Jauhar ground her teeth watching her husband’s favorite daughter playing in the shade with a child Jauhar did not recognize. She reached a hand into her pocket and squeezed the infernal shoe Asha had hidden among her things.
Jauhar had a feeling the girl Asha was playing with was some sort of magical creature. And the looks she kept casting Jauhar’s way seemed to confirm it. Jauhar was uncertain what to do. The king had ordered that Asha be at the ball. And if Jauhar were to expose her for the fraud she was, there was a great chance that Azize would forgive all and ask for her hand.
Jauhar would not allow that. She twisted the shoe, its beads crunching against one another in her hidden palm. Asha, unlike Jauhar’s own daughters, was skilled in handling men.
But she didn’t think Asha understood women. Look at her now, probably begging that creature for more magical assistance. It was a mistake. If she had known Zuberi, she was not here to offer kindnesses.
Zuberi and Enzi both hated beings of magic for very different reasons. Enzi because their existence threatened his belief in his own divinity. And Zuberi because he had no respect for beings who possessed power without earning it.
“Have you not learned enough about them yet?” Jauhar asked from outside of her husband’s bedroom, as he prepared to leave. He didn’t like anyone inside his room without invitation. Even when they’d lived in the hut, he kept his own space that none could touch.
“Nearly. I just need to know how much they feel. How fast I shall have to move.”
Jauhar nodded. “And she has not guessed your intent yet?”
Zuberi laughed. Crossing to the doorway, he took Jauhar’s face in his hands, pressing his lips to hers for a hungry kiss. “No one is as clever as you, ethuri. No one else has ever known me so well.” He laughed and turned away so quickly Jauhar nearly fell forward at the loss of his passions. But years of such shifts in mood had trained her to keep her footing to hide any feeling he did not want to see. “Be careful you don’t make any wishes of strangers though.” He tossed a causal smile over his shoulder. “They’ll kill you with your own desire.”
Jauhar should let Asha go on wishing. If that creature was here for vengeance over something Zuberi had done, she would surely kill Asha.
But what if Asha, so magnetic like her father, had simply found the magic she’d always wanted?
“It’s alright,” Sabra was assuring her son, with a bit of desperation in her voice. Lin had been fussing for several minutes. She’d tried to feed him, but he wanted none of it. He was bored, like the rest of them, and he was hot.
Jauhar cast one last withering glare at Asha, the cause of all this nonsense, then turned to Sabra.
“Come, my dear, let me hold him a moment. Go rest in the shade with Asha.”
“Oh, I couldn’t.” Sabra said at once, her eyes darted around her, shyly. Nuru rolled her eyes.
“Go, Sabra,” Oni called from in front of them. “We shall go in shifts.”
Behind them, little Arya laughed. “It makes no difference how neatly we wait. None of us is the woman the prince is seeking.”
Several women laughed, some groaned. And Jauhar saw enough mothers casting their laughing daughters dark glares to know that like her own daughters, none of these girls would be allowed to abandon their quest to win the prince.
“Who do you think she was?” Nuru asked Arya.
Nuru’s friend shrugged. “I’ve never seen her before.”
“Me neither,” Koffi, Arya’s mother, joined the conversation, stepping out of line.
“Where is Ayinde?” Nuru whispered to her friend.
Jauhar and Koffi exchanged amused looks. How many more years would Nuru be with Jauhar before she married and started a family of her own? It seemed likely that Ayinde would be her spouse. He was very fond of Nuru. Jauhar had only been two years older than Nuru was now when she married. But Nuru seemed too young, even if Ayinde was a sweet boy.
Zuberi would not have allowed Ayinde and Nuru to marry. The boy was destined to take religious orders, and Zuberi had not respected men who allowed higher powers any say in their lives. He made his own destiny, and only respected men who did the same. But Kafil would like that Ayinde was sweet. Jauhar did not mind that herself. Hadhi would protect her sister, Nuru did not need a husband to do so.
“Men don’t have to try on the slipper,” Arya rolled her eyes.
“Lucky,” Nuru muttered and the girls giggled together.
