{Flower in Full Bloom{
The Complete Story of Jasmine's Mother
written by
Sedeara
==================================================================

Note: This story is a companion to A Woman Named Mother.
Although it can be read alone and still understood, I believe
enjoyment would be enhanced by reading A Woman Named
Mother first to familiarize yourself with the characters.  Just
to warn you: the only Aladdin characters in this story are
the Sultan, Jafar, and Jasmine.  The rest focuses on the characters
first introduced in A Woman Named Mother

==================================================================
Dedicated to Emily, whose interest and encouragement
allowed this story to bloom.

==================================================================

{Part One{
The Flowering

Thanks to the human heart by which we live,
Thanks to its tenderness, its joys, and fears,
To me the meanest flower that blows can give
Thoughts that do often lie too deep for tears
                                             -William Wordsworth
==================================================================
 

{Chapter One {

         Amaranth could feel the warmth of the bench she lay on, her cheek
pressed against the sun-bathed stone.  The scent of flowers floated at her
from everywhere, and she readily breathed in the marvelous fragrance.
Drifting to her ears, was the sweet sound of a flute singing.  The song was
harmonious and slow; very relaxing and very beautiful.  She twisted a flower
around her finger, watching the stem bend and cause the white-petaled head
to bob, as if it were dancing to the music.  She let out a contented sigh.  At that
moment, she doubted even paradise itself could be more beautiful.
         The song ended, and she turned her head, resting her chin on her folded
hands.  Sitting at a nearby bench was the musician, young Prince Yahika of
Tirvaltan, Amaranth's dear friend.
         He turned his face toward the Princess's, placing his golden flute down
on his lap.  He smiled at the dreamy, far off statement in her dark, sparkling
eyes.  "Did you like it?" he asked.
         "Oh, Yahika, it was beautiful," she breathed.  "I've never heard you
play it before."
         "I wrote it for you," he said.  "It's called "Flower in Full Bloom.""
         "You wrote it?" asked Amaranth, a bit disbelievingly.  "You should be
a composer.  Your melodies are better than any taught to Leila and me by our
music teachers."
         "I don't know about that," said Yahika, a bit embarrassed by the
compliment but pleased nonetheless.  He enjoyed being with Amaranth more
than anyone else in the world.  It was when he was with her that his music
truly came alive, for she invoked it eagerly, and didn't consider it an idle and
useless hobby as his father and older brother did.  "So, now what do you want
to hear?" he asked.
         "Play me "Fairy's Dance,"" decided Amaranth immediately.  "I love
that one."
         "As you command, my Princess," he answered, raising his flute to his
lips again.  He began playing a light and airy piece, one that Amaranth
couldn't resist dancing to.
         She rose off her bench and stood in the stone walkway, stepping
around in a simple, improvised dance that she made up as she went along.
The song itself was too bright and lively to be danced to in some boring form
dance.  She laughed as she moved gracefully around, her skirts feathering
around her legs like misty clouds.
         Yahika had played the song so many times that he no longer needed to
look at the music sheets on his lap, and he raised his eyes to watch
Amaranth's breezy movements.  She was the only thing that could distract
him from his music, and as his focus stayed on her, his concentration on the
music dwindled, causing it to slowly fade into silence.  For a while she
continued her movements without it.  She was so beautiful, so spirited, unlike
any other princess he'd ever met.  He hated the thought of leaving her . . .
         She halted in her motions and turned toward him, her face pink from
the lively dance.  A bit confused by the sad smile on his face, she asked,
