‘I pray whoever was standing there didn’t see me,’ she muttered, though it seemed a forlorn hope. Turning towards the Court of the Lions, she beckoned for Maura. ‘I need you to come with me.’
Maura hung back. ‘Must I?’
‘I would be grateful for your assistance. My father needs to know that it is unacceptable for one of his men to stand by when his brother’s daughter is drowning.’
Maura made a squeaking sound and stood like a rock, slowly shaking her head.
Zorahaida sighed. ‘Very well, I shall go on my own.’ The tone of her voice was dry. ‘If you could manage to find Prince Ghalib, I imagine he would like to know his daughter is safe.’
‘Of course, Princess.’
Maura scuttled off and Zorahaida took in a sustaining breath. Now for her father.
The door to the council chamber adjoining the Court of the Lions was closed. The Commander of the Sultan’s household knights was, as Zorahaida had foreseen, standing guard before it, huge arms folded, feet planted stolidly apart.
‘May I help, Princess?’
Commander Abdul ibn Umar’s voice was courteous, though his eyes were cold as stone. And Zorahaida didn’t miss the insolent curl to his lip as he took in her damp veil and the water streaks staining her clothes.
Hiding her anger, she kept her voice calm. ‘I need to speak to my father, Commander. Would you be so good as to ask him if he is free?’
Commander Abdul ibn Umar bowed. ‘As you command, Princess.’
It wasn’t long before the door of the council chamber was opened and Zorahaida was announced.
Sultan Tariq, ruler of the Emirate of Granada, was seated on his wide, gilded throne. He was clad in white and a great ruby glinted in his turban. His crimson slippers rested on a large footstool. Slaves stood at the Sultan’s either hand, palm fans in hand, valiantly attempting to create a breeze.
Despite the slaves’ best efforts, the atmosphere was oppressive. The hanging braziers didn’t help, smoke was wafting from them like grey snakes, filling the council chamber with the heavy scent of frankincense. The red and gold standard of the Nasrid dynasty hung limply in a corner, as though melting in the heat.
Hurrying in, Zorahaida fell at her father’s feet and kissed his silken slippers.
Commander Abdul ibn Umar, she couldn’t help but notice, took up a position behind her father, along with a handful of fellow officers, her father’s most trusted knights.
‘Father, a thousand blessings upon you.’
Gold rings glinted as a languid hand gestured for her to rise.
A smile began to form on her father’s face. ‘Daughter, you bring me joy, as ever.’ The smile faded as the Sultan took in her dishevelment. ‘But what is this? Your clothes are creased, and your veil—its dripping on the floor. What has happened?’
Heart in her mouth, Zorahaida decided bluntness was the only approach. Her father was a capricious and harsh master, she feared servants were beaten most days, but thus far she’d never known him to hurt a child. At the back of her mind remained a seed of doubt. Yamina was the daughter of her father’s heir, Prince Ghalib. Even though the Sultan had all the power, rivalry between the brothers was nothing new.
‘Father, something dreadful has happened in the gardens. I came straight here, confident you would want to be told.’
The Sultan’s eyebrows formed a dark black line. ‘Oh?’
‘Yamina fell in the lily pond.’
The Sultan stroked his beard. ‘Dear me, poor little thing.’ His voice dripped with insincerity.
Zorahaida’s anger flared and she fought to keep calm. Nothing would be achieved by alienating her father, yet this couldn’t be ignored.
‘Father, Yamina cannot swim.’ She paused, her gaze flickering briefly to the Commander. ‘Furthermore, while Yamina sank beneath the lilies, your commander stood idly by.’
Her father sucked in a breath. His face was an expressionless mask. ‘My niece has drowned? May the angels protect her.’
‘No, Father. You will be relieved to hear that Yamina is safe.’
Commander Abdul ibn Umar leaned forward and whispered in her father’s ear.
Sultan Tariq’s eyes flashed, dark and hard as obsidian. ‘You saved her, Daughter. My commander saw you.’
‘Yes, Father, I saved her.’ Zorahaida cleared her throat, biting her lip beneath her veil.
She had heard that tone of voice before. Polite. Formal. Distant. Zorahaida knew her father and she shivered. Never had he used that tone with her. I am his favourite, she reminded herself. Father loves me. He will be angry, but he will never hurt me.
She clasped her hands together. ‘Father—’
‘Enough! Zorahaida, your insolence is disappointing. Worse than that though, is your disobedience.’
‘I beg your pardon, Father, but I didn’t disobey you. All I did was pull my cousin out of the water.’
Slowly and with such menace that her stomach turned over, the Sultan shook his head.
‘You were running, tearing about the gardens like a wanton.’
Her mouth fell open. ‘Father, I—’
‘Where was your veil?’ Several veins bulged in the Sultan’s neck. ‘Your face was seen. Seen. What has happened to you? You are a disgrace.’
Rising from his gilded couch, the Sultan stepped towards her. Zorahaida’s chin lifted.
‘What, no apology, Daughter? No show of contrition. Very well.’
He lifted his hand, rings flashing and struck her cheek. The thump of flesh meeting flesh stole Zorahaida’s breath and she reeled sideways, seeing stars. Stunned.
‘Daughter, you anger me. Get out of my sight.’
The next morning, Zorahaida lay on a cushion next to a window in the uppermost chamber of her tower, staring at the distant peaks of the Sierra Nevada. Even now, her face throbbed. She had a blinding headache.
‘Princess, if you would turn your head a little,’ Maura said, quietly. ‘You need more balm on that cheek.’
Obediently, Zorahaida submitted to Maura’s gentle hands. ‘Thank