“He’ll join us later if I fit the slipper,” Arya went on. “He is in the palace already. Whenever Baba doesn’t need him, Ayinde goes to the palace to apprentice for the vaashta.”
“He’s already made an offering and been accepted?” Nuru demanded in shock.
“He’s only been accepted as an apprentice,” Koffi said soothingly. “It will be years before one of the gods accepts him into service.”
“He is well-favored,” Jauhar said kindly. “Few young men are even accepted to apprentice.”
Jauhar watched Nuru nod along, pleased on her friend’s behalf. She was very young. Too young to realize what Koffi was saying: that if Nuru were to be his wife, there would be many years when she was alone as he studied. Years when she would have to provide for the family, and well enough to make more offerings for her husband. Jauhar doubted it even occurred to Nuru to imagine such a thing might have anything to do with her. She was still innocent enough to think of him only as her friend. Soon all of that would change. Too soon.
Sabra hadn’t taken Jauhar’s advice, but as the other women moved out of line, she took her son out of his sling and let him play on the ground. All around, the women began to relax, but not Hadhi. She stood precisely where she had been. Jauhar wanted to criticize her for never being able to bend, but she restrained any comment; there was always reason to criticize Hadhi. Nuru’s insistence that Hadhi needed her mother to tell her she was desirable played at the back of Jauhar’s mind and made her sorry she’d forgotten to give her the silk Lolia had made her.
Koffi interrupted Jauhar’s thoughts. “I’ve asked every neighbor; none of us knows her. Salama thinks she might be one of the women from Imara’s tribe, trying and to trick Azize into overthrowing his father and allowing all the tribes to separate again.”
“One supposes with Zuberi gone, he at least has a chance,” Abiola whispered from three women ahead, but managed still to be heard.
Jauhar had heard many a similar theory circulated last night. That the Tikoo and the Bor had killed her husband and were now after Enzi through the mystery woman. That the woman was fey, and the king was afraid of her. That she had killed Zuberi. All these women hissed and whispered and pretended Jauhar and her daughters could not hear. But they heard. And they would not forget. When Hadhi was their queen, all of them would be made to pay.
Koffi, though, was only theorizing about the mystery woman; if she had something to say of Zuberi, she wisely kept it to herself. And her theory was almost true. As the daughter of one of Imara’s strongest fighters, Asha could easily be considered part of the Tikoo. Her mother had been Zuberi’s favorite wife, not because she was beautiful, nor because she loved him. She was his favorite, because he’d conquered her and the army she led. Jauhar wondered what Asha would think of that story. Her father had certainly never shared the truth with her. That he and Enzi had set out to conquer more of the continent and unite them under his rule and along the way had stolen and broken and destroyed. Zuberi had fed her on his ambition, but hid its destructive power. It would shock Asha. Destroy her. Jauhar’s hand tightened on the shoe. Why hadn’t she told her?
“Does Zuberi’s spy know who she is?” Oni asked, almost tauntingly.
Jauhar’s muscles tightened at that tone. Did Oni truly think Jauhar did not know the woman had been intimate with Zuberi? He had never kept such things from Jauhar. But Jauhar pretended not to notice Oni’s provocative tone. She never let the woman see the effect she had. In truth, though Jauhar knew her husband had kept spies among Azize’s companions, she never knew which men they were. But she was not going to let this woman know that either.
“If Mzaa doesn’t know her, no one does.” Nuru dismissed casually, but Jauhar could hear the grief in her voice and anger.
Jauhar had forgotten Nuru was there a moment. She twitched, intending to pull Nuru near and comfort her, but the doors at the northern entrance to the palace were thrown open and the king emerged with his son. Jauhar shoved her feelings deep, focusing solely on the moment at hand.
“Greetings, women of Maltuba,” The king intoned from the top of the capitol stairs smiling like a man before a feast. “One among you is our future queen.”
A cheer went up among the women, as the king wanted. They formed back into their line without any bickering. Hadhi wasn’t cheering, of course, Jauhar nearly slapped her on the shoulder, but she saw Azize noticing her dismissal and smiling at it.
