one, but that ship has sailed,’ Juwan said brusquely. ‘What matters now is to find you a replacement husband as a matter of urgency. You are twenty-four years old, a full three years older than I, but not yet past marrying age. The match being arranged for you will not be so prestigious, but you had better make sure you accept it with alacrity.’
Panic made Tahira forget herself. She clutched at Juwan’s sleeve. ‘Has my brother—or goodness, don’t tell me that my father...?’
Juwan carefully removed her fingers. ‘As you know perfectly well, our beloved King Haydar is far too frail to take an active role in any matters of state, and entrusts my dear husband to act on his behalf. Ghutrif is expending a great deal of energy in order to secure a suitable husband for you and is making excellent progress. I hope you will be suitably grateful. This harem has become a place of turmoil when it should be an oasis of calm while I await the birth of my son. If you cannot act out of a sense of duty towards me or my husband, demonstrate your avowed love for your sisters by embracing the next offer made for your hand.’ Juwan glanced up at the row of high arched windows. ‘It grows dark, long past time for me to retire. I bid you goodnight.’
* * *
Tahira watched her sister-in-law sway across the courtyard like a dhow in full sail before making swiftly for her own quarters, her thoughts already turning to the night ahead. She would have to be extremely careful. The merest hint of her sense of excited anticipation might arouse suspicion. Her sister-in-law saw a great deal more than she let on. They all did, here in the stifling atmosphere of the official harem, and no doubt it was the same over the wall, in the unofficial harem inhabited by her brother’s concubines. There was little else to do save to observe and to gossip, for those who had not the key to freedom.
But Tahira did. Her heart jumped. Butterflies fluttered in her tummy. Juwan’s little talk had left her feeling both furious and defiant. She did not want to accept the stark truth which had been laid out before her. She did not want to think of the fate which imminently awaited her, or the pain of separation it implied. She did not want to admit that there was any truth in anything Juwan said. All she wanted was to escape. The sensible thing would be to keep her head down, play the supplicant, act the penitent. But that was for tomorrow. Tonight, Christopher was awaiting her.
Christopher. The perfect antidote to her unpalatable reality. A man with no surname and precious little background. A man of mystery with a mystery of his own to resolve. He had most certainly not told her the full story behind that priceless amulet, a fifteen-hundred-year-old relic that might even prove to be part of her very own heritage. How she had managed to contain her astonishment when she realised it might actually have been passed down through the generations of her own family was anyone’s guess. One of her own ancestors might actually have worn it. When she touched it, she had sensed the connection, she was certain of it. Just thinking about it gave her goose bumps. It was not just serendipity. The fates had placed her there at the mine last night, they meant her to help Christopher solve the mystery of the amulet. She, who knew better than anyone in the whole of Nessarah the history of the kingdom’s mines. She, who might even be a direct descendant of the person for whom the amulet was fashioned. No wonder it seemed to speak to her heart. She laughed at herself for being so fanciful, but she believed it to be true all the same.
Christopher, however, felt no such attachment to the amulet. Her smile faded as she recalled his expression when he looked at it. Not a precious link to a distant past, but an unwelcome link to his own history that he wanted to sever. How quickly his