Page 45 of A String of Silver Beads (The Moroccan Empire #1)

That night, the young man approached the first door.

He touched the lock with the silver jewel and the lock at once melted and the door opened before him.

In this way, each of the twenty-one locks opened and when the king came to rouse his daughter the next morning, he found her in the arms of the young man.

Astonished at the daring and tenacity of the couple, the father at last gave his blessing to their union. ”

I smile without opening my eyes. “Was there only one of these magical keys?” I ask, knowing the answer but wanting him to tell me it anyway.

His voice is low and tender, and I bask in hearing him talk like this, as though we have all the time in the world to spend together, with nothing to worry or threaten us.

“Today there are twenty-one forms of the key, just as there were once twenty-one locks, for different jewellers designed taneghelt pendants to their own pleasing. Lovers give these jewels to show that they have the key to one another’s hearts.”

“And do I have the key to your heart?” I ask him, for I can see that he is hiding something in his hand.

He smiles at my guess. “You know me too well,” he says, and gives me a taneghelt, slipping it into my hand from his, still warm from his body. I hold it gently in my palm.

“How did you come to have it?”

He shakes his head. “I have had it ever since you came to Murakush. I thought one day to give it to you, to let you know that you still had the key to my heart, though I did not have yours.”

I touch the chachat. “You had my heart all along,” I say. “It was I who did not know you had it.”

“I must go now,” he tells me. “I must prepare for our departure.”

“I will come with you,” I say.

He shakes his head. “Sleep,” he says. “You will have need of all your strength, for we will have to travel fast to get as far away from here as possible before your absence is noted. Yusuf will not take kindly to his wife running away with one of his soldiers.”

“He barely remembers who I am,” I say.

“He will remember when you run away,” says Amalu. “He will send men after us.”

I shake my head. “I doubt it,” I say. “Zaynab will be glad I am gone. She will find a way to persuade him not to follow me.”

“Not to bring back his own wife?”

“Zaynab always gets her way,” I say wearily. “She will be delighted if I leave.”

“I wish I was as certain as you are,” says Amalu. “Either way, I would like to get far away from here before anyone finds out you are gone.”

I nod.

“Sleep, then meet with me. Do you need a camel?”

“I have Thiyya,” I say. “She is in the stables; I will find her.”

He smiles. “An old friend to accompany you on a new adventure.”

I nod and he kisses me very gently on the forehead before leaving.

When he is gone, I lie back down on the bed and allow relief to wash over me.

I will be gone from here soon, I think. I will not have to live in fear.

I will travel the trading routes as I once did, with Amalu by my side, knowing that my son is safe.

I feel sleep coming and I do not struggle against it, only let its soft embrace comfort me.

***

I wake to a bitter taste, a wetness on my chin and neck.

When I open my eyes, Hela is hovering over me, holding a carved wooden cup.

I throw out one arm, shoving her away from me and she clutches at the cup to stop what is left of the liquid within it from overflowing, then crouches in a corner of the room, her eyes fixed on me.

I spit the taste from my mouth, a dark bitterness that will not leave me.

“What have you given me?” I ask her but she does not answer.

I grab at the water jar and rinse my mouth again and again, spitting the water onto the floor at her feet. She does not move, only watches me.

“How did you find me?” I ask.

“You were watched,” she says. “Zaynab found you growing too free. Wandering about the souk buying all manner of things, your face no longer sad. She set a watch on you and when they reported back to me, I came to find you.”

“Why do you serve Zaynab?” I ask. “What possible reason do you have to carry out such dark deeds on her behalf? What hold does she have over you?”

I do not expect her to answer but she half-closes her eyes as though my question wearies her. “It is too long a story,” she says.

“Did she threaten you? Did she do something to you?”

“I did something to her,” says Hela, her voice almost sing-song. “I did something that can never be forgiven.”

“What was it?”

She shakes her head. “Too long a story,” she says. “Too long. So long.”

I stride across the room and grab at the cup. Startled by the suddenness of my movement, she lets go of it. I pour the liquid on the floor, and she holds out her hand. She does not look at the liquid, only at the now-empty cup, as though it is precious.

“Give it back to me.”

I draw my arm back and throw the cup at the wall.

There is a cracking sound as it hits and when it falls it is in two pieces.

I hear a low moan and turn to look at Hela.

She is rocking on her heels, her whole body curled up, only her eyes showing, staring at the cup as though seeing something terrible.

“I have a son,” I tell her. “He is Yusuf’s firstborn son. One day he will make himself known and all your evildoing will have been for nothing.”

Hela is not listening to me. She crawls across the room as though I am not there, her robes brushing against my feet, still moaning, a low painful sound. When she reaches the cup, she picks up one half in each hand and looks at them, her body still rocking.

“What is the cup to you?” I ask, unnerved. “I threw away what was in it.”

She does not answer. She stays crouched against the wall.

I feel faint. “What was in the cup, Hela?” I ask.

She shakes her head. “It does not matter what was in it,” she says, her voice husky. “It never matters what is in it.”

“Am I going to die?” I ask her. I can feel my heart thudding and I am not sure whether it is from fear or her potion, whatever it was.

She shakes her head. “You broke the cup.”

“You put some of the mixture in my mouth while I slept,” I persist. “Was it enough to kill me?”

“You broke the cup,” she repeats, as though her mouth cannot form any other words.

Her voice and eyes frighten me more than the bitterness in my mouth. Slowly I edge out of the room, expecting her to leap at me, to attack me somehow but she does nothing, and I leave her there, still rocking back and forth, her body hunched around the broken cup.

***

Back in my own rooms I put on a plain robe.

A wave of nausea washes over me and I wonder whether I am poisoned, whether Hela’s potion was strong enough to kill me or whether I spat it out fast enough.

Or perhaps it is only my own fear. I touch Amalu’s taneghelt and open my casket of jewellery.

Even though I should hurry, I cannot help but linger over the contents.

I lift up each piece and adorn myself, one by one.

Only one piece is missing, the ismana long bones.

I think of my little son. All he has left of me is my love.

And a string of silver beads.