Chapter 43
Her lips curve up in a smirk that I know does not match the voice that would come out of that mouth should she speak. But I’ve noticed that she takes great pains not to. Not unless Azar speaks to her. And I will use that to wipe that smug look from her face. I walk towards her, feeling her magic rush over me. That cold, darkness seeping into my bones. But I paste a fake smile on my face as I approach her.
“How are you, Arwa?” I ask.
She narrows her eyes at me before canting her head forward.
“How was your journey to Nur?” I press.
She nods, her smile as fake as mine.
“Is there anything I can do to make your stay here more comfortable?”
She shakes her head, her annoyance with me clear.
“Do let me know if I can help you in anyway. I would hate to see an elder suffer in my kingdom.”
Her nostrils flare. “You be careful…princess,” her raspy voices warns me.
But there’s nothing she can harm me with now. My father already knows both secrets I hoped he wouldn’t.
I walk over to Zaynah and find her face is filled with concern.
“You should not goad her, Your Highness,” she whispers. “The tales of what she can do are vast, and they all speak of her cruelty.”
“She is in Nur now. Her powers however strong, are diminished, whether she and Azar think it or not. She is weaker here than in Sameer.”
My feet stumble at my own words, at my realization. Maryam’s words from days ago come back to me, how Arwa would be weaker here. Then even more important thoughts, memories, flash through my mind. When the old witch cast the spell to banish Hamza and could barely stand afterwards. The way Arwa looked tired in the throne room because she’d had to use her power to keep Hamza from entering Sameer the night before. How Widad was drained from keeping Hamza paralyzed and doing the binding spell, to the point that she could only heal my back, not make the scars go away. Because, as she said, the spells had taken their toll on her.
Even the small amounts of magic I’ve used just to heal has at times left me exhausted. The spells take their toll on witches.
And with that thought, the last part of my plan falls into place. The one thing that had concerned me for days. Now I’ve found the solution. I can only hope one more person I now need to use, to bring into this secret, that could very well get me killed if known, will play the part I need her to.
Zaynah walks beside me to the hall for dinner. I nudge her with my shoulder when I see her looking down at the ring Hud gave her. She smiles up at me.
“Have you started making any plans yet?” I inquire.
She shakes her head. “I want to tell my father the news first, but my mother’s letters tell me he has gone on a trip and has not returned quite yet.”
“Oh, does your father travel for work?”
“You could say that.”
My eyebrows scrunch in confusion. “What kind of work does he do?”
“None that I could speak of in the palace.”
I let it go, not wanting to be overheard, but her answer puzzles me. Knowing Zaynah was sent here with a mission of sorts, I wonder if her father is also a part of the rebellion in some way. And if so, what part does he play? What part does Zaynah play?
“You will sit beside King Azar,” my father announces when we reach the hall.
I simply nod. Perfect daughter. Obedient future wife. I must carry this act on just a little longer. Azar pulls my chair out and sits between me and my father. Arwa sits at the next table over, next to Widad. Sympathy fills me when I watch Arwa look her over as if she’s thinking of sucking every bit of life out of her in this very hall. But Widad surprises me when she looks defiantly back at Arwa, chin tilted up, and arches her brow. I forget most times that she is the witch who survived the last witch of Nur, a witch who’d killed every witch she could find to extend her own life. Widad alone is the only one who fought back and won, becoming my father’s, the kingdom’s, new witch when she killed the former. Well, now I’ve been reminded, and it makes the next part of my plan seem even more attainable.
“Are your things packed for our journey home?” Azar leans closer to me to ask.
Our home. The words chill me, but I smile at Azar.
“They are. Heavier gowns, warmer shoes. Thicker headwraps.”
My trunks are full of things my father has had made for me to leave. Things I never plan to wear.
“Did you father not tell you? You will not be permitted to wear head wraps any longer.”
“And why is that?”
“Firstly, because I command it so,” he states firmly. “Secondly, because that is not what women in Sameer wear, and you will be the epitome of a Sameer woman, being their queen. We wouldn’t want women to begin to imitate your wearing of that silly thing. Thirdly, because I wish to look upon your hair whenever I wish, and I will not have some piece of cloth stand in the way of that.”
“And what of my own comfort?” I ask. “It is my own hair that I wish to cover. It is what I feel comfortable wearing.”
“What comforts me is all that should concern you now.”
And with that he turns away, starting a conversation with my father. They speak of the trade that has stopped between them, but will now resume. Of ensuring the safety of their kingdoms. Of combining their forces to cross the Blue Sea, to explore. I fight not to scoff at the lie clearly leaving Azar’s mouth. Explore. Yes, like he explored Tayir, Hamasa, and Kalima. The way everyone, except my father apparently, knows he will explore Nur. Yes, Azar loves to explore. The food in my mouth sours the more I listen to them talk. Everything is a business deal, including my father giving his daughter away like she is something to exchanged, battered for, to bring Sameer and Nur together.
