Chapter 4

"Arija! Wake up! It is time!"

The soft, urgent whispers of her sister, coupled with their shaking, roused Arija from her pleasant dream. Immediately its memory was reduced to blurred images of bright colors and a vague feeling she had had this dream before.

"Please, Arija! The door is under your bed! Wake up!"

She finally recognized Siran's voice and opened her eyes. Her sisters were already clad in their finest dancing gowns, their faces made up and their hair twisted back. She groaned and rose.

"Already?" she asked as she dressed.

"You went to bed late. You should have expected to be tired," Nasimi scolded.

"I was thinking," Arija protested. Eleven months of practice enabled her to style her hair in seconds.

"You are always thinking," her sister replied. "But right now we should be dancing!"

As Arija prepared herself, her sisters dug up her cushions to reveal the trapdoor hidden beneath. With a grunt, Ayman pulled it open, revealing the stairs beneath.

"If you two are finished with your quarreling, may we go?" asked Dílara sarcastically.

Arija waved dismissively at them as she dug for her slippers. The pair she had been wearing was worn through with dancing.

"Come, sister!" Lahleh called. She was the last to go through the door. Arija hurried after her, nearly falling down the stairs in her haste. It wasn't entirely her fault, however; these were the first stairs she had ever seen.

They hustled, unseeing, through the beautiful gardens. Arija recalled how stunned they'd been, those first few nights, at the verdant colors. They had sauntered through, gently touching the leaves and stroking the trunks of unfamiliar trees. Elil had reached to pluck a strange-looking fruit and been astonished to find it was a ruby. She had plucked it, and the tree had screamed. The girls had barely looked in the gardens since.

Now Arija paused and glanced up, remembering what Amira had said about stars. But of course there were no constellations here. There wasn't even a sky. They were underground, and above was nothing but obscurity.

At last they reached the lake and its boatmen. Still, every night, Arija was astonished by the lake. She had never seen so much water in one place. The only similar sight she had ever seen was the Lake of Glass- the origin of Pynterre's economy. But unlike the Lake of Glass, this lake was alive and moving. She loved it.

Each girl went without hesitation to her prince. Arija's stood at the far end. The boats here were arranged by age, not rank, and so Arija's boat always left first. Her prince was tall and lily-white, with pale hair and a slight build. Practically, she knew he was ill-suited for desert life, but she was charmed by his handsomeness. Except his eyes. Like those of all his brothers, they were black as night.

He proffered his hand, and she took it and allowed herself to be lowered into the boat. There she sat silently, watching the boat's wake, as he poled them across to the palace.

All the sisters had been astonished by the palace. A solid building, unable to be easily moved? The idea was beyond them. They discovered columns and windows, doors and tiled floors. They delighted in its novelty, its surety of presence, and its size.

But now the palace was something commonplace, something they saw daily. It no longer impressed them. Yet somehow, now that her life was about to change, Arija found it in herself to marvel.

"It is beautiful," she said to her prince. He didn't respond. He never did.

He led her inside. A table against the far wall was heavily laden with food, a feast even for these daughters of wealth. As usual, Arija wasn't hungry. As usual, she took a glass of fine wine and a small plate of fruit, just to be polite.

After her sisters had joined her on the island and eaten, the music began. They found their princes, and twelve couples made their way to the floor. They spun through a waltz and several more spirited dances before the music stopped.

There were no musicians. The only sounds were the music and the hushed steps of their feet. The girls never spoke. Their princes never spoke. And now the silence weighed heavily upon them.

"I am leaving," Arija said to her prince once the dance had begun.

An emotion flickered across his face. Surprise.

"Yes," she answered the question in his eyes. "I am to be married to a prince in Marigina. I have never been there, nor do I know anything about it."

She felt eyes on her back. Her sisters were staring.

"I know I promised your mother I would marry you once our year together was over, but I am afraid that is no longer possible. I am my father's eldest daughter, and if he wishes me to wed, I must." Tears filled her eyes. She blinked them back furiously.

