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from her steady gaze. “It was…difficult, at times, to see you and Aisha. I had given up all hope, until today.”
    The hesitation in his voice told her that he hated the long absence from his sister, but she did not know who or what could have kept him away. A doubt nagged at her. Had her father done it? Had he kept Aisha locked away from her family, like a prisoner? 
    She shook her head and asked, “Is this your house?”
    “The only one I own in the foothills of Gharnatah.” He looked around as though seeing something in the shadows along the alabaster corridor. “I shall miss it.”
    She sensed some hidden meaning behind his answer, but she struggled with the understanding of so much already. Besides, the palace servants had always taught her that children never asked adults to explain themselves. Children had a duty to follow orders.
    Up ahead, a dark-skinned servant approached Aisha, bending at the waist. A rounded belly jutted under her tunic. When she straightened, her veil slipped back, revealing dark hair cropped close to her skull. Fatima stared, recognizing something familiar in her rounded features. The servant spoke in whispers with Aisha, who turned back to Fatima and Abdallah.
    “She wishes to see us alone, brother, before speaking with Fatima. Please arrange for my daughter to have something to eat. We don’t have much time.”
    Abdallah waved the servant forward. “Ulayyah, have the cook prepare the morning meal for the child.”
    Aisha approached. “Fatima, return to the room.”
    “But I don’t want to be there alone.”
    Aisha patted her head. “Nothing and no one can harm you here. I promise.”
    “How long must I wait?”
    “For as long as it takes. Now please, do as I say.”  
    Fatima spun away in a huff and dragged her feet across the marble, looking over her shoulder at almost every step. Abdallah followed and closed the door on her last glimpse of her mother in the hallway. She sat down on the stool, her chin in her hand and waited.
     
    The scent of freshly baked bread alerted her even before the door latch clicked. The same dark-skinned slave entered and padded across the floor, her bare feet hardly making a sound. She sank to her knees and lay flat on the ground, her forehead touching the marble.
    “My princess, I am the slave Ulayyah. I serve the Ashqilula.” Her voice quivered.
    Fatima frowned at her. Only the Sultan deserved such a respectful bow. She did not expect it from a servant among the Ashqilula.
    As the slave moved to a sitting position, her legs bent beneath her, two other women entered carrying a platter of flatbread, boiled eggs, cheese, olives, grapes and pomegranates, with a pitcher of water. They set the food and drink on the windowsill and left.
    “May I serve you, princess?” Ulayyah asked, though she did not wait for an answer. She reached for the platter.
    “I cannot eat all of that!” Fatima exclaimed. “Just the eggs and flatbread, please.”
    Ulayyah held the platter while Fatima chose the food she wanted. The flatbread was warm and thin, but not dry like the cooks in her father’s kitchen made it. After eating it and the eggs, she plucked a few grapes from the stem.
    She said, “You look like my old governess Halah.”
    The slave replied, “I am her younger sister, my princess.”  
    Fatima remembered her governess had spoken of a sister who served the Ashqilula, one who had left Gharnatah years ago.
    “Princess Fatima, I was the servant of the Sultan’s daughter, the Sultana Mu’mina, until her death. Then I was sold to the lady Saliha.”
    “Who is that?”
    “My lord Abdallah’s mother.”
    “Then, she must be my grandmother.” Fatima wondered why Aisha had brought her to meet her grandmother now. She had never thought of whether Aisha had any family. In truth, she had never wondered anything about Aisha’s life before her marriage to Fatima’s father.
    Her hand fell from the platter and she twisted away from the slave, peering