Lost to the Desert Warrior

‘You’ve been to the souk again? Do you have no sense of danger?’

Yasmin ignored her and her voice was an awed whisper. ‘They say his heart is frozen into ice and only the right woman can melt it. It’s a bit like the legend of the Sword in the Stone you read me when I was little.’

‘Oh, Yasmin, grow up! A man’s heart cannot be frozen into ice unless he finds himself lost in Antarctica with insufficient equipment. A heart is responsible for pumping blood around the body. It cannot be “frozen” or “broken”.’ Exasperated, Layla wondered how two sisters could be so different. Their experience was the same, except that Layla had protected Yasmin from the worst of her father’s actions. ‘This isn’t legend, this is real. Stop romanticising everything.’

‘They think he will come.’ This time there was an undertone of excitement in her sister’s voice. ‘He has been playing a waiting game while our father and Hassan plotted. With our father dead, he has to have a plan for taking up his rightful place as Sheikh. Hassan is terrified. The council is terrified. They have extra guards on the doors at night. They’ve sent patrols into the desert, although goodness knows why because everyone knows Raz Al Zahki knows the desert better than anyone. No one is sleeping because they’re afraid he might enter the Citadel at night and murder them in their beds. Frankly, I wish he’d just get on with it. If I bumped into him in the dark I’d show him the way.’

Layla covered her sister’s lips with her fingers. ‘You need to be careful what you say.’

‘Why? What else can they do to me? They’re splitting us up! I’m going to America and you’re going to marry Hassan. How much worse can it get?’

‘I’m not marrying Hassan.’ Layla made her decision. ‘I’m not going to let that happen.’

‘How can you stop it? Hassan can only be the next ruler if he marries you. That’s a pretty powerful motivation.’

‘Then he mustn’t marry me.’

Yasmin looked at her with pity. ‘He is going to make you.’

‘If he can’t find me, he can’t make me.’ Not daring to give too much thought to what she was about to do, Layla sprinted to her father’s dressing room and removed a couple of robes. She thrust one at her sister. ‘Put this on. Cover your hair and as much of your face as you can. Wait here for me behind the curtain until I come and fetch you. I need to get something from the library before we leave.’

‘The library? How can you think of books right now?’

‘Because a book can be many things—a friend, an escape, a teacher—’ Layla broke off and hoped her sister didn’t notice her high colour. ‘Never mind. The important thing is that we’re going away from here. It will be like the game of Hide we played as children.’ She caught her sister’s horrified glance and wished she hadn’t used that reference. Both of them knew what that game had really meant. She changed the subject quickly. ‘Those horses you love so much—can you actually ride one if you have to?’

‘Of course!’

Her sister’s hesitation was so brief Layla told herself she’d imagined it.

‘And I’ve read extensively on the theory of riding and the history of the Arabian horse, so between us I’m sure we’ll be fine.’ She hoped she sounded more convincing than she felt. ‘We’ll take the back route to the stables and ride into the desert from there.’

‘The desert? Why are we riding into the desert?’

Layla felt her mouth move even though her brain was telling her this was a terrible idea. ‘We’re going to find Raz Al Zahki.’

* * *

The wind blew across the desert, bringing with it whispers of the Sheikh’s death.

Raz Al Zahki stood at the edge of the camp and stared into the darkness of the night. ‘Is it truth or rumour?’

‘Truth.’ Salem stood next to him, shoulder to shoulder. ‘It’s been confirmed by more than one source.’

‘Then it is time.’ Raz had learned long before to keep his feelings buried, and he kept them buried now, but he felt the familiar ache of tension across his shoulders. ‘We leave for the city tonight.’

Abdul, his advisor and long-time friend stepped forward. ‘There is something else, Your Highness. As you predicted, Hassan plans to marry the eldest princess in a matter of hours. Preparations for the wedding are already underway.’

‘Before her father’s body is even cold?’ Raz gave a cynical laugh. ‘Her grief clearly overwhelms her.’

‘Hassan must be at least forty years older than her,’ Salem murmured. ‘One wonders what she gains from the match.’

‘There is no mystery there. She continues to live in a palace and enjoy benefits that should never have been hers to begin with.’ Raz stared at the horizon. ‘She is the daughter of the most ruthless man who ever ruled Tazkhan. Don’t waste your sympathy.’

‘If Hassan marries the girl it will be harder for you to challenge the succession legally.’

‘Which is why I intend to make sure the wedding does not take place.’

Abdul shot him a startled look. ‘So you intend to go ahead with your plan? Even though what you’re suggesting is—’

‘The only option available.’ Raz cut him off, hearing the hardness in his own tone. It was the same hardness that ran right through him. Once, he’d been capable of warmth, but that part of him had died along with the woman he’d loved. ‘We have considered every other option, and—’ He broke off as he heard a commotion in the darkness and then lifted a hand as his bodyguards emerged silently to flank him.

They were men who had followed him for fifteen years, since the brutal slaying of his father. Men who would die for him.

Abdul thrust himself in front of Raz and that gesture touched him more than any other, because his trusted advisor was neither physically fit nor skilled with weapons.

Gently, but firmly, he moved him to one side, but Abdul protested.

‘Go. Go! It could be the attempt on your life we have been expecting.’

Aware that Salem had his hand on his weapon, Raz fixed his gaze on the slim figure of a boy whose arms were gripped by two of his men. ‘If my death were the objective then surely they would give the responsibility to someone I could not so easily crush.’

‘We found him wandering in the desert along the border with Zubran. He appears to be alone. He says he has a message for Raz Al Zahki.’

Knowing that his men were protecting his identity, Raz signalled for them to bring their captive forward.

His hands were tied and as they released him the boy stumbled and fell to his knees. Raz stared down at him, noticing absently that his robes swamped his thin body.

It was Salem who spoke. Salem, his brother, who rarely left his side. ‘What message do you have for Raz Al Zahki, boy?’

‘I have to speak to him in person.’ The words were mumbled and barely audible. ‘And I have to be alone when I do it. What I have to say is just for him and no other.’

The guard closest to him gave a grunt of disgust. ‘Someone like you wouldn’t get close enough to Raz Al Zahki to wave from a distance, let alone be alone with him, and you should be grateful for that. He’d eat you alive.’

‘I don’t care what he does to me as long as he hears what I have to say. Take me to him. Please.’

The boy kept his head bowed and something in the set of those narrow shoulders drew Raz’s attention.

Ignoring Salem’s attempts to hold him back, he stepped forward. ‘So you’re not afraid?’

There was a brief pause. The wind blew across the desert, whipping up sand and catching the edges of the boy’s robe. He clutched it desperately.

‘Yes, I am afraid. But not of Raz Al Zahki.’

‘Then you need to be educated.’ The guard dragged his captive to his feet and the boy gasped in pain. ‘We’ll keep him here tonight and question him again in the morning.’

‘No!’ The boy struggled frantically in the man’s grip. ‘By morning it will be too late. I have to speak to him now. Please. The future of Tazkhan depends on it.’

Raz stared at the boy, half shrouded by robes that were too big for him. ‘Take him to my tent.’