Looking over at the table where the council sits, they nod along with whatever Maryam is telling them, and my hope soars. Perhaps things will not be as hard as they seem. But my tiredness tells me that will not be the case. Sleepless nights have been spent wishing for Hamza’s arms around me. Spent replaying how I desperately need things to go, over and over in my mind, dreading the arrival of Azar. But there will not be any sleep tonight either. There is too much to do.
Finally dinner ends and thankfully my father asks Azar to come survey the throne room to make sure it’s up to his standards for the wedding. It allows me to leave the hall without either of their notice, and without the notice of the person I follow after. Widad walks quickly through the halls, her long dress moving soundlessly along the floor. I wait behind one of the columns until she enters her room, closing the door behind her. It gives me time to gather my thoughts and try to figure out what to say to her. How to convince her to do what I need her to.
I take a deep breath and walk towards her door, a sudden spike of anxiety filling me. I have no idea if she’ll agree to help me or not. And if she doesn’t, I don’t know how the rest of the plan will come together. It has been the one hole in my plan all along and now that I’ve found what I hope is a solution for it, I can only dread Widad turning me down. Or worse, telling my father that I came to her at all. But I have to ask. I’ve come too far and done too much to turn back now.
I knock on the door and wait. I know she’s there before I hear any movement. I can feel her magic. It feels nothing like the former witch’s, or Arwa’s. Hers is warm, and feels like an embrace. Like a comfort welcoming you to be nearer to her. The door opens silently and Widad looks at me with weary eyes, but they widen when she realizes it’s me. Then confusion takes over her face.
“Can I come in?” I ask low.
Her eyebrows scrunch before she looks into the room behind her and nods. She opens the door wider and I walk inside. I expected to find great luxury here, being that the crown relies on her to keep our borders safe, and whatever else the King needs. I imagined her room would be full of expensive trinkets, lavish sheets on her bed. But I find something quite different.
Her bed sits on the floor, in the corner of the room, plain white sheets covering it. Her shelves hold only books, some spell books I recognize. A dresser sits across from the bed, and she gestures me to the only chair in the room. I sit there, and she sits on the end of her, albeit, high bed.
Silver hair fans out behind her, so long it spreads across the sheets. Her bluish black skin is almost as dark as the night, and like Maryam’s, has a shine to it, especially on her cheeks and nose. The hooded dark gray cloak she wears outside her room hangs on the wall, her outfit of a simple tunic and loose pants showing she has a much smaller frame than I’d ever thought. She stares at me with her haunting eyes, black where white should be and white where color should be, waiting for me to speak. I clear my throat, trying to will the nerves away.
“I expected your room to be grander.”
“I learned early on when I came here that everything the king gives you comes with a price. So I do not ask for much.”
I nod, knowing this all too well.
“You helped me, in the cell when you didn’t have to. Why?”
“It was the right thing to do. You did not deserve to suffer.”
“My father would say quite the opposite.”
“I’d like to think I have nothing in common with the king,” she spits.
My hope grows and soars with her words. I didn’t know how she felt about the king. The witches have always served whoever ruled, beholden to the crown and what it needs, but I can never truly know how they feel about that servitude. Now I know. She feels about my father the way most do. Disdain.
“What I want to ask of you, whether you refuse or accept, I would beg does not leave this room,” I say quietly.
She arches a brow. “I cannot lie to your father should he ask a question, but I will not speak of it willingly.”
I bite at my lip at learning this. I don’t see why my father would ask her anything, why he would suspect her of having any part in a plan he doesn’t know anything about, but still, it gives me pause. But I have to take the risk.
“The witch from Sameer, Arwa, do you know of a spell to weaken her?”
Her head snaps back. “Why would I want to do that?”
“I have a plan that I will carry out tomorrow. For it to work, I need her weakened, unable to defend herself.”
“And unable to protect King Azar?” she surmises.
“Yes. Can you do it?”
“Why would I want to help start a war?”
“A war is exactly what I am trying to avoid.”
She thinks for a moment, her eyes casting to the side. I hurry to keep speaking, afraid she’s deciding not to help me. I continue, hoping something I say will convince her.
“She will already have lost some of her power just from being here, then more from performing the wedding ceremony. But I don’t know what that means for her power, what even her weakened powers are capable of, and I must be sure that she is beyond harming others or protecting herself and Azar.”
Widad takes a deep breath. “I felt her power at dinner. She is strong. Almost as strong as the former witch of this kingdom.”
That makes me raise a brow. Almost as strong as a witch Widad has already killed.
“I dare not imagine the things Arwa has done to become that powerful.” She shudders, shaking her head. Then she looks me in the eye. “Would this plan free me of your father?”
For a second, I have to wonder exactly what my father does or asks of her. I close my eyes against the images that appear in my mind.
“Yes. It would free all of us of him,” I answer.
She nods then. “I will help you.”