45
NINE MONTHS LATER.
ONE YEAR BACK IN THE WORLD.
BUT SOMEHOW DEEPER IN THE WOODS.
The Sheikh returned to Khiyani gaunt and weary, the luster of his hair dulled, the light in his green eyes replaced by the cold fire of vengeance. But vengeance had eluded him, with even the CIA turning up nothing on either Mala or this other brother. The Sheikh’s men had interrogated everyone at the school, to the point where other parents were expressing concern for the safety of their own children at the hands of the burly Khiyani Security Force personnel, who were not always the most polite, with the Sheikh breathing down their necks.
“You need to come home, Bilaal,” Irene had told him over the phone. “The twins will be here soon. They will want to look upon their father when they open their eyes for the first time. Please, Bilaal.”
Irene had been patient and silent as the Sheikh scoured the world looking for his niece and this other brother. Mala’s disappearance had almost broken her—indeed, she felt responsible: After all, it was Irene’s naiveté that had convinced the Sheikh to “leave to it the compassion of Allah” or some such sentimental nonsense. Perhaps the Sheikh had been right. In the real world sometimes you need to stab the problem in the eyeball to get what you want, to protect the ones you love.
She’d often watched her children sleep as she stayed awake, alone in the desert, anxiously waiting for a call from her husband as he roamed the land, polished steel and gun-metal at his side, burning hatred and growing despair in his heart. What would I do for my children, she’d asked as she almost drove herself to sickness from the guilt of stopping Bilaal from taking care of things his way. How could I have been so stupid? A teenage girl is probably dead in a hole somewhere because of my selfishness!
And it was selfishness, she knew. The same selfishness of which she’d accused Bilaal. How would he ever forgive her? How would their marriage ever survive? How could he ever look at her and not think of his niece who was surely dead by now. Perhaps even the brother had killed himself: After all, it had been almost nine months since Mala’s kidnapping. Would Bilaal leave her once his search was done? Would he take her children? Or would he simply abandon them all? Would he keep her his queen but stay cold and silent for the rest of his days, always blaming her for what she’d made him do or not do? Was she still being selfish thinking about her own marriage and children at a time like this? What kind of a person was she?!
In the midst of all this she’d found out that her pregnancy was twins, and as her body filled out again and those hormones went haywire, the lack of sleep and the concern for Bilaal, Mala, and the possible end of her marriage had taken Irene to the edge many times. Still, she always found her way back—because somewhere deep down she still had faith that love would win over violence.
Of course, she knew that violence would be the order of the day once Bilaal found the other brother, and she was prepared for it. A part of her even welcomed it: After all, Irene was a frontier-woman at the end of it. If this brother had indeed done what everyone feared, then she wouldn’t waste her breath trying to save his ass. There was a part of her that understood how justice worked in the old world, that sometimes justice has to be harsh and swift. But now, with her due date approaching, Irene needed the Sheikh’s love. And she knew he could probably use a little love in his life as well.
“I will be there,” he’d said stoically over the phone, not a hint of that boundless joy that had consumed him when he’d heard she was pregnant nine months ago. “Yes, of course, Irene.”
The Sheikh kept his word, and the Royal Palace was bustling with activity and anticipation when the big day arrived. Needless to say, there was no bathtub this time. Although Irene had considered delivering the twins with just her attendants and a midwife, she decided against it. The past nine months had been stressful on her mind and body, and she didn’t want to take the chance of anything going wrong. Especially with twins.
So they’d prepared the Royal Infirmary for the arrival of the royal twins, and on the morning of the day, when Irene’s water broke in spectacular fashion in their royal chambers, she was pleased to see the Sheikh’s handsome face light up with anxiousness and excitement as he bellowed for the doctors and handmaidens to get in there because his children were ready to arrive.
But as Irene went into full labor for that imminent arrival, another arrival was announced, and this time Irene thought the Sheikh really would pass out on his feet:
“Sheikh Bilaal,” gasped the breathless attendant who’d sprinted the entire way from the eastern entrance of the Royal Palace, which would have been almost a mile of twisted hallways and winding courtyards, with portraits of old kings and queens staring down from the sandstone walls. “She is here. The princess.”
“What?” the Sheikh had asked, confused for a moment as he glanced over at his daughter, Princess River, who was in the arms of an attendant in the room with them. As before, Irene had insisted her children be present at the birth, so they understood that childbirth was natural and normal. “What are you saying? Speak, or I will—”
“Princess Mala!” shouted the attendant as he fell to the floor, dripping with sweat, his eyes wide. “She is here, my Sheikh! The princess is here! She is alive. Allah hu Akbar! She is alive!”