Quickly, she went on, "Husari was meant to be one of them, Father. That's why he wanted me to come so quickly this morning. He'd hoped to be able to attend at the castle. Now he's the only one who wasn't killed. And it's possible the Muwardis—there are five hundred new troops in the city today—may come after him. So I've arranged to have him moved here. Velaz is bringing him now, in disguise. I asked Mother's permission," she added.
No mistaking it this time. Ishak had turned his head perceptibly towards her as if drawn against his will to hear what was being said. Jehane became aware that she was near to crying. She swallowed, fighting that. "Husari seems ... different, Father. I hardly know him. He's calm, almost cold. He's angry, Father. He plans to leave the city tonight. Do you know why?" She risked the question, and waited until she saw the small inquiring motion of his head before answering: "He said he intends to destroy Cartada."
She swiped at a treacherous tear. Four years of monologues in this room, and now, on the eve of her going away, he had finally acknowledged her presence.
Jehane said, "I've decided to leave with him, Father."
She watched. No movement, no sign. But then, slowly, his head turned back away from her until she was looking, again, at the profile she had watched for all these years. She swallowed again. In its own way, this, too, was a response. "I don't think I'll stay with him, I don't even know where he's going or what he plans. But somehow, after this afternoon, I just can't pretend nothing has happened. If Husari can decide to fight Almalik, so can I."
There. She had said it. It was spoken. And having said this much, Jehane found that she could say nothing more. She was crying, after all, wiping away tears.
She closed her eyes, overwhelmed. Until this very moment it might have been possible to pretend she was about to do nothing more than what her father had done many times: leave Fezana to pursue contracts and experience in the wider world. If a doctor wanted to build a reputation that was the way to do it. Declaring a course of vengeance against a king was a path to something entirely different. She was also a woman. Her profession might ensure her some measure of safety and respect, but Jehane had lived and studied abroad. She knew the difference between Ishak going into the world and his daughter doing so. She was acutely conscious that she might never be in this room again.
"Ache ve'rach wi'oo!"
Jehane's eyes snapped open. What she saw stupefied her. Ishak had turned sideways in his chair to face her. His face was contorted with the effort of speech, the hollow sockets of his eyes trained on where he knew her to be sitting. Her hands flew to her mouth.
"What? Papa, I don't ... "
"Ache ve'rach!" The mangled sounds were anguished, imperative.
Jehane hurtled from her chair and dropped to her knees on the carpet at her father's feet. She seized one of his hands and felt, for the first time in four years, his firm strong grasp as he squeezed her fingers tightly.
"I'm sorry. I'm sorry! Again, please. I don't understand!" She felt frantic, heartbroken. He was trying to speak clearly, his whole body twisting with effort and frustration.
"Ve'rach! Ve'rach!" His grip was fierce, willing her comprehension, as if sheer intensity could make the tragically distorted words intelligible.
"He is telling you to take your servant Velaz with you, Jehane. Under the circumstances, a wise suggestion."
Jehane wheeled as if stabbed, springing to her feet as she turned to the window. Then she froze. She could feel the blood leave her face.
Sitting sideways on the broad window ledge, regarding them calmly, knees bent and both hands wrapped around them, was Ammar ibn Khairan. And of course if he was here they were already lost, because with him he would have brought—"I am alone, Jehane. I don't like the Muwardis."
She fought for control. "No? You just let them do your killing for you? What does liking have to do with it? How did you get here? Where is—" She stopped herself just in time.
It didn't seem to matter. "Husari ibn Musa should be approaching the Kindath Gates just about now. He's dressed as a wadji, if you can imagine it. An eccentric disguise, I'd say. It's a good thing Velaz is there to vouch for him or they'd never let him in." He smiled, but there was something odd about his eyes. He said, "You have no reason to believe me, but I had nothing to do with what happened this afternoon. Neither did the prince."
"Hah!" Jehane said. The most sophisticated rejoinder she could manage for the moment.
He smiled again. This time it was an expression she remembered from the morning. "I am duly refuted, I suppose. Shall I fall out of the window now?"
And just then, for Jehane the most utterly unexpected event of an appalling day took place. She heard a gasping, strangled noise behind her and turned, terrified.
To realize, after a moment, that what she was hearing was her father's laughter.
Ammar ibn Khairan swung neatly down from the window and landed softly on the carpeted floor. He walked past Jehane and stood before her father's heavy chair.
"Ishak," he said gently.
"Ammar," her father said, almost clearly.
The murderer of the last khalif of Al-Rassan knelt before him. "I had hoped you might remember my voice," he said. "Will you accept apologies, Ishak? I ought to have been here long ago, and certainly not in this fashion, shocking your daughter and without leave of your wife."
Ishak reached out a hand by way of reply, and ibn Khairan took it. He had removed his gloves and rings. Jehane was too stunned to even begin to formulate her thoughts.
"Muwaaris? Wha happ!"
Ibn Khairan's voice was grave. "Almalik is a subtle man, as I think you know. He wanted Fezana quelled, obviously. He also seems to have had a message for the prince." He paused. "And another for me."
Jehane found her voice. "You really didn't know about this?"
"I wouldn't bother lying to you," Ammar ibn Khairan said, precisely, without even looking at her.
Flushing, Jehane realized that it was, of course, quite true. Why would he care what she thought? But in that case, there was another obvious question, and she wasn't especially inclined to accept rebukes from men who climbed in through the windows of their home: "What are you doing here then?"
This time he did turn. "Two reasons. You ought to be able to guess at one of them." Out of the corner of her eye Jehane saw her father slowly nodding his head.
"Forgive me, I'm not disposed to play at guessing games just now." She tried to make it sting.
Ibn Khairan's expression was unruffled. "It isn't a game, Jehane. I'm here to ensure that Husari ibn Musa is not killed by the Muwardis this evening, and that the physician, more brave than intelligent perhaps, who is assisting him to escape, is likewise enabled to live beyond tonight."
Jehane felt suddenly cold. "They are coming for him, then?"
"Of course they are coming for him. The list of invited guests was known, and some of the Muwardis can read. They were instructed to execute every man on that list. Do you think they'd forgo the pleasure of killing even one, or risk Almalik's reaction to failure?"
"They'll go to his house?"
"If they aren't there by now. Which is why I went before them. Husari had already left, with Velaz. The servants and slaves had been sent to their quarters, except the steward, who was evidently trusted. A mistake. I demanded of him where his master was and he told me he'd just left, disguised as a wadji, with the Kindath doctor's servant."
She had been cold before; she was as ice now.
"So he will tell the Muwardis?"
"I don't think so," said Ammar ibn Khairan.
There was a silence. It was not a game at all.