The Sultan and the Storyteller by Lichelle Slater

Eight

Tacitus, the baker, gasped the instant he spotted me. The short, bald old man limped around the counter and wrapped his small arms around me with more joy and excitement than my own father had ever shown.

“Shahira! You’re alive! Esfir, come quick! Shahira is here!”

His wife walked in from the room through the kitchen door and gave me the same welcome as her husband. “We heard rumors you hadn’t died. Madame Black stopped by a moment ago talking of your survival.”

“It’s a miracle, isn’t it?” I took her wrinkled hands.

She bounced our hands in rhythm with her nod. “The entire city has prayed for your safety. Your act of sacrifice was rewarded by the gods indeed. Come! I’ve just made a fresh batch of ma’amoul, your favorite. And who is this young man with you?”

“Shizar,” Zayne said easily and stepped forward to shake their hands. “I came with Queen Shahira from the palace.”

“Ah, undoubtedly to keep an eye on her. She’s a wild one, Shahira.” Esfir winked and her enormous smile brightened her eyes. “Come, sit!” She directed us to one of the three tables in the small shop.

I sat across from Zayne, who leaned on the table and whispered, “What is a ma’amoul?”

“You’ve never had one?” I blinked. “I assumed with you being in the palace, you would taste all sorts of treats.”

“Treat? I do not glutton myself on treats.”

“Well, you’re going to love this. It’s fried dough.” I grinned.

“I suppose one won’t hurt me.” Zayne tilted his head. “Does everyone in Zunbar know you?”

“It’s easy to be recognized when your father is the vizier. Everyone knows who we are. And of course, we own the only apothecary in Zunbar.”

“But you’re known beyond that. People wouldn’t treat you with such openness if you didn’t connect with them on a personal level as well.”

I looked Zayne up and down. “I’m a bit surprised by you.”

He quirked a grin. “Not as heartless as you thought I was?”

I flushed sheepishly. “Maybe not.”

“Here we are! Two ma’amoul just for you.” Esfir set a plate in front of me and another in front of Zayne. “Let me know if you need anything else or if you want another.”

The dome-shaped cookie had been powdered with white sugar and was still warm to the touch when I picked it up. I looked across the table at Zayne. “Go on. Take a bite.”

“I am to use my fingers?”

I chuckled. “Yes, your fingers.”

Zayne mimicked the way I held my ma’amoul and watched me sink my teeth into it before he took a bite of his own. His eyes widened and he paused mid-chew. “Oh wow,” he said around the food in his mouth.

I licked sugar from my top lip, the taste of date and fig still lingering on my tongue. “I told you it was delicious.”

“These are incredible! Perhaps we should have them make a fresh batch for the palace once a week.” Zayne took another bite.

“Why only once?” I teased before I sank my teeth in the warm dough and the sugar dissipated on my tongue.

He laughed. “I’m afraid if we had more, I might end up a very fat sultan!”

Seeing Zayne so relaxed made me smile. Apparently, escaping the stuffiness of the palace for a few hours was good for more than just me.

Esfir and Tacitus came back out before we left and offered us a small bowl of water to wash off our sticky fingers.

“How were they, Shizar?” Esfir asked.

“I’ve never tasted anything like it,” Zayne commented while drying his hand on the offered towel. “Would you be interested in making a fresh batch of those for the palace when we request?”

She blinked. “For everyone in the palace?”

“No, just myself and . . .” He turned to address me, but paused when he realized he may have just revealed his identity.

The old couple’s eyes widened simultaneously.

Zayne closed his open hand and licked a bit of residual sugar from the corner of his mouth when he turned back to them. “Myself and Shahira.”

I stepped in. “I am taking Sultan Zayne to visit places I love. Please don’t tell others that he is here. He didn’t want anyone to act differently because of who he is.”

Tacitus looked to his wife and gulped. “We—we are honored you would visit our humble bakery.”

Zayne tilted his chin down in a polite single nod. “And I would love to visit again.”

“It would be a privilege.”

“Where should we visit next?” I asked as we walked to the door.

“Your sister mentioned Kasim and Jade. Who are they?” Zayne asked.

I grimaced. “It might not be the best idea to visit them.”

“Why not?”

“Jade was supposed to be your wife instead of me.”

Zayne’s brow twitched and he looked me over. “You volunteered to save your friend?”

I nodded.

“Why would you do such a thing? Especially knowing you could die.”

“Because the guards killed their parents in front of them,” I answered. “They were going to kill her brother too. And I was tired of seeing my friends die.”

“But I could have killed you,” he reiterated in a low voice.

I bit my bottom lip. “Perhaps we can just walk around in the bazaar and look at things?”

Seeing I’d changed the subject, Zayne shrugged his shoulder. “We have time before lunch, though if we’re gone all day, I fear your father will not be happy with me.” He rolled his eyes.

“We don’t have to stay all day if you don’t want to,” I said. “The city isn’t that big, at least not where I spent most of my time.”

He shook his head without even looking at me. “I’m enjoying my time out here in the open. We’ll go a few hours, and if he doesn’t discover I’ve escaped the palace walls with you, perhaps we can be out all day.”

