EPILOGUE ONE
Irene watched as the thin, clean-shaven young man stepped forward and took a knee before the Sheikh, who was seated on his seldom-used throne, an ornate chair that looked as uncomfortable as it did lavish. Bilaal was dressed in a shimmering gold traditional sherwani suit, with sandals that curled up at the toes, a diamond-and-ruby studded crown made of hand-woven white silk, a ceremonial sword in its jewel-encrusted scabbard hanging from his thick camel-hide belt.
“Rise, Kareem Abdullah,” said the Sheikh, and Irene did her best not to smile when she saw Mala’s brown face light up with a stifled giggle. Certainly Bilaal was putting on a show for this occasion, and judging by the way Kareem’s legs were shaking, it was working. Let my husband have at least a bit of his imagined revenge, Irene thought as she shook her head in amusement when she realized that she could change the man a little but never all the way. And she didn’t want to.
“Great Sheikh,” said Kareem, his voice high-pitched and trembling. “Thank you for granting me this audience.”
“You do realize that if not for the repeated assurances from my niece, Princess Mala, you would be granted an audience with the hind legs of the royal camels.”
Kareem almost passed out, and it didn’t help when Mala whispered, “There are no royal camels, Kareem. He would have just beheaded you. But don’t worry. I told him you were gay.”
Irene could see that the Sheikh’s lips were trembling now as he tried not to burst into laughter. They’d all agreed to this show, even though it was a bit cruel to put Kareem through it. Still, knowing what the Sheikh had planned, the women had gone along with it.
Bilaal cleared his throat pointedly, narrowing his eyes at his impudent niece and then glancing briefly towards his queen, who sat on a smaller throne by his side, surrounded by their fidgeting children.
“Kareem Abdullah,” he said after taking a breath. “My niece has vouched for you, but I need to hear you speak. I need to look into your eyes and know that you are not a danger to my family.”
A wave of seriousness fell across the room as Kareem straightened his back and took a deep breath before looking up into the king’s eyes. “Sheikh,” he said. “It is true that I carried anger in my heart after finding my father and uncles murdered on the side of the mountain. Although I knew you acted in self-defense after they killed your friend and meant to kill you, I still felt the hatred, as any man would.”
The Sheikh nodded slowly, but did not speak.
Kareem continued. “But after we were granted refuge in Canada, for the first time I felt free to pursue my dreams, to live the way I want, without fear of violence at every turn. And it changed me. It made me see that sometimes even a tragedy leads to a new beginning, that there is sometimes a blessing in what seems like a curse. And I asked myself, if my father knew that his death would give his son a chance at the life of his dreams, what would he think?” The boy closed his eyes for a moment, holding back tears. “And I do believe that my father would have been overjoyed. In a way, that is why he’d lived his life with violence in his heart: He was a bandit and a killer, but he saw no other way to give his children the lives he thought they deserved.”
The Sheikh took a breath, and Irene could see that he was moved. Still, Bilaal stayed stoic. “But yet you went along with your brother’s plan, did you not?” he asked. “After all, it cannot be coincidence that you chose to take a position at the very school that my niece attended. Surely with your credentials you would have had a choice of positions across Europe, perhaps the world.”
Kareem hesitated. Then he nodded, shame clouding his clean face. “I took the position at Mala’s school because of my brother’s urging, yes. But his plan was mad. The scheme of a man who had lost touch with reality.” He shook his head. “Even if such a twisted plan of manipulating Mala into falling in love with me was realistic, how would it work when it would be obvious to her that I was . . . I mean, that I am . . .”
“He means to say that I have excellent gay-dar,” Mala piped in, forcing Kareem to break a smile as a few in the court murmured in amusement.
“So then why did you not refuse?” said the Sheikh sternly, folding his arms over his broad chest and raising his chin. “Your brother knew you preferred men, did he not? He would have known you could not carry out your end of the plan.”
Kareem smiled ruefully. “My brother believed that my homosexuality was a sickness, a result of some weakness in my will. He told me that I simply had to get over it.” Then Kareem went serious. “But yes, I could have refused him. But I did not, because if I had, my brother would have come up with something else. Something more drastic. And then what, great Sheikh? Where would it have ended? He kills Mala? You kill him? Then you kill me? Where does it end?”
Irene watched as the Sheikh took a breath. She herself held her breath, waiting for his response. A year ago he would have answered by saying, “It ends with you dead at my feet.” But now . . .
The Sheikh’s reply came slowly. “Are you saying that you went with your brother’s plan and joined Mala’s school in order to . . . what, protect her? Why? After her uncle murdered your family? Surely the free air of Canada cannot change a man’s heart that quickly, yes?”
Kareem took a breath and closed his eyes, and this time the tears trickled down the sides of his smooth brown face. He nodded and opened his eyes. “The only appropriate response to violence is love, Sheikh. So I decided that it ends with me. With my act of love. I decided that I would protect your niece, a girl I never even knew, and that would be an act of love that perhaps would end the violence. I decided that it ends with me, Sheikh.”
There was quiet in the court, and Irene felt a lump in her throat as she clutched her children close. Mala had come close as well, and they all watched as the Sheikh’s eyes softened for a moment before he covered up his emotion as best he could. Finally he spoke.
“It does end with you, Kareem,” he said quietly. “And it also begins with you.” He glanced at his wife and children, then at Mala, finally back at Kareem. “After consultation with my queen and my niece, I have chosen to appoint you to the court of Khiyani. There is a need for more focus on the arts in the schools of Khiyani, and my board of educators have reviewed your work and are enthusiastic about having you as an advisor.” He cleared his throat. “And in my own act of . . .” he cleared his throat again . . . “love and trust, even though it defies all reason and common sense, I am appointing you tutor in the arts to my son, the crown prince.” A gasp rose up from those who did not know of it beforehand, and Irene almost cried when she saw Bilaal flinch.
He’s feeling it, she realized when she saw her husband actually looked surprised for a split second before regaining his composure. He’s feeling what a simple act of love and trust can do to the person who’s offering it. Oh, God, he’s feeling it!
“Tutor to my son,” the Sheikh repeated, “under supervision at all times, of course. Trust only goes so far.”
Kareem was blinking hard and breathing even harder, and he glanced over at Mala as if to ask if it was a trick. She shook her head and then nodded and smiled, and quickly Kareem turned back to the Sheikh and bowed.
“Sheikh, I . . . I do not know what to say,” he stammered.
“Say yes, or I will have you tied to the royal camels and dragged through the streets of Khiyani in a sack,” said the Sheikh without hesitation.
“There are no royal camels,” said wise Queen Irene from the Sheikh’s side, beating Princess Mala to the punch. “But I highly recommend you say yes.”