With the failing health of the emperor, the imperial counselor was the most powerful man in the empire.
“How thoughtful,” Ounyal’am managed, as he shifted a few steps for a better view of the corridor. Beyond the counselor and the four of his own guards stood two of the emir’s men. And there was the emir himself along with his one and only daughter.
Ounyal’am quickly turned his gaze away from A’ish’ah.
“Welcome, Falah,” he said, using the emir’s given name.
The emir stepped forward beside the counselor and bowed his head. “My prince.”
“Enter, Honored Emir,” Ounyal’am said, and then looked to a’Yamin. “You may go, though I thank you for your trouble.”
“My prince,” a’Yamin answered in his grating voice. “The emir serves your father well and has my utmost respect.”
Ounyal’am could not help clenching his jaw; of course a’Yamin valued a blunt instrument like Mansoor.
The counselor bowed and backed away before turning down the outer corridor.
“Wait out here,” Mansoor ordered his guards, as if the prince’s own would ever allow them to enter. He waved his daughter in ahead, which was not customary. Nazhif quickly crossed the chamber to close the door behind them, though he remained inside the room.
Ounyal’am faced the emir and his daughter as a different discomfort flooded through him: unwanted guilt. This worsened at the sight of her gaze lowered to the ornate tile floor. Of all the noblewomen thrust at him, she was different.
A’ish’ah was agonizingly shy and perhaps pained even more by how she was used. In past visits, she had barely been able to look up at him, much less try to charm him as others did. And this was partly why he dreaded seeing her most of all among the would-be wives.
Delicately built, she was so short that she had to lift her head to meet his eyes on the few occasions she had managed to speak to him at all. Today, she was dressed in white pantaloons beneath a matching split skirt of floor length. Her sleeveless lavender tunic dropped past her narrow hips almost to her knees. True silver embroidery at the tunic’s stiff neckline showed beneath her long black hair, and both glimmered in the early sunlight flooding through the balcony’s archways behind Ounyal’am.
Emir Mansoor was not known for kindness to his children. He had already disinherited one son for disobedience. A’ish’ah was one more thing Ounyal’am had not needed to worry about this day, but he grew anxious that she might suffer if her father became displeased with her.
“Come. I have had tea and coffee prepared,” he said formally, gesturing toward the table settings and cushions waiting in one curtained corner of the large chamber. “Emir, I understand you have a report on the eastern provinces in Abul.”
This was a thin excuse at best. Officers seldom reported to anyone but the emperor, and now that Ounyal’am’s father was hidden away in his decline, they reported directly to a’Yamin—not to the imperial heir.
“Yes, my prince,” Mansoor answered.
Ounyal’am half turned but purposefully paused, as if at a sudden thought. “Emir, the morning has passed too quickly. The family gardener asked me to approve a new bed of hibiscus he is growing for my father’s upcoming birthday celebration. Would you mind taking refreshment while waiting?”
As expected, the emir frowned, though he certainly would not decline.
Ounyal’am added, “Perhaps your daughter would care to see the gardens for herself?”
At that, A’ish’ah looked up with sudden fright in her eyes.
Singling her out for any private moment with him would be seen as showing her favor. He had never done so for any of the other young women dangled in front of him. As expected, Mansoor’s frown vanished, and he offered a deep nod.
“Of course, my prince,” he answered. “I shall wait upon you here as long as needed.”
At only a nod from his prince, Nazhif reopened the outer door.
Ounyal’am turned and nodded to A’ish’ah in entreaty. Such favor to her would not go unmentioned later by her father. More so to any competitor seeking an imperial alliance through marriage. But at least for this day, she would have nothing to fear from Mansoor. He would be too elated with false aspirations.
A’ish’ah barely glanced up. As she took a small step toward the door, Ounyal’am turned and led the way as was proper. As the pair stepped out and down the corridor, the prince’s four current guards fell in behind, their commander following at the rear.
“Have you seen the gardens before?” Ounyal’am asked.
“No, my prince,” A’ish’ah answered softly.
“They are a respite of mine.”
The palace was laid out in a large square with the rest of the vast grounds spreading around it. Along the rim of the grounds were buildings, such as barracks, stables, a water house, and the like. The highest walls in the empire enclosed everything. The center of the palace proper sported the great domed chamber where audiences were held. Directly behind that was an open outdoor square in which bloomed the imperial gardens.
The emperor had often called it a shameless waste of water.
Ounyal’am loved it and used his personal stipend to keep it funded.
After turning another corner, he paused for Nazhif to step ahead, open another broad door, and then led the way out into the open-air arboretum.
Indeed, the garden required a good deal of water.
Subtle paths of plain sandstone were lined with chrysanthemums, hibiscus, peonies, and even wild roses brought from the northern territories. Between these were interspersed flowering and fig-bearing trees, as well as three ponds with brightly colored carp, a type of large fish said to have been brought from the unknown continent westward across a seemingly endless ocean. Some of the trees had been sculpted in their growth to form shaded archways over the paths.
Ounyal’am had few vices and refused to deny himself this one.
“You are pleased?” he asked.
A’ish’ah slowly nodded, just once, though her eyes were fully wide. She caught him watching her and dropped her gaze again.
“Few would not be pleased ... my prince,” she whispered.
Such a diplomatic answer was disappointing. It should not have been, but it was, and he strolled on.
Behind him, he heard Nazhif’s quickly whispered orders to the other guards. Walking the paths of the garden would make it impossible for his contingent to keep him in their sight. Only Nazhif would follow five steps behind while the others spread out to encompass the gardens and watch all entrances.
Ounyal’am did not like doing this to his men, especially Nazhif, but he needed these moments of release. As A’ish’ah fell in beside him, though a half step behind, he forgot her presence for a moment. His thoughts turned to other matters, for the sight of a’Yamin in the doorway had left him anxious.
Throughout his life he had witnessed the power plays and schemes at court. He had never seen it quite so poisonous as now, when he had become the center of it all as his father lay dwindling in seclusion.
A’Yamin had both the ear and trust of Ounyal’am’s father. He also chose who, if anyone, saw Emperor Kanal’am. The imperial counselor commanded the loyalty of the imperial guard in the emperor’s absence. And all of this made a number of matters ... difficult.
Of course Ounyal’am professed concern for his father; to speak the truth would have been unacceptable—and dangerous. The counselor heard everything eventually. And unless Ounyal’am married at least once, he might not be “acceptable” as heir when his father died.
A struggle would then occur.
So long as the emperor clung to life, Ounyal’am was regent only in title. A’Yamin controlled the empire, and he was not a man who easily relinquished ultimate power. The differences in how they would each rule were stark; there was no room for both philosophies.