The Healer's Warrior (22 page)

Kaliq tried to nod but he was in too much pain. “Yes,
your
Highness,” he breathed, then coughed up blood.

Tareq stood. “Escort him out of here.” He followed behind the guards out to the hallway as they carried Kaliq away. His assistant was standing in the hallway. Just the person he wanted to see.
“
Asif
.
I don’t want
Nassim
Alshafar
in my kingdom another minute. He is money hungry and bloodthirsty. He is a danger. Get rid of him.”

“A public execution or an assassination, your Highness?”

His stomach jumped. “No, no. Neither. Banish him. And I need to know how Kaliq was able to get past the gates and into my palace. Either the guards weren’t doing their jobs or someone in my staff was working with him.”

“I’ll examine it, King Tareq.”

“Thank you.” Tareq turned at the sound of heavy footsteps.

“Tareq!”
Jem’ya called out.

A guard was chasing after her. “She ran out of her room, your Highness!” the guard explained.

“Stop,” Tareq ordered the guard. Jem’ya ran up to him. “Jem’ya, what is the matter?” He searched her reddened eyes.

“I thought something happened to you.” She looked him over as she caught her breath. “Are you hurt?”

“No. I’m fine.” Tareq took hold of her hands and gently squeezed them.

“Someone attacked you?” Jem’ya gasped at the sight of his knuckles. She placed her palms on top of his hands. Tareq closed his eyes at the sensation of her healing powers pulling the soreness from his raw, broken skin. He opened his eyes.

“An ex-warrior got into my room. He was hired as a hit man. Don’t worry, Jem’ya. I’ll keep you safe.” He rubbed his hands up and down her exposed shoulders. She still looked frightened. “Jem’ya…” He leaned forward and kissed her temple. “I won’t let anything happen to you. I’ll double the amount of guards around the palace. Whatever you need, I will not hesitate to give it to you.”

“I need
you
to be safe. Being king…It’s as if you are a walking target. I don’t see how the stress of ruling this kingdom can do anything but aggravate your condition. I won’t be here all the time to soothe you. I fear a repeat of last night. I fear,” her voice trembled, “that the next man hired to take your life will succeed.”

Uneasy, Tareq nodded.

Jem’ya sighed. “I’m sorry. You already know these things. I don’t know why I am criticizing the life you’ve waited so long to have and are proud to have.”

“You say these things because you are concerned for me. I’m honored that you care, but I urge you not to be so worrisome,
Mahsalom
.” His fingers stroked the arch of her ear and tenderly tugged at her bare earlobe. “I don’t want you to be so…invested in me, because I will disappoint you somehow, as I have in the past.” He let his hands fall away from her. “It’s best that you go home. You shouldn’t be in this kind of environment, Jem’ya.”

Jem’ya took his right hand and placed her other hand over his battered knuckles. Her palm tingled as she lifted the pain. She gazed up at him. “I’m not leaving you.”

Tareq’s pleasing pink lips stretched into a soft smile.

Jem’ya smiled too and worked her magic on his other hand.

Tareq didn’t understand why Jem’ya wanted to preserve their friendship after everything he’d done. She had told her mother those negative things about him, which left him questioning whether they’d ever truly been friends at all. It was hard to believe that he was of such importance to her that she would volunteer to stay in the palace just to keep him company. He mistrusted her affection, yet he was utterly unable to refuse it. Her kindness was bread and water for his heart and mind.

“Um, excuse me, your Highness.”

Jem’ya and Tareq were snapped out of their private moment.
Asif
had returned.
“Yes,
Asif
?”

“I wanted to let you know that we’ve finally found the trunk with your mother’s belongings that was bequeathed to you in your father’s will. You’ll find it in your study. It was buried among hundreds and hundreds of items in the cellar. It’s a maze down there. A person could go missing in that place,”
Asif
laughed.

The humor was lost on Tareq and Jem’ya. “Thank you,
Asif
,” he murmured through the shame. Tareq turned to Jem’ya. “I hope to spend more time with you later today.”

Jem’ya nodded. “Sure.” She saw Bahja hurrying down the hall toward Tareq.

“Tareq!”
Bahja called out. “Are you okay?”

Jem’ya smiled as she watched Bahja worry over him the way she had. Jem’ya walked back to her bedroom on the east wing.
He was in control. You can’t let him do that again.
Her goal was to be sweet to him in order to seduce him into liberating the Black African states under his rule, but when she heard Tareq was in danger and saw him standing weary and disheveled in the hall, she was overcome with true concern and real longing. Though she knew that Tareq was driven by lust and possessiveness rather than love, just to feel him kiss her face or to see the way he gazed into her eyes made her crumble and made her question everything.
No more of that. This is not about anyone’s feelings. This is about winning. There is so much at stake. I cannot lose to him now.

Tareq swiped his hand across the dusty lid of the trunk. The dark wood was plain, without engravings or decoration. He noticed the gashes on the front of the box where a lock used to be. Slowly, he lifted the cover. There was clothing, a few dresses and nightgowns. He studied each one, carefully refolded them, and set them aside on top of his desk. He had no memory of his mother wearing any of them. Underneath the clothes were some baby items: little shoes, a lock of hair, a rattle, and two blankets. He didn’t know what was his and what
was Qadir’s
. He dug further into the chest and found six brushes. A wave of sorrow washed over him. He picked up one of the silver brushes. It was so small in his hand now. When he was young, he needed to hold the handle of the brush with both hands as he and Qadir helped Mother brush her long black hair sometimes after her bath. Cold drips of water would fall from her hair and tickle his arms. She would smile proudly and tell her little boys they were the best at brushing her hair, better than the maidservants.
Would she be proud of anything I’ve done now? Would she say I am better than my father?

