Challenging the Doctor Sheikh Read online

“Yes. Being a leader. Taking a tiny idea and making it powerful, and having the ability to inspire people to follow him through it.”

  “But you don’t like being a follower, and you don’t want to be the leader.”

  He grimaced. “When you put it together like that, it sounds very egocentric and spoiled. Selfish. But maybe it’s true. He’s the leader, I’m the follower, and he should never let me lead him astray.”

  “And you wanting him to come back is noble, not just about freeing you to go back to England.”

  “See? You did it again. Made it sound bad. Maybe I shouldn’t talk about this stuff. Better to not upset the status quo.” Only he wasn’t the one who’d upset the status quo. It was this showdown between Zahir and Father—which Zahir had apparently won, and yet he was still here.

  She slipped her hand free of his and slid it up his chest, the good tingle left in the trail of her touch commanding him to open his eyes and look at her.

  The sweetest eyes met his. Beautiful, yes, but they had the kind of warmth that made being seen by her feel tangible, made him want to stretch out and have her look at him whole.

  “I’m asking you questions to make you think, not to criticize you. Because I want to stay here for as long as I can, and I want you to stay too. I also want you to be happy, but something is making you unhappy.”

  She did. He could see it in her eyes. The prospect of telling her about her father was making him unhappy right now, other than that he’d had a pretty good day. His position didn’t really bother him, he was just trying to answer her questions. Answering them let him pretend he didn’t have other important things to say that she’d spent her whole life desperate to hear—the dread that ate at him when he considered her future should Jibril acknowledge her and accept her as an Al-Haaken was hard to ignore.

  Her hand slid from his chest to his cheek, and she leaned up to press her lips to his brow. The soft, lingering kiss started there then wandered over his cheek and eventually settled on his mouth. Gentle, languid, it was as unhurried as it was thorough, kissing with no ulterior motives. His body reacted. He couldn’t feel the slide of her tongue against his without wanting to take her to bed, but the slow, easy pace drained tension from his body, giving him comfort he’d needed all day.

  By the time she lifted her head he didn’t know whether to stretch out and cuddle her or take her to bed.

  The second being the less likely option for now, he pushed her hair back, tucked it behind her ear and looked into her eyes again.

  Peace won. He wrapped his arms around her, and once she’d settled against his chest they waited for dinner in easy silence.

  * * *

  The race to the Immortal Fortress was a morning affair, but even getting up to fly at first light couldn’t put a damper on Nira’s excitement.

  Tents littered the desert all around the ruin, camps of families who’d come to enjoy the races, along with stables for the camels.

  The helicopter touched down and an SUV waited to drive them the short distance to the ancient citadel. Today Nira couldn’t touch Dakan—he was there on behalf of the King, and propriety wouldn’t allow those little displays of affection, though she could sit with him to watch the race.

  The fortress had one hole blasted in the wall facing the border, but the rest of it was remarkably intact. Stones that had fallen from the hole had long ago been moved to the side, though never carted away, the damage never repaired. The corridor and staircase up to the roof held firm. It was damaged, but it kept standing strong and true.

  On the roof, a platform had been erected with two large ornate chairs—thrones, really—and a smaller, simpler chair facing them, all set beneath an awning to shield the royals from the sun.

  Dakan took the larger chair, gestured for her to sit, and refreshments were immediately brought.

  “Why are we on the roof?” she asked in a whisper when people had moved back enough that she didn’t feel so conspicuous speaking to him.

  “Because the King of Mamlakat Almas was on the roof, having his breakfast on that day. He’d sent his army to another part of the border to engage the Ottomans and hold them out. We’d have been happy as allies, but when did being conquered by anyone ever sit well with a small country, even one with shared faiths? The day before the battle, a messenger arrived at first light on camelback, scaled the wall, delivered word to the King, whom he’d seen on the battlements.”

  Nira sat, utterly absorbed by Dakan’s story. She could see it all in her mind, and somehow felt so much more attached to it than she ever had to history classes at school.

  “What did the King do?”

  “Gave him food, water, a change of camel, and a message to summon his army to White Stone Castle.” He pointed down to the building they sat upon. “The Ottoman army arrived ahead of his, but the King, his Queen, and all the people in the castle armed the cannons and fought with whatever they had. Hot oil they’d used for cooking.”

  “The Ottomans were the ones who blew a hole in the wall?”

  “And the cries of the Almasian army behind them turned the battle around. There were terrible losses on both sides, but Suleiman the Great continued his march to the gulf, sidestepping Mamlakat Almas, and we’ve remained independent since. The third chair will be for the first racer to reach us and climb the rope.”

  “There’s a rope?” She’d missed that part. “What do they win?”

  “A fat purse of gold coins, and the opportunity to serve a year as the King’s Messenger at functions in the city and small ceremonies—of which there are many—where they bring a message and read it out to whomever is in attendance.”

  “When did they start calling it the Immortal Fortress?”