He still looked questioningly at her. "I thought it was fair for you to know," she said. "After this is over, I cannot marry you."

She didn't look at his face. She didn't want to see his look of hurt.

When she did look, at last, as he helped her out of her boat, it was as blank as it had always been.

"You are bold, to speak to your prince," Lahleh said the next day.

Arija stifled a yawn. She had lain abed almost as long as her sisters today, and she was quite tired. She planned to retire early tonight.

"We all tried to speak to them, once," she said defensively. "And I thought he should know."

"Why do you not tell Father that you do not wish to marry?"

"How can you be so naïve, Lahleh? You know I cannot ask that of him. He would die of shame!" Arija scolded.

"But then you can marry your prince and stay here! You would not have to leave."

"Leaving is part of being the eldest, Lahleh. You will not miss me so much as you think you will."

Arija had not realized how saddened Lahleh had been by Arija's engagement. Since Lahleh's birth, the two had been close, and now they would be separated. Arija embraced her sister. Lahleh began to sob.

"I do not want you to go, Arija. I do not want to be left here with Nasimi in charge!" she said.

"Now, Lahleh, you have many sisters to talk to. And what of Roshanara? She is your sister too."

"Roshanara is so much younger. It is hard to talk to her. We two are but a year apart."

Arija gave up her arguments and let her sister cry.

"I apologize for my behavior, Sister," Lahleh said, when she had calmed down.

"There is no need," Arija replied. "I am glad you talked to me. I have been selfish."

"You could never be selfish!" Lahleh protested.

Arija sighed. She could recognize a losing argument. "Very well, then," she said. "Come, we must work. We cannot wallow in grief all day."

Nasimi was not in the weaving room that day. Arija noted her absence, but thought little of it. Her sister, as the head wife's only daughter, was often called away.

But when Nasimi did not come to their room after dinner, Arija began to worry. Something was wrong, either with her sister or with some other member of the family. She excused herself from her sisters and went to their mothers' tent.

As she lifted the tent flap to enter, she heard a choked noise from around the corner. When she investigated, she found Nasimi, sitting alone on the sand and weeping.

"What is the matter?" Arija asked, sitting beside her sister.

"Jalila is worse," Nasimi sobbed. "The physicians say she will die this time."

"Oh, Nasimi!" Arija threw her arms around her sister.

Jalila had always been sickly. Before Nasimi's birth, she had miscarried four, according to Amira. After the difficult labor she had had with Nasimi, the head wife's condition had worsened. She spent most of her time in bed, emerging only for important audiences that often left her pale and trembling.

"Do they know the cause?" Arija asked cautiously. Jalila often sickened when a careless servant spiced her food too heavily.

Nasimi shook her head. "I am afraid," she confessed.

"Shh," Arija murmured. "Whatever happens, you will have our sisters and me. Come, it is late, and we must go."

"What if Mother dies without me?"

"I promise you, she will not. The night is too beautiful for so sad an event. Let us go."

Arija stood and helped her sister up. "A night of dancing will lift your spirits," she whispered as she took Nasimi's hand and led her back to their tent.

The girls stood in a line before their father, struggling not to yawn. They had been roused early by servants and brought before their father, who had not spoken since they'd entered.

Arija dared a glance at her father's face. His eyes were cold and expressionless. He was clearly quite angry.

"Last night," he began finally, and his tone matched his eyes, "your mother Jalila was taken into the afterlife."

Arija heard a choked sob. She did not look, but she knew it came from Nasimi.

"Her fellow wives sat vigil with me, as did I, as her husband. But a dozen people were noticeably missing- her daughters."

Arija flushed. Traditionally, only a mother's birth-children sat vigil with her, but for a chief wife, all children's presence was required. And they, in their folly, had been dancing with their princes.

"I sent servants to your tent to fetch you, and they return to report that not one of you is in her bed. That, in fact, all of you have donned your best gowns and dancing shoes and disappeared. Have you anything to say for yourselves?"

