Sultana by Lisa J. Yarde

crying alone? Lost in uncertainty, she lapsed into cold silence.
    Aisha rose and clasped her hands together. “I shouldn’t have brought you here. I should never have trusted….”
    She hesitated at the first step, but after regaining her footing, she walked to the window. She sat on the sill and gestured for Fatima, who joined her on the stool. She peered through the lattice and Fatima followed her gaze, seeing little in the shadows of night. Even the flickering lights were gone.
    “Forgive me, child. I thought I could have saved you, but it seems it is your destiny to remain at Gharnatah.”
    “What are we going to do?” 
    “You shall return to al-Qal’at Al-Hamra .”
    “What about you? You mean, we shall return to al-Qal’at Al-Hamra , right?”
    When Aisha looked at Fatima, her sad smile returned. “Dawn is almost upon us. We don’t have much time. Abdallah told me he had hired the help of a Jewess, the Sitt al-Tujjar. She is a widowed merchant’s wife, who sells silk and other goods in her husband’s stead. She travels throughout al-Andalus, even to al-Qal’at Al-Hamra , where your grandfather’s wives and other courtiers rely on her trade and her gossip. I could persuade her to help. She would do it, for the right fee.”
    “But we’re locked inside the room. How can you talk to her?”
    “Have you eaten?”
    “Yes, but….”
    “Do not be fearful, my child. Allah, the Compassionate, the Merciful shall watch over you, all of your days.”
    Aisha opened her arms and beckoned her close. She hesitated just before flinging herself into that embrace, finding the comfort she had never known.
     
    Fatima stirred groggily. Opening her eyes, she realized her head rested on the leather satchel from which Aisha had retrieved the brush. The pallet cushioned her again, though someone had moved it next to the brazier. With a quick glance at the water clock, she realized the fifth copper bowl was nearly full.
    The slave Ulayyah stood with a platter of uneaten food before Aisha at the window, their heads bent together. Fatima closed her eyes and listened to their conversation.
    “…life is forfeit, but you can help me save my daughter. Go to the Inn of the Merchants in the heart of the marketplace. The Sitt al-Tujjar arrived there two days ago. Give her my message.”
    “Mistress, my lord Ibrahim shall surely know that I am missing.”
    “Why should he care?”
    “Because, my lord Abdallah sent me to him after they met. He always sends me to him, to be his…companion.”
    Silence followed. Fatima kept herself very still on the pallet, though she did not think either of the women were paying attention to her.
    “Ulayyah, is Ibrahim the father of the child you carry?”
    “Yes and of the son I have already borne, though he would never acknowledge him.” The slave’s voice was low and bitter. “I have every reason to hate him.”
    “Then, do this to thwart his intentions. He shall take Fatima to Qumarich. His fortress is impregnable, on a rock promontory with sheer sides except for one that is gated and heavily guarded. If he steals her away, her family shall never see her again. I cannot bear to think of my child in his clutches. It would truly be a worse fate than even her grandfather would have in mind for her.”
    A little squeak escaped Fatima’s throat. Surely, her grandfather could never be as cruel as Ibrahim.
    Aisha continued. “If you want me to believe Abdallah’s vow that he did not betray me, save my daughter.”
    Then silk swished across the floor.
    “She’s awake. She’s listening to us,” Aisha said. Silk rustled again before long fingers cupped Fatima’s chin. “Open your eyes, my girl.”
    When Fatima did so, Aisha hovered at her side, with a watchful Ulayyah behind her.
    “Mistress, I must go,” she said, glancing over her shoulder at the door.
    “Leave the food, Ulayyah, or they shall become suspicious. Go to the Sitt al-Tujjar. If Abdallah would prove himself to me, he