I feel ill. Prince Balior lied to me, though I should not be surprised. He never asked for the king’s permission to allow his army access to Ishmah, and it was not granted. Father’s shock proves it. “I saw it,” I say. “Thousands of his men have made camp in the western reaches of the city. Tell me: Why would he bring them inside the gates if not to use them? Once he frees the beast, I imagine he will use his army to quell any potential retaliation. He will take control. I think it’s clear by now that I don’t plan on marrying him. So why does he continue to lurk around the palace, unless it’s to enter the labyrinth and release the beast?”
For a time, all is quiet. The lamplight wavers. “This is… not good.” With a weary sigh, King Halim sags deeper into the pillows, naught but skin and bones. “If I were to stand against Prince Balior, he would unleash his army upon Ishmah without question.” Then he frowns, expression ponderous. “I doubt he would strike so soon. Not until I am gone, at least.” Another long pause follows. “It’s possible he might move during Amir’s coronation. I will warn the sentries. We have too few men. Much of the city will be unprotected during the ceremony.”
A distorted sound squeezes from my throat, caught between laughter and a sob. “And what of me?” Always, I stand alone in the cold looking in. “My life will end in eight days, Papa. Eight! Ishouldhave died at birth. That was my fate. You cannot change it.”
“Your fate was not to die on that day. Your fate was to live, Sarai, and live fully. That is what I hoped for you.”
I shake my head, voice emerging low and hoarse. “Then I have failed you.”
A stillness swathes the room. It reminds me of the goats butchered in the market square, a slow drip, drip of lifeblood leaking out.
“In what way?” he asks with a softness I have rarely witnessed.
Tears wind salted tracks down my cheeks. Even as I hold tight to strength, my grip weakens. “I have tried, Papa. All these years, I have tried to be the princess Ammara needs.” Tactful, diplomatic, perceptive, judicious, an outstanding leader. I could risk not one imperfection. “But I fear I have fallen short in the eyes of my people, and of you.”
“What—” His second attempt to sit up in bed is met with defeat, and he sinks down into the pillows. “What is this talk of failure? Of course you have not fallen short. The people love you, as they should. And with Amir taking the throne… he will require all your support.”
Mutely, I nod, even as I feel myself folding inward. Just once, I wish I knew what it felt like to be heard by the man who’d raised me. “Can I ask you something?”
He nods, though warily, as if sensing a shift in emotion.
“What do you love about me?”
Father recoils into his sweat-dampened pillow. “What kind of question is that?”
“Just answer it. Please.”
King Halim appears as if I have caused a great injustice for daring to request of him this one, small thing. He cannot know how desperate I am to hear his words.
“I love that you are diligent,” he says gruffly. “I love that you are a leader. I love your complex mind, your dedication to the people of Ammara.”
With every spoken trait, my heart sinks lower. Shaking my head, I pull away from him. “But that’s not who I am.”
He stares at me. “I don’t understand.”
“I became those things,” I say, “because I felt pressured to be this flawless, faultless version ofyou.”
Papa huffs. It stings, this disbelief. “You can’t believe that, Sarai. The things I have done for you and your siblings over the years! All of it to ensure you would be looked after, cared for.”
“That is my truth,” I say. “It has been my truth. I haven’t wanted to accept it for fear of failing you.” How sad that Father never truly knew me, or saw me for what I was, rather than what I was not.
“I don’t understand what you want,” he grinds out.
A wild-eyed tightness squeezes my chest. Never have I spoken these words aloud. I have gathered them, secreted them into the smallest folds, so small they are pressed into nothing. I have carried them all the years of my life. And now, I let them unfurl.
“To be free,” I whisper, voice wobbling as more tears fall.
Father tightens his hand around mine as I feel those ill-fitting pieces of myself slide into place.
“I wish to know the world,” I say. “I wish to cultivate a life of courage and authenticity. I wish to shed the obligations of my upbringing.”
King Halim looks terribly saddened. “Why did you never tell me?”
“Because I was afraid,” I choke out, “that no matter what I did, I would never be enough for you. All I wanted was to play violin. But even that lost its allure.” For Fahim took his life, and my love of music along with it.
Backbreaking sobs send me into the bed. I feel so lost, so completely alone. Father is dying. We have never seen eye to eye, but I do not wish for him to go.
“Sarai.” A gentle touch on the back of my head. “Look at me.”
