The Sultan's Daughter (Princesses Uncovered #5)

Chapter 1: Troubles

 “Fath?” His mother’s voice echoed through their little house.

Fath groaned, rubbing his eyes, and blinking as the sun struck them. He shook his head, clearing it. He’d been dreaming again about that day in school when Gafar and his friends beat him until he passed out. After that, he’d started to learn how to protect himself.

Things had only gotten worse for his poor mother after that fight. He hadn’t been able to do much at fifteen, so he had taken to stealing bread and fruit at the market. If his mother asked where it came from, he would claim that he’d earned a few coppers from a passing noble to do some odd chore or another.

Now though… Now he was nineteen, and he was supposed to find a job.

He rolled over in bed. No one would hire him. He’d been searching for months now, ever since he’d turned nineteen. And still nothing. He knew why. It was Gafar’s doing. Gafar, who at twenty years of age was the youngest Vizier in their history.

And Gafar was as mean-spirited as ever. He still had it out for Fath since that day at school, and now Fath was feeling the repercussions more than ever. He had hoped that by nineteen – working age in Sultan Imaran’s kingdom – he would be free of Gafar’s influence. So much for that wish.

His mother walked into the room. “Fath… Get up.” She sat down on the bed beside him, kneading his tense shoulders gently.

He sighed. “Go away, mother… I don’t want to get up…”

“You must…” She murmured. “You have to find work.”

He nodded into the pillow. “I know. But no one will hire me. I’ve been trying for months on end.”

“Why wouldn’t anyone hire you, Fath?” His mother gave him a sharp look.

Rolling over to look at her, he shivered in the chill morning air as it hit his bare chest.

“Mother… I don’t know why.”

It was a lie. He did know why.

The trouble was, he still hadn’t told her who had beaten him up that day. But despite the problems it might have caused, he wasn’t about to. He also hadn’t told her that Gafar was the source of his job-hunting trouble because that would only bring up more questions, and she would tell him to stop fantasizing and making up conspiracies.

She glared at him. “Yes, you do. Out with it, Fath. Why won’t anyone hire you?”

He shrugged. “I’ll get up. Just give me a few minutes. Can you pack something to go for breakfast? I’ll eat while I search for someone to hire me.” He side-stepped her question smoothly.

She sighed. “Fine. Don’t tell me. I’ll finish up your breakfast in a few moments.”

A nod was his only response.

She shook her head, and stood up, walking to the door. “Son… I don’t know what’s wrong, but you know you can talk to me about anything, right?”

He nodded again. “Yes, I know that, Mother.”

“And?” She pressed, her eyes pleading with him to be honest.

A sigh escaped him, and he looked away. What sort of son would keep a secret like his when it affected his mother? His sort, apparently.

A weary shrug was the one response he mustered this time. Words were too tiresome and encumbersome.

He heard her stifled sob.

His secrecy hurt her deeply, he knew, but he didn’t want her involved with his problems with Gafar. The man was extremely powerful and dangerous. The Sultan had elevated him highly – even higher than his father had been – and that made him even more dangerous. No, involving his mother was not an option.

“Sorry, Mother. There’s nothing you can do anyway.” He tried to console her, but he could tell it didn’t work.

Still, she nodded and walked back to the kitchen without saying a word. His secret was safe. For the moment, at least.

With a sigh, he rolled out of bed. Grabbing a shirt and a clean pair of his usual, baggy pants, Fath headed to the kitchen.

His mother was making breakfast, and – in a little partitioned-off corner of the room – steam rose in gentle wisps off the surface of the metal tub that held his bath water. He smiled at his mother, and she smiled back with a slightly pained expression. So that she wouldn’t see his own smile falter, he turned towards the bath, knowing how deeply he’d wounded her.

What a loving son I am. I keep secrets from my mother because – I say – it is for her own good. But maybe I’m just avoiding telling her because it’s easier for me. I don’t want to deal with how large this problem really is, so I say nothing and go to great lengths to keep her from finding out so that I will not have to face my beasts. He shook the thoughts off, dropping his fresh clothing onto a chair beside the tub, pulling the partition closed, and stripping. Slidding into the hot water, he sighed again, but this time in relief as the water helped him to relax.

He didn’t have long though. It was necessary to be at the market early if possible so that he could try to find the better work options before others beat him to it. Not that it would matter, but at least he needed to try. Most likely, everyone in the city had been told not to hire him, but someone had to have been overlooked somewhere, and he just had to find that one person before someone else got there first and snatched his opportunity.

Closing his eyes, he sunk deeper into the water, wishing he didn’t have to think about it. Life had settled into an ordinary routine the last few months. He went out early in the morning looking for work. He came back home at night, weary and discouraged because he hadn’t found any.

His mother took in whatever laundry she could get, and he would often find her scrubbing it with weary resignation when he returned. Dinner was frequently late because she was too tired to cook, her fingers were scrubbed raw, and Fath wasn’t much of a cook. They ate dinner in silence, and then they both went to bed, collapsing into sleep only to wake the next morning and repeat the process.

He climbed out of the bathtub after scrubbing his hair and body with the lye soap, and then dressed quickly. It was already starting to get hot out as the sun broke over the horizon in its full fury. He grabbed the satchel his mother handed him with a full water skin, a meager slice or two of bread and an apple for lunch and a single piece of papaya for breakfast. It was all they had. And if he didn’t find a job soon, they’d be eating bread crusts and begging for food.

Giving his mother a hug and a quick peck on the cheek, he was out the door, heading off to what he could only guess would be a day of fruitless job-hunting in the hot sun. He sighed to himself. Exactly what I want to spend my day doing… 

Well, it was better than moping around the house all day with nothing to do, he supposed. And really, what did he have to lose? Maybe today he would finally find a job, and he and his mother would be better off again.