"Why did you stop?  I know that's not the end of the song."
         "A breeze was blowing at my music sheets," Yahika answered, unable
to tell her what the real reason was.  "I had to get them back in order."  He
again raised the flute to his lips.  "I'll finish it now."
         He did so and Amaranth immediately took up her dance again.  Her
neat braid was coming lose, and a tiny wind flew around her.  It caused black
strands of hair to tickle her face, and a variety of blossoms that she'd earlier
woven through her hair fell out onto the stone walkway.  She didn't stop her
movements to pick them up.
         Yahika's song ended, and Amaranth slowly let her dance die.  She fell
to the ground and started picking up the flowers that had blown out.  Sitting
down right on the walkway, she began braiding them in again.
         Amaranth glanced up and smiled at Yahika, surprised when he didn't
return it.  A sadness crept into his eyes, one that she had noticed more than
once during this particular visit.
         "Yahika, what's wrong?" she asked.
         "I need to talk to you, Amaranth."
         The princess's face lost its cheerful statement at the solemn tone of his
voice.  Not even pulling herself off the ground, she crawled toward him on
her hands and knees, leaving long sand stains on her lavender dress.
         Yahika couldn't help laughing at her actions.  She sat down beside him
and asked, "What?"
         "Look at your knees," he said, pointing to the brown marks, which
concealed how thin the dress was becoming in that area.  "Very unladylike."
         Amaranth shrugged.  "I'm only thirteen, Yahika.  I'm not a lady yet, and
I don't have to act like something I'm not."
         "I know many princesses your age married already," he pointed out.
"Some of them mothers even."
         "I know," acknowledged Amaranth.  "But I don't have to worry about
impressing any suitors yet.  They all come interested in Leila.  Maybe when
she chooses one, I'll start getting more attention.  Until then, it doesn't matter
how I act.  What were you going to tell me?"
         Yahika sighed, not wanting to be brought back to the topic he'd meant
to discuss with her.  Finally, he whispered,  "War."
         "What?"
         "Santnohen has declared war on Tirvaltan," Yahika said. "The fighting
has already begun."
         Amaranth gasped.  She'd heard all the rumors of war breaking out in
Tirvaltan, but she'd always ignored them as a way of keeping herself from
being troubled by thoughts of it.  She didn't want Yahika hurt in any way.
"Do you think it will last long?"
         "I don't know." He lowered his head and pressed his hands against it as
if it pained him.  "I knew it was coming though.  Since I was little, all I ever
heard about was our unstable relationships with other kingdoms.  It was
bound to happen sooner or later, but . . . I didn't like to think about it."
         "What will you do, Yahika?"
         "There's only one thing I can do," he answered.  "I will join Tirvaltan's
army and fight."
         "No!" cried Amaranth.  "People get hurt in battle, Yahika . . ." She
didn't dare add 'killed', although she knew they were both thinking it.  She
touched his hand.  "Don't do it.  Stay here in Astaseez with us.  You'll be safe.
I'm sure Leila and my parents wouldn't mind . . ."
         Yahika shook his head.  As much as he wanted to, he knew that
wouldn't work.  "No, Amaranth.  It is my duty as Prince of Tirvaltan to
defend her at any cost.  I cannot abandon my kingdom now.  I'd be hated by
the people."
         "At least you'd be safe," murmured Amaranth, but she knew her
suggestion had been an unrealistic one.  She looked into his eyes.  They were
shining with tears, as her own were. "When will I see you again?" she
whispered.
         He pulled her close to him and held her in a tight embrace.  "As soon
as possible," he answered.
         Amaranth pressed her face against his shoulder, quietly sobbing
because she couldn't dispel the horrible thought that it might be one of the last
times she was so close to him.

