Sultana's Legacy by Lisa J. Yarde

Creases she had not noticed before now encircled his red-rimmed eyes. “Woman, be silent and let me tell you! The siege has continued for more than three months. The Castillans would not surrender. Then the rebel Prince Juan, the brother of King Sancho, brought out the son of the defender of Tarif. The boy had served as a page at King Sancho’s court, entrusted to the King’s family. You should have seen him, Fatima. He could not have been older than our little Muhammad. Prince Juan threatened to cut his throat if his father did not surrender. When the commander refused, Prince Juan killed the boy.”
    He lapsed into silence.
    Fatima stared at him, her fingers tightened into fists. Her nails dug into her palms.
     A scowl knitted and darkened his features. “Well? Have you nothing to say about this monstrous act?”
    “Once, when you defended our home against the Marinids and the Ashqilula, you told me the enemy is the enemy. What difference does this conflict make? You once swore your sword for my father’s benefit, for the pursuit of his will. Why have you betrayed him?”
    “Would you have had me raise my weapon on a field dishonored by the blood of a child? By the Prophet’s beard, Fatima, if you think I would sacrifice my principles for your father’s sake, you cannot know me at all!”
    She turned from him, shaking. Her hand crept to her belly, where the child inside stirred. She closed her eyes and let the tears fall, her shoulders quaking. She carried a babe who might never know his father.
    “Bah! Not your tears, I shall not be unmanned by your tears, woman.”
    Even as he railed at her, his hands closed on her arms, his earlier hesitancy long forgotten. She struggled against his hold, but he pulled her close. She leaned into the warmth of his chest. His heart thrummed in a steady rhythm against her back. His lips skimmed the delicate flesh her nape. Sweat and smoke filled her nostrils. Still, she did not recoil from him.
    “Always, these tears of yours. You use them against me, I think.”
    She swiped at her cheeks. “Never mind my tears. You cannot remain here. You must leave Al-Andalus.”
    His grip loosened and she turned to him. She cupped his face in her hands. Although her heart tore inside her, she rushed on. “The Sultan shall kill you. I cannot allow it. Flee to al-Maghrib el-Aska or al-Tunisiyah, wherever you can go.”
    “To live in exile like a coward? Truly, you do not know me at all, wife.”
    “I wonder if those who have loved even as we have can ever know each other. We have always understood each other well, I think. I have honored my father far longer than I have ever loved you. Still, when I seek comfort and the home of my heart, it is in you that I find these things.”
    She withdrew her touch while he searched her face. He could not hold her gaze. His lips tightened in a firm line and their color faded. The pain etched in his crestfallen features hurt her almost as much as his betrayal of her father.
    “Faraj, we are so different from when we first married, those days in which we were uncertain and mistrustful of each other. Now, your heart is mine and mine is yours. Yet I must see now, even the hope that our love held sway over all else in our lives was a vain, foolish one. I was wrong to expect that both of us had altered in every way.
    “I remain my father’s daughter, as devoted to him as when I was a girl. Your nature is still the same. You do what you must for your own sake. Now, you would abandon our children and me, as you left Tarif. All for your ideals. Principles and conviction mean more to you than the love of your children. More than my love?”
    He jerked her toward him, his eyes ablaze. She looked into their centers, unflinching. “Even if you would risk your death, beloved, I cannot allow it. Let me preserve our children’s memories of you as a loyal warrior for the Sultanate. Better that they should believe you fell at Tarif than under the executioner’s