Jauhar was completely flabbergasted. How was Hadhi being herself and attracting attention? Had Hadhi been given a wish? Jauhar’s gaze darted to the grinning gap-toothed girl.
The king believed the mystery woman was fey. The king believed she had killed Zuberi. Other people’s gossip swung through Jauhar’s mind as that girl had swung from the branches of the tree. Impossible. That thing could not be her husband’s killer. No mere woman, fey or not, could best him! Zuberi was the strongest, fiercest man in the world. The girl winked like she knew Jauhar’s thoughts.
“Today, each of you will present yourself to the prince and allow him to test this slipper upon your foot. Any who fit, and your family, may join us in the capitol for a banquet,” the king announced. Jauhar yanked her gaze back to the king. That woman might be fey, but she was not Zuberi’s killer; she was merely trying to rile Jauhar. But like Oni before her she would fail. Jauhar would not be distracted; she would get what she deserved and deal with that woman later.
“Any who do not fit will leave by way of the garden where refreshments have been prepared. All are worthy and welcome. But I must weed such bountiful crop somehow.”
Enzi spoke as though joking and, well used to their role, laughter rose up among the women, but few and far between were the faces that showed true pleasure. Jauhar wasn’t sure this king knew how deeply he was hated. Zuberi always knew when he was hated. He reveled in the hatred, but Enzi seemed oblivious to the revulsion and fear cast towards him. Even his own son looked disgusted.
The king clapped his hands, and Azize stepped forward, holding out a hand for the first lady. He led her to the queen’s throne, which had been brought to the top of the stairs for the occasion. Jauhar rolled her eyes. Enzi had been a student of Zuberi’s manipulative talents, and bringing the queen’s throne smacked of such tricks: give all the women the thrill of the queen’s seat and they would happily overlook little things like being forced to wed the prince whether they wanted to or not, and that the prince didn’t want any of them. Nor care enough about his dance partner to know anything, but that her foot fit a particular slipper. Jauhar had lived with that sort of manipulation for years. She was immune.
The stairs were raised high enough above the masses that even twenty women back Jauhar could see all. Every woman in line watched and strained to hear, eager for their chances or for this to be over. Every woman but Hadhi.
The first girl in line was Nuru’s age, thirteen. Shivering and giggling, she sunk into the throne and closed her eyes for a moment as though praying. When she opened her eyes, Azize was kneeling on the bright green pillow before her and reaching out for her foot.
She stretched her foot forward, and Azize removed the girls shoe. His left hand reached out for the slipper displayed on a green pillow like he kneeled on, Jauhar, gripping the shoe’s mate, felt the moment his hand touched the slipper. Wasn't that interesting.?
She felt Azize’s desperation that this girl not fit. The beads stretched wide on their strings as the shoe grew in her hand, and likely in Azize’s hand as well.
Jauhar smiled, glad now that they were not the first in line. This was worth exploring. Could she manipulate it too?
The girl on the throne nearly kicked Azize in her haste to have the shoe on. Her tiny foot slipped into it, swallowed whole. She lifted her leg to show all it fit, but the slipper fell from her foot. Azize yanked it from the air and placed it on the pillow, failing to hide his pleasure that it had not fit.
“Ah, too bad, my dear.” The king led the young girl away before she could be overcome with sadness at her failure, her eyes lingering on the throne.
It went on like this for a while. For every woman who ascended the steps, Jauhar focused all her energy into that slipper, squeezing the beads so tight that no foot could pass its entrance, or so wide a foot might swim in it like a duckling in an empty lake. And it was working! Jauhar felt her determination change the shoe—in most instances. Now and again, a beautiful woman would smile at Azize, and his attraction would warm the beads of the slipper until it fit.
The second time it happened Jauhar had to avert her gaze, so no one saw her rage. But someone had. The little girl, still swinging from the shady tree, grinned at Jauhar, displaying the wide gap in her front teeth and winked. Jauhar repressed an angry shudder. She was nothing. Nothing! That girl might have magic, but Jauhar had something more powerful, something she’d learned from Zuberi. She had a single-minded focus. Her daughter would be queen. Jauhar was owed.
