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did not. Your father lives.”
    He did not question her certainty. His gaze alighted on the coastline again. A sigh of relief rippled through her. She sagged in the leather saddle.
    Worry had plagued her for weeks after Faraj’s departure. Yet, her words to her son comforted her now. She sighed and palmed her rounded belly beneath the loose folds of her tunic.
    “I understand why Grandfather required Father’s help at Tarif, but he should not have left us now, Ummi .”
    “You shall inherit your father’s responsibilities someday. This land is yours and you shall defend it, as your father has done. When your Sultan calls upon your sword, you must answer. Do not blame your father for doing his duty now, or my father for demanding it. Blame King Sancho of Castilla-Leon instead.”
    Ismail snorted. “The Brave! His people should call him the Oath-breaker instead!”
    Fatima nodded. “You see him as you should, my son. When King Sancho took Tarif two years ago, my father had every reason to expect the city would return to Gharnatah’s control. King Sancho lied to my father and broke the terms of our last treaty.”
    “Now, the Sultan must rely upon the Marinids, who have been his enemies.”
    “Yes and upon your father, who has ever served him loyally.”
    “Is that why you haven’t written to Father about the child you carry?”
    She glared at Ismail. “A mother is allowed some secrets, is she not? You forget yourself at times, my son. Or, perhaps I have indulged you too much.”
    His lazy smile faded and he inclined his head, his gaze falling away. “Forgive me.”
    His outward sign of contrition did not fool her. A little smile teased at the corners of his mouth, though he strove against it.
    “I have not told Faraj of this child because he would return home, when my father needs him at Tarif.”
    Ismail protested, “You need him, too! The Sultan would agree, if you only asked him.”
    She shook her head and reached for his shoulder. “The governor of Malaka must be loyal to the Sultan’s cause, even above the wishes of his own heart and his family. Your father may return in due time. The siege cannot last forever.”
    His lips pressed in a thin line, he made no reply. She chuckled at his stubbornness and clutched his hand, pulling it to her abdomen. “Here, see if you can feel the first stirrings of your brother or sister.”
    His hand settled on her stomach too briefly, before he pulled it back and stared at his fingers with something akin to awe. “How did the baby get inside you? Is it the same way as when the stallions cover the mares in heat?”
    She laughed, throwing her head back. A billowing wind carried the sound out to sea. “Not quite, my Ismail. You shall understand in time. You are yet young.”
    She chose to ignore the fact that her husband had been thirteen, a year younger than Ismail, when he received the gift of three concubines from her grandfather.
    “Why can’t you tell me now? I shall have my own harem someday.”
    “A child should be sired in a loving union between a man and woman. The bond between us differentiates us from the animals. If you wish to know how a man feels about the act of love, ask your father when he returns.”
    “I intend to.”
    She did not doubt him. “Come, my son, let us return.”
    Ismail followed, as she nudged her mare up the sandy steep incline from the beach below their home. They rode in silence along the worn track and entered through the southwestern gate, watched by guardsmen who patrolled the battlements. The effects of the sea had weathered the gray walls, which had protected Malaka for many centuries. The men averted their eyes as Fatima rode past. After she and Ismail crested the hill, their horses turned eastward and cantered toward the stables.
    He dismounted first before he helped her. “I shall rub down the horses and feed them.”
    “We have grooms for that.”
    “I know. I like to work with my hands.”
    Ismail loved horses as much as