Equal of the Sun A Novel - By Anita Amirrezvani Page 0,81

from the Sufis, enjoying how her eyes drank in the information. But then she frowned.

“I thought you were ill.”

“I was,” I said quickly. “I went to the sama for its healing powers.”

Pari looked skeptical. “For your own protection, you had better make sure to tell me what you are doing.”

“I will.”

Before we were able to discuss my conduct or the meaning of what I had heard, her mother arrived with her ladies. I paid my respects and then awaited orders near the door.

The princess greeted her mother and called for refreshments, but she fidgeted so much on her cushion that her discomfort was obvious.

“My child, I come bearing news. Remember I said I would return to you with a list of qualified suitors?”

“I do, but I am busy today,” Pari replied, her long forehead crinkling. “I face several crises more pressing than finding a husband.”

“Hear me out,” said her mother, wincing as she placed her hip on a cushion. “I received a letter this morning from a kinswoman in Sistan, whom I had written to ask about the marital status of your cousin Badi al-Zaman.”

Pari sighed, and I echoed her impatience silently.

“Don’t worry that I will suggest him as a possibility,” said her mother. “Badi al-Zaman is dead. He was found in bed with a dagger in his heart.”

Pari’s eyes clouded, making her look as if she could no longer see. “May God be merciful!”

“It is not just him,” her mother added. “He had an infant son only a year old who was found strangled in his bedchamber.”

We were all shocked into silence. Azar Khatoon’s shoulders rounded as if she had received a blow. I could feel my face crumpling in disbelief like the faces around me.

“What a horror,” breathed Pari. “What could be more fragile, more beloved, and more precious than a baby boy? What more sickening than the murder of a child brought into the world with great suffering by his mother? It is unimaginable.”

“May God shelter his tiny soul,” whispered Daka Cherkes.

“We must not lose our ability to reason now that we need it the most,” Pari said. “The child’s death assures us that this was a political murder designed to destroy Badi al-Zaman’s entire line. Who is responsible?”

“The letter didn’t say. However, it is clear that the people of the region are disgusted with the rule of the qizilbash, and they intend to set up their own ruler.”

“So we have another rebellion on our hands!”

“I am afraid so.”

Pari’s eyes locked with my own; I knew at once what she feared. “Has anyone had news of the other princes in the last few days?”

“I haven’t,” Daka said.

“Javaher, go check on Ibrahim and Gowhar immediately.”

I rushed out of the palace and down the Promenade of the Royal Stallions to Ibrahim and Gowhar’s house. I hoped that my errand would find them safe. If so, I would be honored by the opportunity to glimpse their famous library, which housed thousands of books, including a priceless manuscript of Jami’s poems ten years in the making.

I was not even permitted to enter their courtyard. Armed soldiers halted me and told me that Ibrahim was under house arrest. Breathless, I returned to Pari’s quarters, only to be greeted by the sound of great wails. Pari’s mother clung to her, tears flowing. Pari held her gently, trying to soothe her.

“What happened?” I asked Massoud Ali, whose eyes were dark with horror.

“Pari’s brother Suleyman is dead,” he whispered.

I rocked back on my heels in shock.

“Pari’s half brothers, Imamqoli Mirza and Ahmad Mirza, have also been found slain in their chambers.”

They were only twelve or thirteen years old. I dropped to a cushion, my mind clearing all of a sudden as all the tiny bits of colored clay formed themselves into a mosaic. With the qizilbash busy chasing the Sufis, no one remained to protect the princes and Isma‘il was free to order the remaining nobles to execute whomever he wished. I was grateful that Mahmood lived in a remote province in the heart of the Caucasus, but the news filled me with terror, and I resolved to warn him right away.

“Why does God visit so much sorrow upon me?” Daka exclaimed through her tears. “First my husband, now my only son. I will never bear another. Was any woman more bereft?”

“Or any daughter?” Pari replied. “How much death must one witness?”

“My child, you who are still young have already endured so much!”

Daka brushed her fingers under Pari’s dry eyes, searching for water. “Why don’t

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