Three women out of twenty-four had fit the slipper when Sabra climbed the steps. She carried her son in her arms with her head high, refusing to pretend to be other than she was. Jauhar was so proud of her. It would be easier to get Azize for a husband were she to hide her son, but Jauhar was proud of Sabra for presenting herself confidently.
At the sight of his boyhood love, Azize hopped to his feet and held out an arm for Sabra, smiling gently, condescendingly. Azize was no longer attracted to Sabra—another man had had her. It annoyed Jauhar that he treated Sabra like she would break, like she was an object of pity. She had been wife to the greatest man in Maltuba. She had borne his son! Sabra was a woman to be honored and desired, and cherished, never pitied.
“You look well, Sabra,” Azize said gently.
Sabra smirked, recognizing his lack of desire. “You look well also. If a bit like a frog for all this up-down, up-down.”
Azize laughed. Sabra leaned back, relieved after hours of standing. She took her time allowing him her foot, as a queen should, only lifting it when she was ready.
Jauhar focused all her attention on the slipper hidden in the folds of her dress. She tightened its beads as Azize slid its match over Sabra’s foot, until it was a perfect fit.
Azize startled. And Sabra laughed.
“Now if only we did not both know I was not your dance partner.” She teased as the king stepped forward.
“My dear, that means not a thing. He may yet marry you.” The king remarked.
Sabra allowed the king to lead her away with a hand beneath her elbow. Nuru raced up the steps and was sitting on the throne before Azize even turned around. Jauhar rolled her eyes. Nuru. Her daughter eyed the shoe like a viper. Jauhar didn’t bother to help her one way or another. Azize would never marry her.
Azize lifted her foot to slip the shoe over it, “It doesn’t fit!” Nuru exclaimed, jumping up before he even had her foot halfway in. Jauhar tapped her foot a bit impatiently. But Azize and his father only laughed. Everyone laughed. Even Hadhi unbent enough to smile.
Then the king leaned in to lead Nuru away, Jauhar stiffened, and she felt Hadhi stiffening as well. Sabra had not entered the palace; she turned back to latch onto Nuru’s arm.
“Oh well, no prince for you.” Enzi teased Nuru. “Best wait with your Mzaa Sabra.”
“Of course.” Nuru agreed brightly.
Jauhar looked between Hadhi and Asha. She had intended to wait until they had both gone in to take her turn, but Hadhi couldn’t go forward as stiff and edgy as she was. Jauhar sighed; she could make sure the shoe didn’t fit Asha from within the palace. Hadhi’s distaste for Enzi would not spoil Jauhar’s plans.
Jauhar stepped up. Azize rose to help her into the throne. Jauhar gracefully slipped her foot free of her own slipper and raised it for Azize. Just a glance at the slipper showed it to be the wrong size for her foot, and she had no reason to change that. When her foot failed to pass the entrance, she did not try to shove as some had. She smiled and laid her hand on Azize’s wrist in a mothering fashion.
“I was there to see you born. You are more suited to one of an age,” she tilted her head gently Hadhi’s way and felt her daughter sigh. It was a frustrated sigh, and she wasn’t smiling, which grated at Jauhar’s nerves. But there was nothing to do about it now.
Then Hadhi went a step further. When Azize’s eyes touched her, she rolled her own. Azize, hid a grin. How? How was her sour attitude attracting the prince?
Enzi came forward and took Jauhar’s free arm, leading her back to observe her daughter.
“You have raised the most interesting women in Maltuba, Jauhar,” Enzi whispered. “I had worried about you all, in that hut, so far from the city, but you have made the most of it.”
“One does what one must,” Jauhar said softly, her eyes intent on Hadhi and Azize. The king, equally interested, allowed her to watch quietly.
“My turn?” Hadhi remarked without enthusiasm.
She did not wait to be seated. Showed no hesitance, nor fear, taking the seat the way Zuberi might because it was there. Jauhar could barely keep her countenance. Hadhi was nothing that was gentle or soft, nothing that was desirable. You've been taught! Jauhar wanted to bellow.
Hadhi removed her own shoe and held out her foot, all with a slight impatience. At the base of the steps, Asha shook her head at Jauhar to despair of Hadhi with her.