Lost in thought, Tareq rummaged around the trunk some more. He found two ring boxes. One ring he recognized. It was her wedding band. It was gold, set with an emerald of a striking size. There was an inscription inside the band:
You Are My Queen Forever.
Love, Your King
.
His father’s romantic words disturbed him. The other ring was gold too, but it had a pearl at the center, surrounded by red rubies and yellow diamonds. Tareq found the ring very beautiful, so he placed it in a drawer of his desk.

He came across a graphite sketch of a vineyard, signed
Mariza
Manzetti
.
Her given name
.
Tareq guessed his mother had depicted a vineyard in
Tusci
that she remembered fondly.  He’d never seriously tried to draw anything. Maybe he would be good at it like her. He wanted to visit
Tusci
and find that vineyard. The contents of the trunk were teaching him so much about his mother. He was happy his father hadn’t destroyed all of her belongings. Tareq kept having the urge to call Qadir into his study to see these things.
Look at this, Qadir! Remember these?

He saw a gold chain trailing out from beneath the sketch. He pulled it up out of the trunk.
At the end of the chain hung a gold pendant.
He stared at the teardrop shaped gold cage with the large pearl inside for a long time. His heart was pounding. It was surreal.
Mother’s necklace looks exactly like the earrings I bought for Jem’ya.
He rubbed the chain between his fingers to make the pendant spin back and forth.
Mother and Jem’ya…They were each precious pearls trapped in this palatial cage I call a home.

Moosa
Hassan’s wise, gruff voice rushed into Tareq’s thoughts:
“She is called
Pearl.”

“My wife will be… She’s… Jem’ya?”

Suddenly, things became so clear, destined, beautiful and, finally, impossible. “This is crazy. She wouldn’t...” He shook his head, but his heart was beating
maybe, maybe, maybe.

Qadir chased pleasure but he was never fulfilled. Tareq understood now that what Qadir really wanted was love. His brother was a humorous, generous, good man. He could have easily found a loving woman to spend his life with, but he was afraid and felt unworthy, just like Tareq did, so he accepted a woman’s body but never her love.

Their mother and father’s relationship had been a damaging, paralyzing example of love and commitment. Tareq feared allowing his self to be weak for a woman, thinking he’d only end up hurt, and would become as bitter and cruel as his father had. Tareq’s worst fear was to love a woman to death.

That wasn’t love.
His father didn’t kill his mother because he loved her. He killed her because his ego was bigger than his heart. Love was not to blame. Tareq could now see how his low self-esteem and his fear had inflated his own ego, and he realized what foolish pride had done to his life. If he hadn’t let his ego tell him he didn’t need a woman’s affection, he and Jem’ya could have been happily together a year ago. He never would’ve gone looking for a fight against
Cambe
rebels to feed his ego, he never would have ended up in
Tikso
, never would have killed
Kibwe
, and never would have taken Jem’ya from her family.

Life is too short to deny myself and hurt the people I care about.
Perhaps he was misinterpreting the prophecy, but even if Jem’ya was not supposed to be his wife, he knew with clarity that she fulfilled him like no one else, and he wasn’t going to allow his ego to destroy their closeness anymore.

No longer contented to sleep the day away, Tareq changed out of his pajamas and into white pants and a yellow tunic shirt.
Asif
came to his door and they spoke for a moment. Then Tareq asked a passing maidservant if she knew where Jem’ya was. She directed him to the palace library. He hurried through the halls to see her. When he entered the library and saw Jem’ya laughing with his translator at a table, Jem’ya turned in her seat at the sound of Tareq’s footsteps. “Tareq,
wa’alaydah
,” she smiled shyly.
“Kef
halak
?”

“Wow,” Tareq grinned. “Perfect.
Wa’alaydah
,
Jem’ya.
I’m well,
shila
kef.
”

“That means ‘Thank you’, right?”

Tareq nodded. He looked to the skinny, wild-haired translator. “You are teaching her our language?”

“Yes,
your
Highness. Is that permitted?”

“Yes, of course. I’m afraid I have been too self-absorbed to teach her myself.” Jem’ya shook her head with a soft smile on her face. His heart fluttered as he gazed at her. Jem’ya’s beauty was greater than he remembered. Before, his ego had stopped him from really seeing and fully appreciating her features. Now, his palms were sweating. “Could I have a minute with Lady Jem’ya, please?”

“Certainly, King Tareq.”
The scholar stood, bowed and left.

Tareq sat down in the chair next to Jem’ya. “You are in better spirits now?”

“Yes.
Kef?
” she laughed.

He smiled, wanting to give her a big kiss on the cheek but restraining himself. “I am feeling better too. I wanted to reassure you that you are safe in my home. I learned that the assassin dug under the wall of the gates and somehow got past the guards. It will never happen again. Okay? You are more than my guest, and more than my healer.”