                                {     {    {

         Amaranth sat on Leila's bed, her legs curled beneath her and concealed
in the light dress she wore.  It had been almost a year since she'd last seen
Yahika, and for the fourth time, she read over the letter she'd received from
him the day before.
         She felt lucky to have gotten it.  She knew he wrote her more letters
than she ever had a chance to read, because Tirvaltan's mail was constantly
being intercepted and destroyed along the way by Santnohen's spies.  She was
sure it worked the same way any time she sent something.  Every time she
went more than a month without hearing from him, countless worries filled
her head.  She thanked Allah that Astaseez had never been through war in her
lifetime, but she'd heard enough horror stories to be rightfully afraid.  Each
letter she received was gratefully accepted as tangible proof that everything
was all right.
         She refolded the paper and glanced up to see her sister's form.  Leila
was sitting in front of the mirror, preparing to meet another suitor.  Amaranth
could hear his guards announcing his arrival in the distance.
         She pulled herself off the bed and walked up behind Leila, careful to
stay out of the way of the ladies fluttering around her, making sure she would
appear as stunning as possible for the prince.
         Leila saw her sister's image in the mirror, and smiled without turning
toward her,  which Amaranth saw in the reflection and returned.  "Do you
have that letter memorized yet?" she asked jokingly.
         Amaranth shook her head.  "Do you have yours?"
         "No," laughed Leila.  "But I've only read it once."
         Amaranth pulled a dressing stool away from the wall and scooted it
next to Leila's, so she could look over her shoulder.  Their faces showed back
side by side in the mirror.  Amaranth noticed how plain she looked next to
Leila's primped appearance.  "You're so lucky," she sighed.  "All those
suitors.  It must be exciting."
         Leila gave a half-hearted laugh.  "I wouldn't consider myself lucky,"
she said.  "Believe me, it loses its excitement after the first three.  After that,
they're a pain."
         "But you never know when you're going to fall in love with one of
them!" exclaimed Amaranth.  "That would give me shivers of anticipation
every time.  Do you think you'll fall for this one, Leila?"
         Leila stood up from her stool, fastening the clasp of a pearl necklace.
"I doubt it," she answered, leaving the room to meet the prince.
         Amaranth stayed in Leila's bedroom for the rest of the day, anxiously
awaiting the news of her sister's courter.  Leila always shared the details of it,
and every one was just a little different.  She couldn't see how Leila could
consider it boring.
         The elder princess entered the room at about midnight, looking glad
that it was over.  She dropped onto her swan shaped bed, exaggerating her
exhaustion by giving Amaranth a look that said, "That was not fun."
         Her own enthusiasm undampened by Leila's manner, Amaranth said,
"Okay, Leila, how did it go?  Was he enchanted by your beauty?"
         Leila snickered.  "He seemed happy enough."
         "You rejected him, didn't you?" guessed Amaranth.
         "Yep."
         "He looked nice enough to me," Amaranth commented.  "And he was
handsome.  Did he like you?"
         "I don't know," admitted Leila.  "You can never tell with those suitors.
They're all so phony, that it's impossible to know what's sincere.  That's why I
don't want to choose one.  I think the moment I married him, he'd turn out to
be a completely different person."
         "I'm sure everything they show for you is genuine," said Amaranth.
"You're so smart and beautiful.  You probably broke that poor man's heart."
         "I don't think so," said Leila.  "And I'm not so beautiful, Amaranth.  If
any of my suitors had a chance to look at you, I'd appear an overdressed
commoner.  You got the looks in this family."
         "Thank you for saying so, Leila, but I don't agree.  Then again," added
Amaranth, a hint of laughter in her voice, "if someone doesn't choose
herself a suitor, I'll never get my chance!"
         "Don't be in such a hurry," murmured Leila, sitting up on the bed.
         "I'm not really," said Amaranth.  "I just like to tease you.  I'll bet no one
has rejected as many suitors as you have!"
         "That's not true!" laughed Leila.  "I heard that the deceased Queen
Halima of Egypt rejected one hundred and twelve suitors before marrying.
So there!"
         "Seriously, Leila, what didn't you like about him?"
         "I don't know," she sighed.  "I don't feel comfortable with any of them.
To tell you the truth, I don't know if I ever want to choose a suitor.  I'm not
sure I want to marry."
         "I do," said Amaranth.  "But only if I fall in love with him.  Don't you
think Father will be angry if you don't choose soon?"
         "I don't think so.  He still has you as a secure heiress, and I know you'll
have a worthy husband.  I think you were born under a lucky star," said Leila.
"You'll marry someone who loves you more than anything."
         "I hope so," sighed Amaranth.
         "I know so," said Leila, a secret smile on her face.
         Amaranth gave her sister a questioning look, but she would say no
more.
 

