“No,” Murad said sharply, “I do not.”
Alex had to be honest with herself. She was more than hurt, she was frightened and heartbroken. What if Blackwell escaped without her? How could this be happening?
Alex and Murad hurried through the city, down one narrow, twisting dirt street after another, in silence now. The encounter she had just had with Blackwell replayed in her mind. She had to confront a very disturbing thought. What if she was not Blackwell’s destiny?
She shoved the notion aside. If she stopped believing in their love, she was probably doomed, trapped in Tripoli without hope. What she had to do now was win his trust, win his love, fight for what she believed in. And she could begin by proving herself his ally. By helping him escape even without his permission to do so.
The palace’s thick, forty-foot walls suddenly loomed before them. The numerous spires, towers, and minarets of the castle rose up abruptly behind the walls.
Alex and Murad froze. A group of slaves were working on the street in front of the wall where the tunnel’s secret entrance was, guarded by soldiers. Alex’s heart sank.
“We are going to have to go through the front gates,” Murad said tersely.
Alex nodded.
They paused at the front gates before facing the palace guards. “Let me do all of the talking,” Murad said tersely. “Do you understand, Alex?”
Alex nodded, her heart lurching. Reality faced her squarely now in the form of the two heavily armed janissaries who stood by the palace’s closed iron gates. Each soldier wore a huge, deadly scimitar, as well as a musket, pistol and a foot-long dagger. In the light of the full moon that shone above their heads, they looked fierce, barbaric, and capable of murder and mayhem. They were staring coldly at both Alex and Murad.
Alex thought about Blackwell’s wounded back. She thought about the slaves forced to labor in the quarries. The Tripolitans could be kind and warm, but they had no respect for human life, and if she dared to think otherwise, then she was a fool. Until today, she had not witnessed that side of Barbary before.
If these soldiers discovered that she was a woman, she would not be spared either their cruelty or their lust.
“Who goes?” One of the Turks came forward, staring at them through the dark night. Behind him, the courtyard was illuminated with numerous torches but otherwise deserted.
“Murad.” Murad flashed a white smile. “My mistress is Lilli Zohara, second wife to Hammet Jebal. Here is my written permission to have left the palace, and also to return.” Murad held out a piece of parchment.
The Turk took it, grunting, handing it to his comrade. They both eyed the document. Alex fidgeted. Unease assailed her. She and Murad were careful not to look at one another. It was difficult to breathe.
It was also unlikely that either soldier could read.
They both came forward. “Who is the other one?” the second Turk, shorter and far more brutish looking, asked.
“The letter states Ali’s identity. Another slave of our esteemed, beloved, dearly kept mistress.” Murad smiled briefly, engagingly. He held out his hand and the soldier handed him the letter. “We were sent to visit a seer,” Murad said. “Our mistress yearns to know when her husband shall give her their first child.”
Alex almost choked.
Murad nudged her with his toe.
The Turks laughed. “All women are the same, thinking of nothing but pleasing their husbands,” said the first. “She had better pray to Allah for the child to come quickly, before Jebal grows weary of her and divorces her. They say his Italian concubine pleases him mightily—and she is drinking a special herb every day in order to conceive.”
Alex had always thought Paulina especially dumb. But in this matter, she had a sure instinct for survival.
“Really?” Murad said after a single heartbeat. “This is news indeed. May we pass?”
The soldiers had started to debate how long it might take the fifteen-year-old to conceive, yet now they sobered. One opened the high, thick irongates.“Step into the light. Let us look at you.”
Alex’s heart flipped, hard.
Murad’s hand was suddenly on her elbow, tightly, in warning. He smiled and moved through the gates, taking Alex with him. He loosened the kaffiyeh he wore. Alex looked at his handsome, perfect features, unable to breathe, waiting for the Turks to ask her to move directly into the pool of torchlight—waiting to be discovered. But the first said, “I recognize him. You may go.”
Alex almost fainted with relief. Murad gripped her hand, pulling her forward, away.
“Halt!”
They froze.
The Turk smiled. “But I shall keep the letter. My captain is European and has strange ways. He likes to keep records; he has papers everywhere.” The Turk held out his hand. “What a waste of his time, I say.”