  “Not for another century, I don’t think. They expected it to crumble in where the hole had been punched, but it never has. The desert tries to swallow it up now and then, they sweep out the sand a couple times per year, but it’s still in great condition. The story now is that as long as it stands, the country will never be invaded from the north. The Kings began carrying out the race in the eighteenth century as a remembrance that the actions of one person can help the whole country.”

  As soon as he said the words, the smile he’d worn changed...like he’d only heard his own words after they were out of his mouth.

  Nira reached over to touch his hand, even though she knew she shouldn’t, and he squeezed her hand then let go abruptly and turned to the organizers. “Are we ready to begin the race?”

  “All has been made ready, Highness. The racers are on standby.”

  Dakan nodded and gave word for the cannon to be fired.

  * * *

  By Thursday morning, Nira had recovered from their trip to the Immortal Fortress, and was over her excitement at traveling to far-flung villages.

  Wednesday’s trip had been long and exhausting, though when they’d flown over the oasis she had regretted that she hadn’t been able to go there. Maybe she could convince him to take her once the hospital building began.

  As a tour and a chance to see the country, it did not fail to amaze her, but she didn’t learn anything else on that visit that would help with the design.

  Prince Dakan had kept busy, talking to people and trying to be whatever was expected of him, and she could clearly see the differences now that she was looking for them. Prince Dakan gave test vials to a man and ordered samples of the water taken from the therapeutic springs for testing. Regular Dakan would’ve gone into the springs himself to test them, or something else active. Prince Dakan didn’t reek of vigor and activity like he did when no one but her was looking. He’d be easy to resist if she hadn’t come to actually care about him enough to look beyond his royal persona.

  He was still a puzzle, though.

  He wanted to make the lives of his people better, and he didn’t want anyo
ne looking to him for leadership or decision-making, but he also didn’t trust the decisions made by others.

  The trebuchet incident kept coming up, and always with a different emotion attached to it. She wasn’t sure whether it was a happy memory or a sad one any more.

  All she knew for sure was that he was a man in conflict with himself, but she didn’t know whether he ever expressed those conflicting opinions to his family. She’d never met the King, but intuition said he’d be domineering—that was perhaps what a king had to be. The idea of Dakan having any kind of discussion with his father, where he was actually listened to, seemed far-fetched. But Zahir had struck her as someone easy to talk to, and Dakan obviously loved his brother. He could talk to Zahir. They might not agree, but just talking things through resolved most problems.

  Like with her mum. Nira wanted to talk about the situation with her father, she just didn’t feel like she could. She didn’t want to cause pain, but also she didn’t want to deal with the frustration that came any time she tried. If they could just talk things through, if she could just understand...

  “Nira?” Dakan said at her side, getting her attention.

  She looked across the back seat to the open car door where he stood, bag in hand.

  “We’re here.”

  Facility number three. At least the geography was different here. Tuesday and Wednesday had been dry and sandy with little in the way of visible rocks. Today they’d made it to the area that had been experiencing lots of rain, but arrived right after the rain decided to move out and the ground had drained most of the water away.

  The facility sat at the base of a rather steep cliff, which didn’t seem safe. She grabbed her bag as she climbed out, and paused to look up. “Do they suffer from falling rocks?”

  “The ground here is very stable. There hasn’t been so much as a tremor in Mamlakat Almas for decades.” He gestured for her to walk ahead of him. “Rain is even a rare event here. Except this season. But there’s no rain today, and no signs of flooding. I think we’re safe.”

  She stepped inside and moved in far enough to survey the room and let Dakan enter with his huge medical bag. There were fewer people in the waiting room than had been at the other two, and a number of chairs sat empty, perhaps due to the rains.

  One empty seat was beside a very pregnant woman with a baby playing at her feet. He twisted to look as they came in, and started crawling toward them. Before the woman could catch him, his speed increased along with the volume of happy gurgling baby noises as he made a beeline right for them.

  The alarmed woman scooted forward in her seat as she tried to find her center of balance so she could stand.

  “Wait, I’ll get him,” Nira called to the woman, bending to scoop up the baby before he got trampled on in the close confines of the waiting area.

  As soon as she had him in her arms, the baby immediately reached for her scarf and began tugging at it as Nira walked back to the distraught woman. “I believe this is yours.” She tried to disentangle his fingers from the scarf, which now was horribly skewed on her head, and smiled despite the mess she knew she must look.

  The woman reached for him, but it took both of them working together to get his little grabby hands unwound from the silk so Nira could put him down.

  She chanced a look at Dakan, found him smirking and offering her no assistance, at least until the healer saw him and took him straight back.

  “He is quite strong!” Nira said, when they finally got him back into his mother’s arms.

  “Forgive us, Princess. I think you must look like my sister to him,” she explained.

  Nira reached up to try and right the mess, but found it just wouldn’t seat again. “There is nothing to forgive. And I’m no princess. The Prince hired me to design a hospital for the capital. We’re touring places of healing so I can design the hospital well.”

