The summons came at dusk, carried by a servant whose face revealed nothing.
"The Malika beckons you," he said simply.
Zaynah, head of the harem, narrowed her eyes. "That's not customary. She doesn't meet new girls alone."
"I do not question, I only serve; you should do the same," the servant replied.
Aneesa was bathed again, this time more carefully. Her robe was changed to one of deep violet, royal, but not presumptuous. A soft veil was drawn over her curls, and silver bangles were slipped onto her wrists. Zaynah fumed the entire time.
"You will not speak unless spoken to. You will not show defiance. Bow low. Keep your eyes on the floor. Do not dare to look directly at The Malika."
Aneesa offered no response. She let the words fall like dust off her shoulders.
She was no fool; she knew this was not an ordinary summons.
The Malika's receiving chamber was nothing like the rest of the palace. The room was round, with curved archways instead of doors. Lanterns cast dancing shadows across ancient tapestries, and the air smelled of clove and aged paper. A low table sat between two cushions of sapphire blue. Beside it: what seemed like hundreds of books.
Aneesa could tell they were not decorative. They were worn at the edges. Read and reread. She smiled to herself and imagined this is how her chamber would appear if she were ever anyone's Queen.
The Malika sat across the room in silence, her gaze heavy with intention, her robe pooling like ink around her.
"You may leave us," she said.
Zaynah stiffened. "Your Majesty, I..."
"I said, leave."
Zaynah turned to Aneesa, her eyes sharp with warning, then bowed and exited in silence.
Aneesa stepped forward and lowered herself into a bow.
The Malika studied her for a long moment. Not cruelly. Not kindly. Just thoroughly.
"You are Omar's daughter," she said.
Aneesa's heart thudded once, hard. "I was your Majesty." The Malika paused to interpret Aneesa's word and then carried on without so much as a tingling of remorse.
"I have bought many books, from your father, the last on Persian astronomy. He told me his daughter had read it first."
A pause.
Aneesa lifted her chin and stared defiantly at The Malika. "I did."
The Malika tilted her head in amusement. "So you read Latin?"
"I do."
"How fluently?"
"Well enough to correct mistranslations for your son."
The Malika's lips slowly turned into a satisfied smile.
She stood, walked to the low table, and selected a scroll. "This is written in three languages. Arabic, Latin, and a cipher used by Berber mystics. I've only ever known two men who could read all three."
"Would you like me to try?" Aneesa asked.
"No," The Malika said. "I'd like you to visit the library."
Aneesa blinked, astonished by The Malika's words. "I thought the royal library was reserved for royal scholars."
"It is. And for women I find useful." The Malika said, still smiling, this time almost encouraging. Her eyes were two-toned, one like fire, the other like ice. Her face showed signs of aging but was still gorgeous, regal, and befitting of the most powerful woman in the Moorish Kingdom.
Aneesa bowed her head again, not in submission, but in understanding.
The Malika handed her the scroll.
"Go tomorrow. Ask for the west wing. And if Zaynah protests, tell her I said she may find other employment."
As Aneesa turned to leave, The Malika added, almost as an afterthought:
"I see why my son likes you," she said with a tone that was hard to place. It was part admiration, part amusement, and perhaps something slightly possessive.
Aneesa stopped, wanting to ask more questions, but bit her tongue so as not to sully what she perceived to be a beneficial exchange.
"Don't worry," said The Malika. "He is more interested in mystics than matters of the flesh."
As Aneesa was escorted back to the harem, she tried to remember every encounter she ever had with Tariq. He had often frequented her father's shop. Always alone. Always with gold. Always stealing glances of her as she went about her daily work.
He would listen to her father's stories until they closed and often purchased books about alchemy. Did he visit for the books or her? Did he speak of her to The Malika? Did he ask to bring her here?
Her mind raced with a thousand questions, and her heart fluttered at the thought of being watched by The Emir Tariq all these years, as he lusted for her body and maybe even her mind.