‘A most welcome one, how can you doubt it?’
Kadar eyed him quizzically. ‘Ten years, with not a word from you?’
‘Kadar, I...’
‘I did not come to berate you, nor to demand explanations for your silence. Allow me to say only that you have been missed. I am glad you are back, although the circumstances that bring you here are to be regretted. My heartfelt condolences on the death of your father. I know you did not see eye to eye with him but he was unquestionably a fine ruler of Qaryma. As you will be, my friend.’
Azhar smiled uncomfortably. ‘Forgive me for receiving you so formally here in the Divan. I was in session with my Council. When they informed me the Prince of Murimon had arrived, I naturally assumed it was your brother. Come, let us retire to my private quarters and we can catch up. We have much to discuss. As you say, ten years is a long time. A lot has happened.’
‘More, obviously, than you realise, Azhar. My brother, Prince Butrus, died some months ago in a riding accident. He was thrown from his horse and struck his head on a rock. I assumed you would have heard.’
‘Dead!’ Azhar came to an abrupt halt. ‘My deepest condolences. But—’ He broke off, only now realising the significance of what his friend had said. ‘You mean you are now—that Murimon is now your responsibility?’
‘It would appear so,’ Kadar said with a wry smile. ‘I can’t quite believe it myself.’
‘But what will you do?’ Azhar asked, aghast.
‘Try to make a better prince than my illustrious and much-loved elder brother? Do not ask me how that is to be done, for I have no idea. This has all been a tremendous shock to me. It was always simply a matter of time for you, but for me—it simply never occurred to me that I would find myself thrust into the public eye.’
Azhar shook his head vehemently. ‘You are wrong, I never expected to inherit either.’
Kadar looked startled. ‘I know that you were always at loggerheads with your father, but you are the first born, how could you have expected anything else?’
Azhar ushered his friend into his sitting room, ordering refreshments to be brought. It was not in his nature to lie, but while he did not doubt Kadar’s discretion, he found himself reluctant to confide in him. ‘For a man whose life has changed for ever, you seem remarkably sanguine,’ he said.
‘It is not in my nature to rail against the fates,’ Kadar replied. ‘What will be, will be.’
‘But in the past, you cared for nothing save your precious books. You will find you have little time for scholarly pursuits, now you have a kingdom to rule.’
‘No less than you will have for foreign travel, now that you too have a kingdom to rule,’ Kadar retorted with a flash of anger that was quickly suppressed. ‘At least I know I can rely on you as a staunch ally. We will be able to visit each other as often as our fathers did back in the old days.’
‘Peace and politics aside, our friendship is one of the most valuable things to emerge from those state visits,’ Azhar said warmly. ‘I remember the first time I saw you on a horse, a wild stallion from my father’s stable, I thought it would be sure to throw you in less than ten seconds.’
‘I believe it took all of forty,’ Kadar said, laughing.
‘You lasted twenty more than I would have done, and even at the age of eleven, I considered myself something of an expert horseman. Until that day, I had taken Butrus’s word for your devotion to your books and little else. You were an abject lesson to me not to make assumptions, and I confess, the excuse I needed to avoid your brother’s company on future visits. I know that your people worshipped him, thought him a perfect paragon of a prince, but I’m afraid he was also a terrible bore.’
Kadar laughed. ‘Exactly what Butrus himself said of me.’ His smile faded quickly. ‘All the same, he was an excellent prince, while I—but there, enough of that. I am glad that you are back, Azhar. I am glad that we will once again be friends as well as allies.’
Azhar smiled uncomfortably. The situation was extremely awkward. Kadar had more than sufficient cares of his own to deal with, without being privy to his. Time enough for him to learn that his ally would not be Azhar, but Kamal. Though now he thought about it, Kamal had always been disparaging of this bookish second son of Murimon. So perhaps not such a staunch ally after all.
The servant brought them refreshments, and for a while the talk turned to old times, but Kadar too seemed to be aware of how much the intervening years had changed both of them. ‘Much as I’d like to, I cannot linger,’ he said. ‘My brother’s untimely passing bequeathed me not only a kingdom, but also his affianced bride. I have no intentions of taking on both, and am on my way to terminate the matter with her family’s representatives. Since I had to pass through Qaryma, I thought to pay my respects to the new ruler. And to bring you this.’
He handed Azhar a small package. ‘You sent out word through your agents that you were looking to reclaim any property stolen from the Englishwoman. In particular jewellery, and a customised trunk? Our port sees a good deal of illegal trade and contraband, unfortunately—or in this case, fortunately for you. This was confiscated from a known rogue trader. I cannot be sure it belongs to her, but it is certainly English.’
Azhar unwrapped the object and read the inscription inside before setting it down on the table. For some reason, he was reluctant to touch it. ‘Yes, there can be no doubt it is hers,’ he said. ‘It was very kind of you to take the trouble to bring it in person. Madam Trevelyan will be extremely grateful. She will wish to thank you herself.’
‘For recovering her property, which a bunch of barbarous thieves who are my countrymen thought to profit from,’ Kadar said grimly. ‘That kind of trade, we can well do without.’
‘Indeed. I have been putting considerable energy into tightening our own border controls,’ Azhar said. ‘That the theft took place within Qaryma still rankles with me.’
‘Perhaps that is something upon which we can collaborate in the future. Please pass on my apologies to Madam Trevelyan. I am sorry not to be able to make her acquaintance. She must be a remarkable woman, to have captured your attention so.’
‘What precisely have you heard?’ Azhar asked sharply.
‘An Englishwoman travelling alone through the desert gathering plants is fuel enough for idle gossip,’ Kadar replied mildly. ‘One with hair the colour of fire, who is the confidante to a future king—you must know perfectly well that will give rise to a great deal of speculation.’
‘I had not thought of it,’ Azhar said stiffly. ‘Julia—Madam Trevelyan—has been—she is—there is nothing—her presence here relates to a matter of private business.’
His friend clapped his shoulder warmly. ‘Unfortunately, you will learn soon enough for yourself that a ruler is afforded no privacy. I brought the matter to your attention only because I thought you should be aware of it. Another unfortunate fact—although our people love to gossip about us, they dare not gossip with us. Now I really must go. I hope that you will not permit another ten years to elapse before we meet again.’
The door closed behind him and Azhar sank on to the couch, picking up the pocket watch that Kadar had brought, opening the case to read the inscription once more. To our beloved son Daniel Adam Edward Trevelyan on the occasion of his coming of age. He set the time and wound the mechanism. The watch ticked as sedately and fastidiously as Azhar imagined its owner to have been.
He snapped the case shut and put it back on the table, eyeing it distastefully. He had not forgotten that Julia was a widow, but he had somehow forgotten that she had once been a wife. The wife of the man who had owned this watch. A man who had singularly failed to appreciate her. Who had thought of Julia, clever, witty, brave, determined Julia, as a mere amanuensis. His dogsbody.