“I miss him,” Amir chokes out, before descending into another round of fitful weeping.
I understand, for I have missed Papa my entire life. He always extended his greatest efforts toward his sons.
But I rub Amir’s back. I soothe him with murmured nonsense words. I tell him things will be all right, not now, but someday. I remind him that he is strong, enduring, and most of all, loved.
With King Halim’s passing, the official period of mourning will commence at sunset this evening. Amir’s coronation is set for the end of the week. He will need all his resilience, all his strength. He has time neither to process nor grieve. I would not wish that duty upon anyone.
A knock sounds. The door eases open, and Tuleen pokes her head into the room. “The council wish to speak with you, Amir, when you have a moment.”
Ammara’s future king clutches me tighter, face tucked against my neck. “I don’t want her to see me like this,” he murmurs.
So do all who guard their hearts as fiercely as King Halim’s children. “You don’t give Tuleen enough credit,” I whisper in response, meeting the queen-to-be’s eyes over Amir’s shoulder. “She is understanding and kind. More importantly, she’s your wife. Let her help shoulder this burden.”
A shudder wracks his frame. Tuleen hovers near the doorway in uncertainty, heartbreak whetting her fine features to points.
“Amir.” Gently, I untangle myself from his arms. He peers at me through red-rimmed eyes, his face a mess of snot and tears. “There is no shame in grief. We all experience these things at some point in life. Let Tuleen help you. Let your wife,” I repeat, “help you.” I wipe his cheeks dry. “Go on,” I soothe. “It will be all right.”
Hesitantly, Amir shuffles toward Tuleen, who takes him into her arms. She, too, holds him close, shushing him as one would a child.
As they speak in low tones, I wander toward one of the open windows. The air is cool despite the rising sun. It comforts me, knowing Papa’s final view before darkness claimed him was the glorious spread of golden dunes.
The snick of the door draws my focus from the desert. Amir has departed. Tuleen, however, remains.
“May I?” she says, gesturing to the sitting area.
I dip my chin and select a chair facing away from Father’s bed. Tuleen settles across from me. Ivory drapes her form, a thin, beaded headband strung across her smooth brow. She balls her hands in her lap, mossy eyes dark with sorrow.
“I’m so sorry, Sarai.”
My eyes flutter shut on a fresh wave of pain. A tear slips out, which I wipe away. “Father’s health has been in decline for months,” I whisper. “I thought I was prepared. I thought I’d communicated everything I wished him to know. Now that he’s gone, I realize I could have taken three, five, seven more years to speak with him, and know him, and lo—” I open my eyes, lift a hand to my mouth as my voice cracks. “Love him.”
Wordlessly, Tuleen offers me a square of cloth, which I use to dab my eyes. “I hear you. My parents have both passed. Every day, I miss them.”
Grief, I understand. I have stood on its banks as the murk of its waters dragged at my ankles and shins and calves. For a time, I was free of it. Notus’ return brought frustration, confusion, yet also warmth and security and healing. But a tide always returns.
“Amir will take this hard,” I inform her, though she’s likely already aware. “He—” Gods, I hate this. “There was much he admired about our father, and they grew closer in the years following Fahim’s death.”
“I know.” Tuleen’s attention falls to the tea set arranged on a nearby table. “Tea?”
She does not await my answer. That’s fine. I watch as she pours from the beautifully wrought silver teapot, then passes me the teacup. Bitter. The leaves have steeped for too long.
After pouring her own tea, she eases back, saying, “I worry about him.”Tap-tap-tapgoes her nail against the porcelain cup. In the end, she sets her drink onto the table untouched. “King Halim was a good man: honorable, well respected, admirable. You know this. It’s why his children are such upstanding citizens of the realm.”
My heart flutters from the praise, for it is something I did not expect. Still, I remain quiet, waiting for her to continue.
“But I want you to know how this has impacted Amir. He would not want me to tell you, but I’m of the opinion he needs more support than he realizes, especially during this transition…” Tuleen hesitates.
“Go on,” I urge. “I’m listening.”
“Amir often speaks of Fahim. Although I never met him, I can see how loved he was by our people. He was charming, upstanding, diligent. Favored, clearly. Amir never anticipated inheriting the throne. He never wanted it. Unfortunately, circumstances changed. He believes himself a disappointment, having failed to fill Fahim’s shoes. It was the reason we extended our honeymoon for as long as we did. Your brother was terrified of returning and being proven a failure.”
I consider my sister-in-law for a moment before looking elsewhere. “I see.” I didn’t realize Amir’s insecurity was the catalyst for their extended honeymoon. Here I was, resentful of his freedom, while he, too, fled from our father’s impossible expectations.
“We had conversations, the king and I,” Tuleen goes on. “I mentioned my concerns about the pressure he placed on Amir.”
My head whips around, eyebrows drawn all the way to my hairline. “You challenged Father?” I thought only I dared to challenge him.
“I did.” She ducks her head, fingers continually moving, fiddling with a pleat in her dress or tugging on a stray thread. “Though I’m not sure it did much good. He didn’t seem to understand that Amir was not Fahim. More sensitive, less dauntless. Unfortunately, with his advanced illness, King Halim didn’t have the luxury of easing Amir into his station. It has been… a lot,” she says, rubbing her brow in weariness. “Too much, I would argue. There wasn’t enough time to learn all of the information required to lead the realm before he passed.”
