chapter thirty-two.

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WE ARRIVED AT MARYAM'S ROOM much later than I would have liked.

"Thank you for escorting me, Prince," I murmured. "My apologies for bothering you."

"It's no trouble," he said, smiling. The noon light filtered through the window and as it hit his hair, I almost mistook the devil for a halo.

Slowly, I nodded, walking forward to reach out to the door knob.

Halfway through, though, I paused.

Through the thick, dense door, I could just make out a little bit of giggling.

Who...?

Turning back, I glanced towards the window.

Prince Cairo was still there, still waiting; waiting for what, though, I couldn't be sure. The only thing I could truly tell was that Prince Cairo's head was turned away, and this was just enough privacy for me to lower my head and press my ears closer to the gap.

"Stop." The voice was unmistakably Maryam's. "Anyone could walk in now... No, what are you doing? That's not fair! What are you--"

Another wave of giggling.

Suddenly, that bad feeling I'd had earlier rushed back in.

"Stop it," Maryam laughed again. Her voice had gotten louder, and as the panic set in, I whipped my head back to see Prince Cairo's face.

His head was still turned away.

"What are you doing? You really--"

"Maryam?" I wondered if anyone could hear the way my voice shook.

Abruptly, the laughter inside her room stopped.

"Maryam? It's Aliya," I said. "I've come to visit you. Could you open the door for me?"

My voice had come up a few pitches in tone, had become far sharper and louder than I had ever intended for it to sound. Perhaps it was a symptom of panic, or perhaps it was the underlying dread, the anxiety of hoping things not to be true — but understanding that, at this point, they entirely were — that pitched my voice into the kind that I hated on everybody else.

The silence that followed my words was vicious.

"Maryam?"

"Uh, one moment! I'm changing my clothes!"

But Maryam had never been a good liar.

I could hear the rustle of clothes behind the door, the panicked sounds of footsteps running, the sound of a curtain swishing, the sharp thud of a wardrobe side door being pushed closed.

People liked to say that the coming of intolerable news makes the heart drop one foot at a time, folding and falling and crushable under the heel of a woman's shoe, but I felt the opposite.

With every passing second, my heart rose higher and higher, and by the end of what must have been two minutes and what felt like an eternity, my heart had jumped all the way into my throat.

Somewhere in the back of my mouth, I could've sworn I tasted something fishy.

It was probably bile, but certainly bloody.

In the next moment, Maryam opened the door.

One look was all it took for that fishy taste to spread around my mouth, because even if Maryam had been a good liar, you couldn't hide the signs of a woman being loved.

Not with the swollen pucker of her lips, desperately covered up with red rouge, not with the barely discernible bite mark on her neck, hastily covered up by a mismatched shawl, and certainly not by the guilty, panicked look in her eyes.

I stared at her. She stared at me back, and for a moment, no one spoke.

Maryam opened her mouth. "Aliya—"

"Oh, I didn't realize you weren't feeling good as well," I said. "I'm sorry. Is it a fever?"

Slowly, Maryam blinked, her eyebrows furrowing together. "What—"

I reached out a hand to pinch the side of her waist, before slowly drawing on letters.

Prince here. Act.

"Your face does look a little bit red," I continued. "Would you like me to call a doctor? Get some medicine?"

The moment I finished my words, Maryam's face paled.

"Oh, no need," she said. Her lips were very obviously quivering, but at the very least, she had gotten the hint to play along. "My maid's gone downstairs to get me some breakfast. It's not a fever."

"Oh, is it a cold?"

"Yes. A cold. You see, I accidentally let the windows open last night."

I hummed. "To be fair, your windows do face the northern wind. Be careful; we both know you get sick easily. It wouldn't do to be sick in the Palace."

Maryam's face paled even further. "Oh, you're right. Sorry. That's my fault."

"Just be more careful next time," I said. "Well, I won't bother you anymore. Have a good rest, okay? I'll visit you later on."

"Oh, yes. Okay. Bye."

If Maria had been the one standing behind me, she would surely have raised an eyebrow. Anyone who knew Maryam even the slightest bit would have noticed that her words were too stilted, too formal, her stance too rigid and her voice too raspy for normal.

But it was Prince Cairo behind me, not anyone else, and I was severely betting — and risking — on the fact that so far, I was the only woman I knew of that had gotten even marginally close with him.

Perhaps, he wouldn't notice Maryam's odd mannerisms.

I turned around and walked back to Prince Cairo.

Cairo kept his head turned away from the door, and when I reached his side, I noticed his eyebrows were furrowed, and his eyes were staring down at his right pocket.

