25
“I guess you don’t need to carry keys to your palace,” Kathryn said as the massive jewel-encrusted teakwood doors swung open for the two of them. “Oh, my God, this is nice! Very nice!”
She’d accepted the lightheadedness by now, and she grinned like a fool as she stared at the lavish entryway to the Royal Palace of Sehaar. The walls were red sandstone, the floors covered with thick Persian silk, the furniture hand-crafted Burma teakwood that was aged and ornate. Tapestries of gold, purple, and green moved lazily in the breeze flowing through the massive open balconies at either ends of the sprawling ante-room. Portraits of kings and queens stared down at them as the Sheikh led her to a velvet divan and said, “Sit. Drink. Eat.”
“Shower, soap, bath,” she said, hesitating for a moment, not wanting to get sand and dust on the purple velvet that looked new as the morning. But when she saw the veiled attendants emerge from behind flowing curtains with trays laden with cool lemon-juice, sweet dates, and fresh almonds as big as her head, she gave in and just flopped down on the divan and sighed out loud.
“I could get used to this,” she mumbled, after gulping down a tall glass of lemon-juice and stuffing her mouth with those succulent dates.
The Sheikh smiled as he drained his own glass of lemon-juice, taking a handful of almonds and then turning to his attendants and giving them instructions in rapid-fire Arabic. “They will show you to your chambers whenever you want. You will have fresh clothes, a running bath, anything else you want.”
Kathryn nodded and sighed, but she couldn’t muster the energy to get up off that soft velvet, and before she knew it she’d passed out, almonds scattered all over her boobs, her mouth hanging open.
When she awoke it was morning, sunbeams dancing through the open room, a warm, soothing breeze flowing all around her. She stretched and sat up, blinking and looking around. It took her a moment to remember where she was, and even when she did remember, she had to convince herself it was real. She’d completely lost track of who she was, in a way. This felt like a dream, and she didn’t want to wake up. Not now. Not ever.
As if by magic, a veiled attendant emerged and showed her to her chambers—a set of lavish rooms decorated in green, gold, and red. A selection of robes had been laid out on the sprawling bed, and she could hear the sounds of a hot bath being run for her around the corner in a bathroom the size of her living room back in Birmingham.
The bathroom had a skylight above the marble tub, and the air was thick with the scent of exotic bath oils: lavender and sage and wildflower. It was so overwhelming Kathryn almost cried as she descended into the warm water and looked up at the blue, cloudless sky through the skylight.
“Yes, I could get used to this,” she said aloud, and suddenly a feeling of aching desperation ripped through her. She didn’t want to go back to her old life. She wanted this. She wanted to be comfortable, to be pampered, to take baths in marble tubs with skylights above her. She wanted to be loved, to be married to a king, to take his seed, to have his children. She wanted to wear flowing robes and to ride camels through the narrow streets of Sehaar, waving at smiling children and blowing kisses to giggling women in hijabs and veils. Why not? Didn’t she deserve this? Hadn’t she paid her dues?
And then the tears came, hard and fast, and soon she was sobbing into her bath, salty tears flowing like desert rain down her smooth cheeks. How could she ever expect to have something like that? She was a killer. A psychopath incapable of normal human emotion. She didn’t know if she could trust her own people. Three nations were out to kill her. The only person she could trust was a man she’d known for three days and who wouldn’t give a straight answer to any of her damned questions! Which meant she couldn’t trust him, could she?
And where is he, anyway, she thought as she finally dried off and dressed, smiling when she saw the large tube of sunscreen thoughtfully placed on her teakwood dresser by her silent attendant.
Maybe he doesn’t exist, she thought with a smile as she slathered the sunscreen on and massaged it into her face and neck, rubbed down her bare arms with it, even coated her toes just in case. Maybe I’m still in the desert, insane from exposure and dehydration, hallucinating as I slowly drift closer to death. That seems more like it, doesn’t it? That’s what I deserve. Not this.
She laughed as she looked at herself in the mirror. She looked a bit slimmer, she thought, though there was still some cushion and certainly her hips weren’t going to get narrower, no matter how much water-weight she lost. The flowing white dress she’d chosen felt nice, and with the slip beneath it, she looked decent enough to be seen in public, yes?
She found a white scarf amongst the clothes laid out for her, and after wrapping it over her head and around her nose and mouth like a hijab, she went to the balcony and looked down on her kingdom. Why not, she thought. A little walk through the streets, yes? If I’m hallucinating, I might as well go the whole hog and explore my dream world.
There was no sign of the Sheikh as she left her chambers and somehow found her way to those teakwood double-doors. Two attendants stood there, and they bowed their heads and pulled the doors open for her. For a moment Kathryn wondered if they’d stop her or insist she take an escort or a bodyguard, but they were silent and did not even make eye contact with her. So she wasn’t a prisoner in this dream. And most likely she didn’t need to worry about being kidnapped, raped, or murdered in the streets. Well, that was nice.
Kathryn stepped out into the sunshine, squinting and immediately wishing she’d asked her attendant for sunglasses, those big ones that Lady Gaga wore. Why not? It was her damned dream, wasn’t it?
She laughed as she skipped her way beyond the palace walls and into the streets of Sehaar, smiling at everyone she saw, laughing like a madwoman as she surrendered completely to the insanity of it all.
Soon she found herself in a marketplace, and when she saw a street-vendor with a rack of sunglasses, she walked up to him and picked out a pair.
“Charge it to the Sheikh,” she said after realizing she had no money on her. That sense of being in a dream had taken over, and she was feeling slap-happy and reckless, that feeling of desperation rippling beneath the surface, spurring her forward, making her almost want to wake up from this dream and realize it was a nightmare.
To her surprise, the vendor simply bowed his head and grinned wide, flashing tobacco-stained teeth as he nodded and said something in Arabic. Soon the other vendors took notice, and before she knew it, they were offering her dates and sweet tea, handbags made from camel-leather, hand-woven tapestries made from silk and wool, pastries, little wooden figurines, and God-knows-what else!
Kathryn laughed as she accepted as many of the treats and gifts as she could, hugging the women and smiling at the men as she felt the world spin around her faster and faster. At times she felt a sudden panic, like this was all going to go horribly wrong. But then she tasted another sweet pastry made from walnuts and jaggery, and so she laughed and adjusted her sunglasses and decided she was going to stay in this dream as long as she could.
She strolled through the streets, looking in wonder at the sandstone bungalows, some of which looked a hundred years old. In the distance were some modern highrises made of steel and glass, and the juxtaposition of the old and the new made her smile. Some of the streets were narrow and cobbled, others were broad avenues, perfectly paved, with Range Rovers and Ferraris cruising up and down like it was nothing. She glanced back at the towers of the Royal Palace, to make sure she could find her way back, and then she walked down a narrow cobbled street which looked sort of interesting.
The street was lined with cafes, all of which had outdoor seating. There was no alcohol being served, but the men and women drinking sweet tea and thick coffee seemed as happy and chatty as any drunk folk.
And then she saw something that caught her eye. A familiar face.
Kathryn frowned as she walked past the roadside café, looking at the man through her sunglasses while making sure not to turn her head. Why did he look so familiar?
Then it hit her. It was the pilot. The Sheikh’s pilot. That very same pilot who’d insisted she and the Sheikh take the two parachutes and eject. That very same pilot whom the Sheikh had kissed on the cheek and bid farewell. That very same pilot who’d supposedly died in a ball of flames above the empty desert.
And then she knew she was in a nightmare. The worst kind of nightmare. The kind that makes you think you’re in a fairy-tale at first, but then you realize it’s a goddamn horror story.