We rounded a corner to head down the street to the bazaar and Zayne stopped in his tracks so quickly I bumped into him.

“What is it?” I leaned to the side to peer around him and scanned the crowd to see what he might be staring at. But his gaze wasn’t on the crowd. It was focused on the corner of the street across from us.

Sitting on her knees with a worn purple, blue, and gold rug spread on the ground before her was a gray-haired woman two long braids hanging down her shoulders. She lifted her head and turned her blind eyes in our direction. Silently, she beckoned to us with her wrinkled and bent fingers.

“It can’t be,” Zayne said breathlessly.

I sucked in a breath.

Telama. I had briefly forgotten.

I knew I shouldn’t have used her in a story. But it was too late. The wheels of fate were already turning.

Telama beckoned to us again.

“That cannot be Telama.” Zayne shifted his wide-eyed gaze to me. “It can’t be. She’s exactly as you described her, even the trinkets spread on the ground for her to sell.” Zayne’s voice wasn’t exactly quiet and a man passing by gave us a narrowed-eyed glance.

“I—I just told you a story to help you sleep—”

Zayne rounded his shoulders. “Go to her first.”

I crossed the street and knelt across from the woman. “Good day, Grandmother.”

“Good day indeed,” she said in a voice that had seen many sunrises and sunsets. Her smile was still big, not faded by the years of life she had spent on the earth. “Come to see what I have for you? Very well. I believe . . . yes. What you have in your pocket. Let me see.” She held her hand out to me.

Without hesitation, I dug into my pocket and produced the tiger Zayne had purchased for me.

Telama ran her fingers across the surface and smiled. “He chose well for you. You have questions.”

I drew a shuddered breath. “I have so many questions about so many things.”

She smiled. “I know you do. And I can answer your greatest—your mother’s death was not your fault.” She patted my hand.

Tears welled in my eyes and a lump tightened my throat.

Before me knelt a once-proud woman. A woman who had spent her entire life in selfless service, and yet few knew who she was. And still I felt so inadequate I could barely meet her gaze.

“How could you possibly know?”

“Because I felt her spirit leave this world and I felt the spark of darkness her death birthed on your existence. Darkness like that doesn’t come from a child telling a story.”

I squeezed my eyes shut. I’d held on to that nightmare for too many years.

Telama slid the tiger into my hand and closed her other hand over mine.

I opened my eyes.

“Shahira, my sister in magic, you have hidden your power long enough. It is time to let it shine through and not be ashamed. Our kingdom needs a strong woman to guide it back to its grandeur.” She lowered her voice. “You have much more power than you realize. The power to harm, yes, but more importantly, the power to heal. You can change the entire country if only you tell the right story.”

“Thank you,” I whispered.

“Now I must speak with the sultan.” She lifted her face in Zayne’s direction.

I wiped tears from my cheeks, yet I felt calm. The heavy weight of six years’ worth of guilt from my shoulders lifted.

Zayne reluctantly slid down to his knees at my side. I reached out and rested my hand on his knee. When he looked at me, I gave him a comforting smile.

“For you, Zainullah, son of Hashem, I have something special.” Her hand moved down the row of trinkets and stopped at a charm on a simple gold necklace chain.

The griffin was made from pure gold.

“It was your father’s, was it not?” Telama said to him as she placed it in his hands.

Zayne stared solemnly at the necklace sitting in his hands, his jaw clenched and brows furrowed. He suddenly growled, jumped to his feet, and threw the charm into the sand. “You must be a jinni!” he shouted at Telama and pointed an accusatory finger at me with anger blaring behind his eyes. “Your stories cannot come true.”

“Zayne, I—”

“No! We are returning to the palace immediately. This—this jinni, or whatever she is, can go back from whence she came.” Zayne turned to Telama. “And if you’re still here when the guards arrive, I’ll have them arrest you.” His lip twitched and he turned and stormed up the road.

I picked up the charm from the sand and dusted it off then turned to Telama.

“Return it to him,” Telama instructed. “He is alone and afraid, but on the brink of unlocking his heart. It is up to you now, Shahira, guardian of words. You must find the right story.”

I looked down at the tiger Zayne had given me. His gift was a brief moment of light in the darkness surrounding him. “How can I help my kingdom through stories I don’t know? Words have so much power.”

“The river did not start as a river, but as a trickle of water. You must first believe in yourself.” She reached out and clasped my hand. “I have faith in you.”

I slid the statuette and the griffin charm into my pocket. “Thank you, Telama.”

“May the sun travel with you. Call upon me anytime you need me.” Her blind eyes sparkled.

I followed after Zayne at a distance. He was upset, and I had no desire to upset him further. He walked with his shoulders scrunched up to his ears and he kicked a rock hard enough it scuffed across the road.

I wanted to know why he would give up his father’s necklace, but I didn’t dare ask. I caught up to him at the gate and slipped the griffin charm into his pocket. If Telama had given it to him, there was a reason.

And there was a reason I was queen of Sheblom. Saving my people—and Zayne—rested in my stories.