reflects on you.’
‘And their children, who will be half-blood sisters or brothers to my own? Am I permitted to acknowledge them?’
‘They share no royal blood,’ Juwan replied, outraged. ‘How can you ask such a thing, Tahira! You are twenty-four years old, you cannot have lived your life behind these precious walls without understanding such a basic fact. Offspring of men’s lusts, that is what they are, and as such, they are fortunate to be adequately provided for, once they have been weaned. Did your mother not explain how such matters were dealt with?’
Tahira, feeling quite overwhelmed, shook her head dumbly. ‘I knew there were other women, but I did not think—do you think my father—that I have brothers, sisters in Nessarah...?’
‘Never say that,’ Juwan hissed, giving her a shake. ‘I cannot believe your mother left you so unprepared. I cannot believe that I am having to explain to you—but there it is, it seems I must. These are not children of royal blood, Tahira. They are not related to you. The concubines exist to sate a man’s lust, for it is greater than that of a woman, and must have an outlet, especially while she engages in the honourable duty of bearing his child, as I am doing. But when these woman bear fruit, it is tainted and must be sent away, you understand? The male children in particular, though they are not of royal blood, there can be no risk taken, lest they get ideas above their station.’
‘What do you mean, sent away?’
Juwan laughed shortly. ‘Not what you are imagining, though in the past—but we live in modern times. They are given another name, another family. They know no other life. That is why they are taken young, it is much kinder.’
‘Kinder? To be taken from their mother...’
‘When they are weaned. It is kinder for the woman too, for she may quickly return to her duties.’
‘And if she does not wish to?’
‘Then she is given a pension, but she cannot keep the fruit she bears, Tahira, under any circumstances. You understand this, I hope, for it is something you may have to enforce.’
‘I can’t imagine—it seems very cruel. When I lost my mother...’
‘A very different matter. You were already ten years old. A baby cannot miss what it has never known,’ Juwan said firmly. ‘I trust matters are now clear to you. I have no wish to discuss them again.’
‘Yes. Thank you.’
Juwan had smiled then. ‘I do believe that you will make a very good wife. You are naïve, there is much your mother left undone. But soon, sooner than you may hope, Prince Ghutrif will provide a husband for you.’
Juwan would not be drawn further. The conversation left Tahira deeply troubled and deeply embarrassed by her own blind acceptance of the situation. She had always known, but until now she had chosen to ignore, and not to question. But soon, sickeningly soon, she would find herself in the peculiar situation of being responsible for those women, those children, belonging to her husband, yet whose existence she must not acknowledge. It was taken for granted that a man needed many woman, she had never questioned that, but would she feel different when it was her husband?
Another question it had not occurred to her to ask, largely because she avoided the entire subject of matrimony, but now she forced herself to confront it. The man she would share a divan with, the man who kissed her, touched her, gave her children, would kiss other women, touch other women, give other women children. It was the way of things, it was what she had been raised to, but it felt very wrong.
The only man she had ever kissed was Christopher. The only man she had ever wished to kiss. And a man she fully intended to kiss again, if she was given the opportunity. She lay back against the orange tree, closing her eyes. She thought about Christopher making love to her. His mouth on hers. His hands on her breasts. His lean, hard body pressed against her...
‘Tahira, here you are! Surely you are not asleep again! You have been sleeping half the day away of late. You are not ill, are you?’
Alimah and Durrah stood over her, looking concerned. Tahira sat up, smiling at her sisters. ‘I was not sleeping, merely musing. Come sit with me. What have you been doing?’
Alimah rolled her eyes. ‘Avoiding Juwan. She has promised Durrah and I needlework lessons.’
Tahira repressed a guilty smile. ‘You can’t deny that you would benefit from them. Your needlework is atrocious, Alimah, and your sister’s is not much better, while Juwan’s is exquisite.’
‘Yes, but her conversation is not,’ Durrah said, throwing herself on to the cushions beside Tahira, placing her head on her lap. ‘It is all, Ghutrif says, and Ghutrif does, and Ghutrif has decided. Anyone would think she actually likes him.’
‘He is her husband,’ Ishraq said primly as she crossed the courtyard to join them. ‘Better to grow a rose in a marriage bed than a bitter lemon.’
‘That’s all very well,’ Durrah said plaintively, ‘but she expects us to like him too. She is constantly bleating about how dreadful she feels that she has not yet provided him with a son. It is not her fault.’
‘Juwan knows that,’ Ishraq said, ‘but she can hardly go around blaming our brother, can she? Imagine his reaction if he found out!’
A collective shudder ran around the sisters as they did so. ‘All the same,’ Alimah said in a small voice, ‘you’d think she would drop the dutiful wife act when it’s just us in the harem. Ever since she came here, it’s been different.’
‘She’s a usurper, an interloper, is what she is,’ Durrah said staunchly, ‘and she knows it.’
‘Hush now,’ Tahira intervened guiltily, for she knew full well that Durrah was expressing Tahira’s own views. ‘Juwan is the Crown Princess and as such we must treat her with the respect she is due.’
‘You don’t.’ Durrah pouted. ‘She isn’t one of us, why pretend? She doesn’t understand our jokes, she doesn’t read books, she doesn’t even paint or dance, and she loathes Sayeed.’
Ishraq and Amirah chuckled. ‘Save for Tahira, we all loathe that cat, and Sayeed makes it very obvious the feeling is mutual, so at least we have that much in common.’
‘That is true,’ Tahira said, relieved to see Ishraq smiling.
Though it was short-lived. Her next sister pursed her lips. ‘That cat is growing too vicious to remain here. Look at your hands, Tahira, they are in a disgraceful state.’
They were, thanks to her work at the mine, and she’d forgotten to tend to them. Guiltily, she tucked them into her sleeves. Not only covered in scratches, but she had two broken nails which it would take a great deal of ingenuity to ascribe to poor Sayeed.
Fortunately, Ishraq was not particularly interested in Sayeed or Tahira’s hands. ‘Juwan sees our brother through different eyes,’ she said. ‘As his wife, she knows it is her duty to love him.’
‘Well, I for one am glad that’s not a duty forced on me,’ Durrah exclaimed in disgust.
‘Oh, when you marry you will find it easy to love,’ Ishraq said assuredly. ‘What could be more natural, for you will not only have a husband but a