         Two days later, Amaranth managed to steal away from the monotony
of palace affairs into the glorious freedom of her garden.  She was kneeling
on the ground, bent over a bench which was serving for a desk, and writing a
reply to the letter received earlier from Yahika.
         She knew that her knees against the dirty stone would ruin yet another
of her delicate dresses, and she'd be reprimanded by her father for not taking
proper care of her attire.  She had plenty though, and it was worth sitting
through the minor lecture for the hours of liberty she spent outdoors.
         A breeze tickled her face, and she smiled, holding the paper firmly
against the bench to keep the tiny gust from blowing the vellum away.
Despite her solitude, she was completely content.
         "Amaranth," came her sister's voice from the garden's entrance.  "Come
inside.  Father wants to talk to us."
         Amaranth glanced up.  "What for?" she asked, folding the paper and
slipping it into her pocket.
         "I don't know," Leila's voice was solemn.  "Something important."
         Amaranth pulled herself off the ground and tried her best to dispel the
dirt from her knees.  She trotted toward Leila.  "Let's get going then.  It's
probably just some speech about an ambassador we'll have to dine with or
something."
         They entered their father's throne room together, and upon seeing them
Sultan Amaranian arose from his chair.  Their mother, Sultana Lily, remained
seated, her face etched with lines of sadness.
         "Leila, Amaranth," addressed their father, "I have some very grave
news to tell you."
         Amaranth's stomach tightened up.  She didn't like the statement on his
face or his tone of voice and she feared what was coming.
         "A messenger arrived from Tirvaltan today bearing bad news," he
continued.
         Amaranth went numb.  Dear Allah, please not Yahika . . . she
prayed.  She glanced at her sister, whose facial statement was one of
apprehensive attention.  She turned back to her father.
         "Sultan Nusair has been slain," he said, his voice expressionless.
"Stabbed in the night by an enemy soldier."
         Amaranth's first thought was to be thankful that it hadn't been Yahika.
But the effect his father's death had on him could change who he was forever.
She whispered, "What of Yahika?"
         "He is all right," assured her father.  "It was he who first discovered his
father lying dead.  Nusair's eldest son, Jameen, has already taken his dutiful
place as Sultan."
         Amaranth bit her lip to keep from crying and glanced at Leila,
surprised that her sister's face was not clouded with sadness.
         She stepped forward.  "Do they know who did it?" she asked angrily.
         "Yahika saw the man," answered the Sultan, "but he was not caught."
         "What will happen to him if he is?" demanded Leila.
         "I do not know how Tirvaltan goes about sentencing convicts,"
admitted her father.  "But I pray that justice will be served."
         "It had better," muttered Leila, her face twisted with rage.  "That man
doesn't deserve to live."
         "Terrible things happen in war, Leila," reminded her father.  "I do not
doubt that Tirvaltan's side has taken many of Santnohen's lives."
         "Well they deserve it!" cried Leila.  "It was Santnohen that waged war
on Tirvaltan.  It's their fault!"
         Amaranth didn't want to listen to any more about war or injustice or
blame or death.  She rushed out of the room, leaving her sister still voicing
her fury over what had happened.
         She didn't decide to go out to her garden, her feet just naturally took
her there.  She ran to the bench she'd been at earlier, yanked the letter out of
her pocket, and smoothed it against the seat's surface.  She'd left her ink
bottle and quill on it, so she jerked the feather out of the black liquid and
proceeded to finish the letter.
         As she scribbled away, she pretended she hadn't even heard about the
death of Yahika's father.  She wrote of everything that had happened except
that, as if it hadn't yet occurred.  She wanted to cry, but forced herself not to
until she'd written the closing line, making sure her tears wouldn't cause the
ink to run.
 

