Tahirah drew herself together. Her power was contained and focused. Control was the key here, control and mastery of herself. She needed to buy time for the girls to escape, and yet it was imperative that she warn the sultan before he was ambushed. She wrapped herself in her white cloak, opened the door and walked down the staircase to the room below. The wazir was there, glaring at her servants. Six of the Alhambra guards were behind him. “Seize her,” he said. “She is a witch and a traitor. She hides unnatural things in her room. Even the sultan’s daughter is under her spells.”
Tahirah sighed as she might with a particularly difficult child. “This is unnecessary, al-Rahmid. You overstep yourself. I am under the sultan’s protection. No one, not even you, can defy that.” She smiled at the guards, who hesitated to approach a woman and one so well respected at that. “Please, go forth and search. There is nothing to find. And if two of you would stay near—” She searched for the right words. “al-Rahmid is not himself.”
He turned red. “Witch, you will await the sultan’s return in the dungeons.”
She raised her palm toward the approaching guards and quietly sat down. Her voice lowered, magic rolling out to resonate with their sense of honor. “There is no need for you to accost me, a woman not of your family.” She looked at each of them in turn. “As I am accused of something that cannot be proved, I would not put you in jeopardy of our laws. I will not try to escape or run. Here I am, and I will remain here until the Commander of the Army comes. He has been summoned and will be here forthwith. If you wish to wait with me, I will have tea ordered.” She gave them an expectant look before sending a servant scurrying off for tea. The guards shifted nervously and glanced back at the wazir.
Eyes fixed on her, he spoke to the guard, his voice menacing, “Leave us. Two of you stand guard at the door. Let no one enter or leave.” The guards cast a quick look at Tahirah, who looked serenely back, and then they bowed out of the room.
“al-Rahmid,” Tahirah said once they were alone. “Do not continue down this path.”
“Enough, woman!” He took three quick strides across the room. But through the walls, a ghostly lion slithered, and then another, until all twelve lions had entered. A low steady growl came from them as they circled the room. Tahirah breathed a sigh of relief. Though the wazir’s magic still held, it was slipping. The lions no longer slept, and their presence gave her confidence. She tapped the ground lightly with her foot. Her magic spilled across the room, and the floor before her cracked and glowed red-hot. The wazir came to a halt a pace away staring at the fire and the lions.
“This is not well done, al-Rahmid. You forget who I am. I know what you plan. It cannot be.” She pierced him with her gaze. “The time has not yet come for the fall of Granada, and you are not to be the agent of it. All you are doing is causing pain and suffering, betraying those who trusted you. Turn from this now. There is still hope for you.”
As he stood, flickers of flame inched toward him, slowly circling round. The lions roared louder. Fear and pride crossed his face. “This will not contain me for long. What are you scheming?”
The door thundered with blows.
“Sitti, Tahirah, are you within?” Layla’s father, the Commander of the Army, called out.
She looked steadfastly at al-Rahmid. “Choose now, and choose carefully.”
His face contorting, he backed away. “I have chosen. This day is mine!” He turned and strode quickly out the easterly door.