Arija spoke. "Father, we apologize. We were unaware of the severity of our mother's condition."

"It is not to me you must apologize," Arefi said sternly, "but to the dead, for it is they who aid the gods in their final judgment. May they have mercy on the souls of disloyal children."

The girls repeated their father's prayer and, recognizing dismissal, left his tent silently.

Nasimi did not come to the weaving tent that day. When the sisters saw her at dinner, her hair had been cropped short with grief, and she was clothed in the black garment of mourning.

"Why have you not also cut your hair and put on the cloth of grief?" she asked accusingly.

"She was not our mother, Nasimi," Arija replied gently. "We are not so obliged."

"She was chief wife! That makes her your mother, whatever you say!"

"Shh, Nasimi. It has been a hard day for you. Come, why don't you sleep? You will feel refreshed in the morning."

Arija took her sister's hand and led her to her bed.

"But what about dancing?" Kíraz asked petulantly.

"We will not go dancing tonight," Arija replied. "We have danced enough."

"But our year is not up! We must continue our dancing for almost a month!"

"And where has our dancing gotten us?"

The sisters started at Nasimi's voice. They had all thought she was oblivious to their conversation.

"Look at what we have caused!" she continued. "Father is furious, we are tired and angry, and my mother died alone last night! Nothing the old woman has promised us is worth this!"

Arija nodded. "I have to agree with Nasimi. We cannot continue this way, even if it is only for a month."

Siran glared at her sisters. "If you two wish to stay, so be it! But we will go dance anyway."

"We cannot go dancing unless Arija goes," Elil said practically. "The trapdoor is under her bed."

"Then let Arija sleep somewhere else!" cried Ayman. "We must go dancing! I will not lose this chance!"

Arija glanced at Nasimi, who appeared to have fallen asleep. She'll be safe here, she thought. The other girls will not be safe alone with their princes. I must go with them.

"If you go," she told her sisters authoritatively, "I go with you. I cannot let you go alone."

The sisters cheered, and then all snuffed out their candles and climbed into bed, feigning sleep.

Arefi sat up late in his tent, thinking.

Where did his daughters go by night? How did they slip out without their guards noticing? Most importantly, how did he plan to stop them?

"You are very quiet tonight," Amira said from behind him. Although she was well past the age of childbearing, Arefi liked to have her occasionally at night. She was gentle and kind, and if they never did anything, she was very good for conversation.

"Where do our daughters go?" he wondered aloud.

"I do not know where they go," Amira said. "Have you asked them?"

"They will not tell me. They have made that much clear." Arefi sighed heavily and laid his head in his hands.

"Then you must think of another way to find out."

Arefi looked up as an idea came to him. "I will not find out," he said. "Someone else will! I'll call for any young man to try his luck at discovering their secret. Should one succeed, he can take any of my daughters as his wife. Thusly, I can solve two problems at the same time. Yes! I will write up announcements now, and have them sent all over the world!"

Amira smiled and nodded. She was glad to be his confidante again. "But what of Arija's engagement?" she asked, realizing suddenly how important that was.

Arefi frowned. "We will have to end it. If her betrothed wants her, he will solve this mystery himself," he said decisively.

Amira wondered if her husband had gone mad. Break off an engagement? What of his honor? He would never have done such a thing yesterday. This business with his daughters- their daughters, she corrected herself proudly- had troubled him deeply.

"Come to bed," she said, not at all flirtatiously. "You can fret yourself in the morning."

"Do not wait up for me," Arefi said dismissively from his desk. "I shall sleep when I have time."

Amira frowned, but rolled over and slipped uneasily into sleep.

Sorry for the wait. I've been busy and only just got the last chapter written.

Thanks again to my lovely beta, Billi!

Oh, and they've conveniently moved the review button to right there in the middle. And it's really big. So click it and tell me what you think!

!--Mazzie--!