If I wasn't mistaken, he had placed his kerchief there.

Maybe I wasn't wrong. Maybe the stain really was blood.

But I didn't even have the time or ability to entertain this notion anymore.

"What happened? Weren't you going to visit a friend?" he asked.

"It seems Maryam isn't feeling well, either," I said, as off-handedly as I could muster.

"Oh?"

"She seems much worse than me, though, I'm quite sure she got infected with a cold. I offered to get her some food but she said her maid has already gone down to get her breakfast, and will probably take some medicine along the way."

"Are you not feeling under the weather as well?"

"Just under the weather, Prince, but I'm fortunate enough not to be sick." I faked a smile. "I'm not selfish to the point that I would make a patient accompany me just to feel a little better. It's not a large matter. It's more important that Maryam feels better."

Prince Cairo paused, finally raising his eyes to level mine.

Inwardly, as I spokeX I prayed that Prince Cairo wouldn't be able to see the bead of sweat on my forehead, the clamminess of my hands, the obvious strangeness of me calling out Maryam's name instead of knocking on the door and in the way the both of us was feeling under the weather well after the passing of the rainy season.

Inwardly, I knew he probably could.

But slowly, Prince Cairo's eyes flitted over my face, before he nodded. "Yes, my butler also went down with a cold the other day," he said, pursing his lips. "I remember I promised you I'd give you a book? What about I give it to you now, then? Perhaps that might cheer you up."

"Oh, yes. That would be great, thank you." This time, the smile that I had on was real. "Please lead the way."

But the moment his back turned, my smile faded.

Oh Maryam... What have you gotten yourself into?

***

Prince Cairo didn't take me into the library this time; he made me wait around the hallway corner as he went in and took the book.

"Apologies, Aliya," he'd said, frowning. "Ismal and I will be using the library later on, so it won't be ideal to take you inside."

The unspoken words there that I never should have been able to figure out was: for confidentiality. And also, to find out who had been sneaking around here late last night.

Of course, I wasn't stupid enough to not grasp a life-saving grace.

There was a long, elegant chaise in the hallway, right underneath a glass-stained, mosaic window, and as I sat down, I'd said, "It's no problem. I'll just wait here."

Prince Cairo had paused. "Alright, we'll discuss it here then."

As he rounded the corner, I had to resist the urge to call out and tell him that discussing the contents of the book with him had never been in my plans.

It did not take long for the prince to come back, a thick book in hand.

"Here," he said. "It's probably not what you expected."

"Certainly not," I muttered, reaching out. The leather on the cover must have been of good quality, but it had been aged and worn with cracks in its spine and nail marks around the edges.

Whoever had last read this book seemed to have loved and loathed it hard.

"Where did you find this?"

Prince Cairo smiled. "I found it wedged in between the library shelves, but I'm not too sure where it came from. As far as I know, no one in the Palace speaks Arabic."

As they wouldn't. It would have been more surprising if there was

I frowned, flipping open the cover, but I couldn't find a name. "Books usually have its writer's name written on the front, don't they?"

Prince Cairo shrugged. "Usually," he said, "but Arabic books are rare to find. Perhaps it's not a custom there to write the name of the author."

"Perhaps."

"What do you think, then? Is it readable? Can you translate it to me?"

I paused. "To say it's readable, it most definitely is, but I'm not that confident in my translation skills. I might not be able to do it well."

That was a lie.

I was proficient; of course I was. I wouldn't be able to admit that I was fluent if I could not even translate basic Arabic into Persian. Mama had even especially tried to teach me how to write out her Arabian stories, but my hands would shake and the words were ineligible, and the both of us very quickly learned that I simply did not have a talent with writing.

Persian letters were sharp, whether they were spoken or written, and the gentle curves of Arabic was not something I ever mastered.

But all of these were details that the Prince did not need to know; not Arabic, not the contents of the book, not my Mama.

It was justified to say that a part of me did not feel him worthy to know my mother's heritage.

"That's alright," Prince Cairo said. "Tell me whatever you would like me to hear. I don't mind."

"Mm." As I flipped to the first entry, I wondered whether my head was lowered enough that he couldn't see the way my eyebrows furrowed.

Perhaps my denial had clouded my judgement earlier, but it seemed that the more I realized his affection, the more obvious it became.

But really, I would rather die than tell anyone this.

I.

Tiring. The world is tiring.

I would never tell anyone else of this, because it's already far too burdensome on myself, let alone on other people. But I am getting too tired, and my thoughts feel like monsters swallowing me whole. I do n't think I can keep them in me for much longer.