“You left abruptly last night, Hadhi. I hadn’t a chance to say goodnight.” Azize said as he raised the slipper.
Jauhar focused her attention on the slipper in her own pocket. Stretching it as wide as she could and infusing her determination into it, so it would fit her daughter’s large foot.
Hadhi cocked up a brow at the prince. “Would you like to do so now?”
Azize chuckled and reached out for her ankle. And Jauhar felt, along with her own will, Azize’s laughter warming the beads, altering the shoe. The slipper fit.
“She is coming into her own in a most impressive fashion,” Enzi whispered so close to Jauhar’s ear that a shudder raced down her spine. “Very spirited.”
Jauhar tilted her face towards the king, but could only manage a slight smile before she tore her eyes back to her daughter. Hadhi stared at the slipper disappointedly, allowing Azize to remove it. Enzi stepped forward, taking Hadhi’s arm, though she looked ready to refuse.
“I shall see you at the banquet.” Prince Azize looked utterly confused by Hadhi’s reaction.
With her arm held by his father, Hadhi’s gaze returned to Azize and she nodded briskly.
But when she spoke, her tone was light with humor. “Do you think you will be done before tomorrow?”
Azize laughed again, and before he could respond, Hadhi removed her arm from the king’s and crossed into the palace.
Jauhar pretended to follow her, but ducked behind a column to wait for one last daughter.
“She is nothing like I remembered,” Azize said aloud. Lost and intrigued —by Hadhi.
“No,” Asha agreed, sounding suspicious.
Jauhar smiled to see her jealousy. She was about to be even more jealous.
Azize, clearly unaware of who he was speaking to, offered Asha his hand. She snapped out of her reverie and flashed Azize a blindingly sweet smile.
Jauhar watched the prince examine that lovely face and ground her teeth. Jauhar had no illusions; Asha was a lovely young woman. Her eyes drew one in; her soft round features spoke of innocence and friendliness. She was lively and eager, and she knew well how to smile at a man as though he was the whole world. The slipper in Jauhar’s hand was already warming in preparation to change its shape. Altering from Azize’s interest, and he was not even holding it yet.
“No one seems to be quite what I remembered.” Asha lay her hand gently on Azize’s and allowed him to lead her forward.
Jauhar was fighting with the shoe in her hand; the longer Azize and Asha lingered together, the stronger its will to mold itself on Asha’s foot became. And Jauhar, who had been as shocked as anyone to see Hadhi capturing the prince’s attention, Jauhar who had been wondering if Hadhi perhaps didn’t need her mother’s help, remembered why she had to take Hadhi in hand every minute.
No matter how much notice Hadhi might get, Asha was a bright sun beside her, blinding the world to any minor light Hadhi could cast.
Azize led Asha gently to the throne, holding her gaze. When she was seated, he knelt before her. She stretched out her foot, still covered in a slipper waiting for him to do the work. Like a servant Azize did as her gaze instructed, removing the slipper with delicate care.
He reached for the magic slipper and slid it over Asha’s foot, never taking his eyes from hers.
It was loose, Jauhar could feel it; her power was working, the shoe would slide off Asha’s foot at any moment.
Azize smiled up at Asha. “It’s a perfect fit,” he said entranced.
Jauhar crushed the slipper in her hand, the beads grinding against each other with an unpleasant crackling noise. But it was nothing to the bellow sounding in her head.
Enzi came forward chuckling. “I should have known it would fit you, Asha. Where were you last night? We missed you.”
“Asha?” Azize demanded, yanking the shoe to his chest angrily.
Jauhar felt a moment’s vindication. At least he was regretting his foolish mouth. But it wasn’t enough. She needed him to be certain she was not the woman he danced with. She needed him to want nothing to do with her. She needed Asha to know he would choose any woman but her.
“Did you not recognize her?” Enzi mocked his son.
Asha looked between the pair with innocent contrition displayed on her face. But Azize jerked away to call up the next lady, ignoring Asha completely.
Jauhar waited a few moments until she would not be noticed, then slipped into the palace.