He sipped from his cup, then set it down. "I hardly know where to begin. After you left this morning, I held my usual audience. The petitions were so dull I found myself falling into a doze. If it weren't for Ali at my side, I suspect I might have snored. But he is a loyal vizier who would never let me do such a thing. An hour ago, I decided I wanted to retire, and opened my mouth to say so. Yet as I raised my eyes, they met the gaze of a woman who refused to look away. I fancied those dark eyes seemed to accuse me of something, though I knew not what. Instead of signalling an end to the audience, I told Ali I would see one last petitioner – her.
"When the guards brought her forward, at first, I thought they were mistaken. She threw herself face down before the dais, barely daring to say a word for some time. Long enough for me to see she wore mourning black, but both her veil and gown were so well-worn it had faded to grey. Cheap stuff, too, like she was one of the poorest in the city. What could one such as her wish to accuse me of? Curiosity baited me, so I commanded her to speak."
Father drained his cup and indicated he wanted it refilled.
"She raised herself onto her knees, and I found myself staring into those same eyes, but perhaps I had imagined the accusation I thought I'd seen before. Instead, now she seemed resigned. She laid a bundle at my feet and begged me to accept her son's gift."
Father waved a servant forward. The gift, if indeed that was what she carried, filled her arms, and she seemed relieved to set it down beside Maram.
"Is this it?" Maram asked, her hand hovering over the coarse cloth wrapping the item.
Father nodded.
Maram twitched back a corner of the cloth, then gasped in surprise. She peeled away the wrappings until she had revealed the whole thing, though she didn't dare touch it. To touch it would be to spoil its magnificence.
The jewelled thing looked like a blackberry bush from the cold climates far to the north, with ripe fruit begging to be picked and flowers promising more for tomorrow. And so lifelike – whoever had crafted this knew the real thing. Why, she could almost taste the delicious sweetness on her tongue, a delight she had not known for far too long. She reached out to touch a berry, the reassuringly cold jewel reminding her that this cunning creation was not real.
"Who made this?"
"I do not know, for she did not say. All she said was that it was a gift from her son."
Maram's eyes met her father's. "Who is her son, who can afford to part with such a priceless gift? And why does his mother wear cheap widow's weeds when he has the coin for such magnificence?"
"I will find out on the morrow, for I have invited the man to a private audience with me."
Maram blew out her breath in a rush. Disappointment clouded her face. "Is that all you have to tell me?"
Father laughed. "Indeed it is. Like the audiences of the legendary storytellers of old, you must wait another day to find out what happens next." He rose to depart.
"Wait, Father, you forgot your shrub." She cradled the treasure in her arms, and offered it up to him.
He smiled. "You keep it. I see in your eyes you appreciate its beauty truly, like your mother would have. Consider it a wedding gift, for something tells me it should be."
He left, but Maram scarcely noticed, so busy was she in examining her new work of art. For that's what it was. A precious thing – why would anyone part with it, unless they needed to sell it to live?
What kind of man gave such a gift?
She wished she'd thought to ask her father to be present at tomorrow's audience, so that she might see the man for herself. But Father would have asked her to be there if he'd wanted her presence. He valued her opinion, and if he meant to keep this man at his court, she would meet him soon enough.
And when she did, Maram resolved to ask him who his jeweller was, so that she might give the jeweller's name to Hasan and insist he create a garden of such things in her palace. One such shrub would bankrupt him for sure.
Best not to have Hasan assassinated yet, then. First he had to build her a ruinously expensive palace. With emphasis on the ruin.
TWENTY
"Master, your palace is complete," Aladdin heard the djinn say.
He wrenched his eyes open and wished he hadn't. The predawn light told him it was far too early an hour for anyone to be about. But he remembered Kaveh's warning, so he rose and dressed. "Show it to me, then," he said.
The djinn waved his arm and a portal opened up in the east wall through which he could see the darkness of some other place entirely, instead of the rising sun he knew would be hitting that wall. The djinn bowed. "After you, master."
Reluctantly, Aladdin stepped through the wall, from his mother's tiny house to a cool, spacious hall. Oh, this was exactly the sort of place where Maram belonged. Mosaic tiles stretched up the walls and across the ceiling, mirroring the night sky over the desert. Even the tiles underfoot were the exact colour of the desert sands.
The djinn said nothing as Aladdin crept from room to room, unable to keep himself from staring. Having never seen the Sultan's palace, he hoped this would be good enough. It was certainly better than anything he'd seen in the prince's apartments in Tasnim. The bathhouse was an exact replica of the one where he'd first met Maram, including the towel storage alcove where he'd hidden. The djinn had not forgotten towels, either – the soft cloths were piled high, waiting for their royal mistress.
Aladdin took a deep breath, and lost himself in memories of that day. He'd spent one perfect day with her, and it would have to be enough. She would live here with her new husband, and be so happy she never thought of Aladdin again.
"You must see your audience chamber, master," the djinn said.
Aladdin opened his mouth to say that no part of this palace was his, but there would be time for that later. Instead, he followed the djinn up a curving flight of stairs to the level above.
The djinn had timed his entrance perfectly. As Aladdin stepped out of the archway into the hall, the morning sun hit the windows in a blaze of magnificence. For unlike the other windows in the city, these were closed in panes of glass and translucent gemstones. A veritable rainbow of colours cascaded down the walls to the floor, before dancing up to the ceiling from cleverly placed mosaic tiles that reflected light everywhere. A room designed to dazzle, which indeed it did.
Aladdin lifted a hand to his eyes, lest he be blinded by so much brightness. "Now show me the garden."
"Allow me," Kaveh said, leading Aladdin down the stairs again and into a courtyard in the heart of the palace. At first glance, he'd created what appeared to be a real garden, but when the morning sun touched the trees, it shattered that illusion into a thousand beams of light. Each berry and flower seemed to take on its own glow, glittering in harmony with each leaf and trunk, but it was nowhere near as blinding as the audience hall above. This place held a welcoming glow, inviting him to linger a little longer. Oh, if only he could, but this place was not for the likes of him. It would house Maram and her new husband.
"It's perfect," Aladdin said, and was surprised to see both djinn swell with pride at the compliment. "I have another request. Is there any way I can see Maram's betrothed?" Seeing the man who had won the heart of the lovely princess would remind Aladdin why he would never be good enough for her, or this palace.