I wish there was someone to tell this to. People seem to think I should tell this to my husband, but only Khuda knows about him. He seems perfectly fine until he takes a drink -- only, there is never a day when he does not.

My only saving grace is that it seems no one else knows. I can restrain myself so long as this secret does not come out. After all, this place is small. Once somebody finds out, it's as if everyone does as well. I used to think I'd be able to keep this going so long as the facade doesn't crack, but lately, I haven't been able to think this way anymore.

Perhaps it's him, perhaps it's me, but mostly, I know that it is probably because of her. How I wish I didn't care for her.

No, that is a a lie. It's not that I wish not to care for her, but how I wish she didn't remind me of all the things I used to be. If one says she is everything I am not, then she is everything I used to be.

I don't know if I can stand it.

When did my world get so small?

"What does it say?" Prince Cairo's voice came too close for comfort.

I glanced to the side. Had I swung my head to the right, it might have bumped into his nose.

Slowly, I shifted away. "Not much," I said. "It seems to be a diary of some sort."

Prince Cairo let out a low hum. "Have you figured out who's writing it?"

"Not by name, no. The words do make them sound like a married woman, though, struggling with some sort of household trouble." The idea was both a relief and a disappointment.

There was no doubt that some part of me wished for the book to hold some type of secret -- what secret, though, I wasn't too sure -- something that would have made the Palace seem much less perilous than it looked now, but it seemed that this diary must have belonged to a maid working within the Palace who had lost it by accident.

Still, her worries, though mundane and daily, were comforting to me.

If I imagined hard enough, in a place quiet enough, with the lights dark enough, I could just imagine it to be Mama.

"I don't think--" I started, looking up, but my words died before I could finish.

Ismal had come back, and he was now standing right over the prince's shoulder, staring like a right shoulder's devil.

Slowly, I closed my mouth. "It seems you have a guest, Shahzadeh."

Prince Cairo frowned, turning around, his back growing tenser. When he spoke, his voice was low and heavy. "Ismal."

Ismal didn't wait for the prince to continue, bowing as he muttered out a string of apologies. "My mistake, Shahzadeh, I heard your orders. I understand them. But I've just heard some urgent news, and I don't think it wise for us to bide time."

With every passing word, Ismal's face continued to grow red, as if the effort of speaking had exerted him far too much.

By the end of it, though, the aura around the prince only seemed to grow colder. "If you heard my orders, then why have you come now?"

Ismal froze. "Shahzadeh, we don't have time. We must discuss this now. Privately. It's of utmost importance."

I didn't have to think to know that the hostility in his voice was directed to me.

"And yet, I told you we would discuss it later."

"Shahzadeh, please--"

"We will not get anything done if we do it now. Is it really so hard to wait a couple more hours?" Prince Cairo glanced out the window. "Ismal, who do you work for?"

"Shahzadeh--"

"I think you've forgotten your relationship to me." Slowly, his fingers tapped on the chaise armrest. It was the only other sound I could hear, for at this point, I didn't even think I was breathing. "Ismal, I hold your life."

For a while after that, it seemed Ismal had stopped breathing as well.

And then--

"Thank you for accompanying me this afternoon Shahzadeh," I said, slowly getting up. "You've flattered me. It seems... that you have more pressing matters to see through."

The tapping on the armrest paused. "Are you leaving already?"

I smiled. "I don't wish to bother you any further. It seems Ismal needs you more than I do."

Though I was not looking in his direction, I could feel Ismal boring holes into the side of my face.

Perhaps he was grateful, and more probably, he was cursing me in his heart. I didn't know, and I didn't think I cared.

I just needed to make sure that whatever else would happen, I would not be the victim in the fire.

Prince Cairo looked up, seeming to contemplate, before sighing. "It was a pleasure. Take the book with you; it'll be of no use in the library."

I nodded. "Thank you for your generosity, Shahzadeh. I'll be taking my leave. Goodbye."

I didn't wait for him to answer, and my steps were quicker than they were when I came.

There was no doubt in my mind that whatever they needed to discuss was an important one, and certainly one I had no access to -- the kind of discussion I wished to hear the most. Perhaps listening in would have solved this place's mysteries, and perhaps a few weeks or even days ago, I would still have been tempted enough to eavesdrop.

But the Palace affairs was a double-edged sword, and I had finally learned that I was neither masochistic or brave enough to try my luck.

Besides. There were other, more pressing problems to be dealt with.

Resolutely, I turned the corner and made my way back up to Maryam.

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