  She made her way through what she wanted to say more easily than she had been doing, finding the words she wanted—or something very close to them—without long, tense silences. What she couldn’t find was a way to tie the scarf appropriately again without the aid of a mirror.

  Time to give up. She unpinned the colorful silk from where it covered her neck and unwound it. The best she could do on her own without a mirror was to drape it over her head and tie it under her hair so that her head was covered.

  Smiling to smooth over any awkwardness, she began the same conversation she’d held at the first two facilities. This time she led with, “I was going to ask you what you’d change to improve the waiting room, but I think I have an idea. Somewhere for little ones to play safely?”

  She reached for her bag to get out her sketchbook and pencil to take notes, and felt a rumble in her seat. The hair on the nape of her neck stood on end, brushing firmly against the knotted silk when she turned her head to look around for the sound.

  Earthquake? Dakan said...

  The sound of earth moving crashed outside, and she dropped her sketchbook. Everyone looked as alarmed as she felt, so this was definitely not a normal sound.

  They should get away from the cliff, outside the building.

  By the time the thought solidified, most of the other people had risen and rushed toward the door.

  Yell if you need me, Dakan had said, as he always did.

  Nira screamed his name, then pitched to her feet. Her legs felt encased in half-set concrete, but she was up.

  Without a word, she took the baby from the woman’s arms and anchored him to her chest. People piled out of the only exit; no one stopped to help them. She hooked her free arm under the woman’s closest arm and strained to help her to her feet.

  Something smashed into the outside of the side wall, then several more somethings followed in rapid succession, each issuing a resounding crack.

  The baby screamed, and Nira did too as the surface of the wall bowed inward, cracks appearing from the center.

  Behind her, she heard Dakan shout her name. As she looked back, the wall crashed in and the floor fell from beneath them.

  * * *

  Dakan felt the building shake, heard the rumble, and then screams came through the wall separating them from the waiting room.

  The elderly healer, dumbstruck, gripped the frame of the window beside him and stared at the door.

  Power surged through Dakan on a wave of fear, and he sprang from his chair. A moment later he had the door open to the waiting room. All he could see was dust in the air, and light behind it where there shouldn’t be light.

  “Nira!” he yelled, in time to see the other side of the building collapse and three silhouettes disappear.

  It was her. He didn’t have to see her clearly, he felt it in the roar ripping through his belly.

  His lungs seized before he could call out again.

  Dust. Cover your mouth.

  Ripping the robes over his head, Dakan paused long enough to shred the shoulder seam of one arm, pulling it entirely free of the garment, and then tugging it over his head until it covered his face from his cheeks down.

  Once out the door of the consultation room, the floor seemed intact to the front exit but looked dodgy. He tested it with one foot, but it bowed beneath the lightest pressure.

  Their way was blocked.

  Get the old man out; find Nira.

  Grabbing his bag, Dakan used the hard bottom to push the glass out of the frame in the solitary window, then tossed the bag through.

  “Come on, we have to get out,” he said, offering a hand to the elder healer. It took both hands to ease the frail man through the window. A minute later he had the bag in one hand and the man’s arm in the other, and was pulling him away from the broken building.

  Outside, people had gathered, most of whom he recognized from his time in the waiting room.

  His heart in
his throat, he searched every grimy face for Nira’s on the chance that she’d crawled out. Nothing.

  All of his people were worth worrying about, and he was concerned for them too, but for Nira... Terror clawed at his guts.

  The pregnant woman wasn’t there either, or the baby.

  Leaving the bag with the old man, Dakan rushed back to the front of the building to survey the damage. Big rocks. He’d told her they were safe.

  They hadn’t come through the roof, though.

  To the left of the building he saw it, a slide of earth at the bottom of the cliff face behind another house that had been damaged, and a path leading from that mound of wet earth to the rocks piled against the side of the healing center.

  A moment later he had his satellite phone out and was calling for the helicopter.

  The call made, he began organizing people to take a head count, find out who else was still inside. And once that was done he doused his severed sleeve mask with water from his bag and put it back on, creating a slightly better filter.

  He was going in.

  * * *

  Nira awoke to the sound of a baby crying in a high frantic keen that brought everything rushing back.

  He lay face down across her belly. She could feel him there, angry, squirming and scared. His cries sounded wrong to her somehow, raspy and wet. Something else lay over one of her feet. Something soft and warm.

  She opened her eyes, dust and dirt falling in and causing them to stream as she tried to see what was going on. Picking the baby up, she moved him so he lay down her chest with his head by hers in the vain hope that being face to face with her might comfort him.

  That done, she curled forward, trying to look toward her feet, but another coughing fit took her, shaking her and the baby until she got past whatever threatened her airway.

  He cried louder. She wanted to cry too, but she still had an inventory to take.

  One more effort and she lifted herself enough to look towards her feet. One of the woman’s legs lay across hers, not moving.

  Was she breathing? The view to the woman’s torso was blocked by debris, and she couldn’t hear the sound of breathing above the baby’s labored, choking cries.