Sami’s mother came rushing into the street, her face haggardwith exhaustion. “Is it true?” she asked, fear and hope intermingling in her voice.
Sita nodded, and the woman broke into tears of happiness. Soon, others gathered and joined her in expressing their relief. The women from the bakery, Zev and Elyas, Miri and Aya all came to gawk at Sami, who was alive and awake and asking for his breakfast.
Sita had seen so much death, so many horrors. But on that day, she had wrested a boy from the jaws of fate. Pulled him back from the brink and into his mother’s arms. When she’d saved Karim, she’d wondered how much of his resurrection had been her doing and how much had been the machinations of the gods. With Sami, she knew for certain her actions had saved his life.
The knowledge gave her a new and wonderful feeling. A joy borne of the marriage of power and purpose.
“The Lord has smiled upon our people today!” Elyas announced to the gathered throng. “Tonight, we celebrate!”
The people cheered, thrilled to be treated to a feast instead of a funeral.
Sita spied Karim nearby, leaning against the side of a building with his arms crossed, watching her. Their eyes met, and he grinned, then shook his head, as if to say,Princess, what will you do next?
***
The other young women came for her at sundown. Already dressed in colorful robes and dresses, they pushed a protesting Karim out of the house he and Sita shared and deposited heaps of clothing onto the floor. Laughing and arguing among themselves, the women went through half a dozen dresses before they found one that fit Sita to their satisfaction—a flowing henna-red gown tied at the waist with a black sash embroidered with geometricpatterns. Then they gave her a hairbrush and a pot of coconut oil to bring out the luster in her hair.
The air vibrated with excitement and good cheer, reminding Sita of the night of the Bast Festival. Of being dressed by her attendants in her chambers at the palace, and the anticipation she’d felt as she prepared for the impending celebration. She’d felt such joy that night! Such freedom! She hadn’t felt the same way since. Mery had made sure of that.
Sitting there, in that faraway place, surrounded by women who didn’t even know her true name, she felt that joy again. It was a different kind of emotion, though. Wrought not from the thrill of rebellion, but from conquest over adversity. From the simple miracle of doing what she believed was right.
She thought of Sami, alive and in the arms of his mother. Finally, there was something to celebrate.
Someone handed her a brass mirror, and Sita held it up to see her reflection in the dying light. Despite the brushing, her hair flowed in unruly black torrents. Her skin was sun-drenched, unadorned, and yet it glowed with vigor and good health. The woman in the mirror looked nothing like the person who fled Thonis. She was a stranger.
What had she said to Femi in the pleasure garden, right before she left him and her old life behind?
I don’t even know who I am away from this place.
She touched the mirror, feeling the weight of the burden she’d been given, and for the first time, recognized she had the strength to carry it.
Then go and find out, my princess.
Sita smiled at the stranger in the mirror, and the stranger smiled back.
I do not know you yet, but I would like to, she thought.
Suddenly, the women started clapping and laughing. Sita setdown the mirror and turned to see the cause of their mirth. Karim stood in the doorway, having been dressed in a beetle-green robe that was open-chested and belted with leather. His wavy, dark brown hair shone in the gloaming, and his eyes sparkled with mischief—that is, until he saw her.
“Your husband is here to take you to the feast!” one of the women said gaily and pushed Sita toward him.
Sita stumbled into his arms, and they stood there together, awkward and unsure.
Sita blushed under Karim’s gaze. “Why are you looking at me like that?”
“How am I looking at you?” he asked, his voice soft.
It was an expression she’d seen once before from Femi, and it frightened her. “I-I don’t…”
“Come on now!” one of the women crowed, “It’s time to go!”
They herded Sita and Karim out of the house and into the flow of Hudjefa making their way to the city’s central courtyard. Her words unfinished, Sita allowed herself to be swept along by the crowd, Karim close by her side.
The night was filled with the sights and sounds of jubilation. People carried platters of roast mutton and onions, still-steaming flatbread wrapped in cloth, bowls of tart yogurt and butter, and bulging sacks of plump brown dates. They carried instruments too: reed flutes, a lute played with a bow, and drums of all sizes, which they played as they walked.
By the time Sita and the others reached the courtyard, a great bonfire was burning. Men fed the fire with gathered brush until it glowed bright and hot and the flames rippled in the easy evening breeze.
Elyas and Miri came and led them to where Sami had been placed on a bed of blankets to enjoy the festivities. His mother embraced them both, heaping blessings upon them until theywere pulled away by others offering plates of food and cups of date wine.
