“I will deliver my mistress’s child, my lord,” Agata said. “I helped my sister when my lady’s mother birthed five of her children. I know what must be done.”
“We will send for a physician from Istanbul,” the prince decided.
“No, we will not,” Azura contradicted him. “Agata knows what must be done, and so do I. No one is to know of this child’s existence until after it is born. My baby must at least have a chance at life.” Her lip trembled as she said it. Once the danger of birthing a son had not seemed so serious, but with each kick the infant in her belly gave her to remind her of its existence, she realized the peril they both faced should that child be a male. A male whose claim to the Ottoman throne was as legitimate as that of any of the claimants. She rested her dark head against his shoulder. “I am glad you are home, Amir.”
He called her to his bed that night, and marveled at the great change in the beautiful body he had loved previously. He positioned her between his legs, and let his hands roam over her large round belly. He could actually see the faint outline of his child. He put a hand over it, and it kicked out at him. Startled, he pulled his hand back, but then they both laughed. He was amazed that her beautiful round breasts were now twice their usual size, the nipples prominent and ready for suckling. And all this had happened in the time he was away. He was astounded, for to him it was a sudden change.
Maysun had explained to him how they might copulate without injuring the infant. Azura was more than eager, and wept with her delight to feel his hard length filling her once again. Gently he brought them both to perfect fulfillment twice, scolding her when she begged for more. If truth be told, he wanted more too, but he feared harming the child.
“At least you had the diversion of other women in your travels,” she complained at him when he told her enough. “I have had to spend long nights aching for you, my lord. Do not deny me, for I burn for you.”
“I have had no woman since the night I left you,” he told her.
“Not one?” She sounded very pleased.
“Not one, you greedy houri,” he swore. “If your belly were not in our way, I should take you to my couch for the next month, and never let you off your back.”
Azura sighed with contentment. “I am happy then, my lord, that you have suffered too. But carrying your child has not been easy. I shall be glad to birth it.”
“You do not sayheorshe,” he remarked.
“I dare not,” Azura told him. “I will not even consider a name.”
“Mehmet for a boy in honor of my grandfather,” he told her.
“Do not even think it, my lord!” she begged him. “I want this child, but I live in fear of a son and pray for a daughter.” Her eyes filled with tears. “In my own need and selfishness I have taken such a terrible chance in having this child,” she admitted.
He held her close now. “It will be all right, beloved,” he promised her, knowing even as he said the words that he could not really promise her anything at all. His only hope if this child was a male lay in his uncle’s generosity towards him. The sultan would have to be notified immediately when the birth occurred no matter the child’s gender.
The days grew warmer and longer, and then fourteen days into May Azura’s child decided it was time to be born. The waters protecting the child spilled from her, but it was not until several hours later that the pains began. They were ready in the harem with the birthing chair. Beneath it there were clean linen cloths spread. The hours moved slowly, but despite the increasing severity of the pains, the child would not come easily. Night came. Azura screamed with each new pain. Her ebony hair was lank and wet, her body covered in sweat. Finally, in the hour before midnight, the baby’s head crowned. Then its delicate shoulders came forth, and finally, pushing with a strength she didn’t think she had left, Azura birthed her child.
Crouched beneath the birthing chair, Agata caught the baby as it finally came forth. “It is a girl!” she cried. “It is a girl!”
They were the last words Azura heard, for she fainted with her final efforts. Maysun and Shahdi took the infant, who was squalling now, from Agata. Azura would need attending to, for she was bleeding heavily. Stopping the bleeding was paramount, and praying vocally to the Holy Mother and Santa Anna, Agata managed to stem the flow. Azura was weakened by the great loss of blood, and nothing would do but that Amir send to Istanbul for a physician. Krikor was dispatched immediately, carrying a message for the sultan as well as a request for a physician of his choosing.
Bayezit was surprised to receive his nephew’s communiqué, but equally relieved that the child born was a female. Killing an infant was not in his nature. He wisely kept the news of Amir’s daughter from hiskadinBesma. He also instructed a competent physician to see that his nephew’s third wife did not give birth again. He could be generous, but he could not speak for whichever of his sons succeeded him.
They put the baby to Azura’s breast, and weak as she was, she fed her daughter, though it weakened her further. The physician demanded a wet nurse be found, but Azura insisted upon feeding her infant at least once daily so that her own milk would not dry up.
She would feed her child when she was well again, she told him. The physician smiled. He would tell the sultan of this brave young woman who was such a good mother. Indeed, the infant had three mothers, for the prince’s two other wives doted upon the baby.
“Atiya is her name,” Azura finally told Amir. “Maysun says it means ‘gift,’ and our daughter is a great gift to this house.”
Amir agreed, and then showed her the gold rattle that the sultan had sent to their daughter. “He is pleased with an Ottoman princess, and says he will choose a distinguished husband for her one day.” He looked down at his daughter as she nursed at her mother’s plump white breast. Atiya had a tuft of black hair. He touched it, smiling as it curled about his finger. “She is so delicate,” he said softly.
“She will not break,” Azura told him, smiling.
The baby was healthy, and Azura slowly over the next few months regained her strength. The baby thrived and seemed to grow more each day. The soft dark hair with which she had been born fell out, leaving her as bald as a melon for a few weeks, but then the infant’s hair grew back as thick and dark as her parents’ hair. Her blue eyes were not the aquamarine color of her mother’s but neither were they the deep blue of her father’s.
Rather Atiya had clear bright blue eyes that showed curiosity about everything.
The baby quickly came to recognize the faces of those around her, smiling winningly at Maysun and Shahdi, who constantly argued over who would carry Atiya about her world on a particular day. She cooed and Azura could have sworn that she flirted with all the men in her life. Her father. Nadim. Ali Farid and Diya al Din. She had the three eunuchs in particular wrapped about her tiny finger. She went through a period where she was demanding of her mother, but Azura quickly put an end to that, lest the child become spoiled. In personality Atiya reminded her mother of her own mother.
The baby was six months old when Amir and Diya al Din both sensed the little palace was being watched. Azura rode out with her husband. He put her off for several days until she grew suspicious and demanded to know why. He told her.
“Who would watch the Moonlight Serai?” Azura asked him. “Should we be afraid? Are we safe, my lord?”
“I do not know, but I intend seeking the answers to all your questions, beloved,” he told her. “I must be patient, however, lest I frighten our watcher off. I want answers as much as you do. I do not believe it is Tartars or other raiders. More likely someone from Istanbul reporting to the sultan’s minions.”