         Amaranth was having trouble concentrating on the lessons from her
tutor.  She glanced out the window.  It was a beautiful day, unusually cool for
the desert, and normally that would be a terrible distraction.  However, it was
not this that drew her attention today.  It was what she had in her pocket.
         She slipped her hand into it to finger the smooth paper.  The letter was
from Yahika, but because her tutor had been keeping her extra busy all day,
she hadn't had a chance to read it.  It had been two weeks since she'd heard
about the death of his father.  This letter would no doubt hold information on
it.
         Amaranth's tutor was neither blind nor dumb, and she could see that
something was diverting her pupil's attention from the arts she taught.
Knowing that the war in Tirvaltan bothered her and thinking she was
distracted by worry for Astaseez's allies, she dismissed the Princess an hour
early, not a moment too soon for Amaranth.
         She thanked her tutor quickly and rushed up to her room, closing the
door tightly behind her.  After opening a few curtains to let sunlight in, she
walked to her swan shaped bed and let herself down on it.  Finally, she
slowly drew out the letter.
         Although she knew what it would say, she was a bit afraid to open it.
She didn't want to read about Yahika's misery.  His words, whatever they
may be, would no doubt replay themselves in her mind and haunt her that
night.
         His father was dead.  Killed brutally and unjustly because of the
terrible violence of war.  Amaranth shuddered.  How would she react if her
father died?  Or her mother?  And not to be prepared for it . . . to one day
have a healthy parent and the next day have him gone . . . How could anyone
go through that?  Her heart ached for Jameen and Yahika.
         She cautiously unfolded the letter, as if afraid something might jump
out of it and snap at her.  Taking a deep breath, she lowered her eyes to read
it.

 Dearest Amaranth,
      I received your letter today.  It was as always a pleasure to
hear from you and be assured that you are doing well . . . Look at me,
writing this letter as if it was like all the others.  I'm sorry.  This is
difficult.
     You know.  I'm sure someone has told you.  Which is all very well,
because I can't bring myself to write it.  I know it happened.  I know I
can't change it.  And I know I'm not ready to accept it.  If I print it down
on paper, it will make it too real.  It will raise too many ugly emotions
which I don't want to show you.  I'm truly sorry, Amaranth.  I cannot
write anymore.
    Love Always,
        Yahika

         Amaranth stared at the letter after she'd read it for a few minutes.
Some of the words were hard to decipher because the ink had smeared and
run.  Yahika had shed a few tears while writing and hadn't bothered to recopy
it onto a clean sheet.  She knew it had been difficult for Yahika to write, and
that he hadn't really wanted to do it.  It was the shortest of all his letters and
the most impersonal, distant.  Not that she could blame him.  What was he
suppose to say?
         What was she suppose to say? she wondered, walking over to her
desk.  She sat down at it and pushed flower vases aside to make room for the
paper she was pulling out of her drawer and smoothing against the top.
         She dipped her quill in the ink and held it over the paper, not knowing
what she could say to a man whose father had been killed in war.  She had
known before, but had been able to pretend she didn't.  She could no longer
do that.  Finally, after what seemed hours of contemplation, she could write
only a few sentences.

 Dear Yahika,
      I'm sorry about what happened.  There is nothing I can say to
make it better.  Forgive me.  I only wish I could help.  Remember I am still
here if you want to talk about it.
    Love,
        Amaranth
 
         The letter was pathetically written and hardly adequate to express what
she felt she should say.  But not knowing what else she could do in this
touchy situation, she folded and sealed it, giving it to the Royal Messenger
first thing the next morning.
         Maybe Yahika wouldn't even receive the letter.  Perhaps it would be
intercepted along the way.  Amaranth didn't know the answer until nearly a
year later, for after the short message of his father's death, Yahika's letters
stopped coming.

==================================================================
{Chapter Two{
 
         At first, the discontinuity of Yahika's letters disturbed Amaranth.
Suppose something had happened to him?  It was possible . . . if someone
was cruel enough to kill the Sultan, what would keep him from murdering the
prince as well?  Sultan Nusair's death had made the possibility much too real
for Amaranth's taste.
         When she voiced her concerns to her parents, their responses were
reassuring.
         "I don't believe you have to worry," her mother told her.  "When
women get older, they can sense when a tragedy occurs to a loved one.  I
have felt nothing to alarm me."
         Her father's answer was said in a less personal, rushed tone, for he was
busy with documents when the Princess brought it up to him.  Not even
looking up from his work, he answered, "Don't worry about it, Amaranth.  If
anything serious had happened to the prince, we'd be informed immediately.
A messenger was sent out the day of Nusair's death.  One to announce the
Prince's would be sent out just as urgently.  There has been no word from
them, and no news is good news."
         Amaranth accepted this, and after a few months, she stopped expecting
his letters.  She no longer looked forward to them because she knew it would
be in vain.  She hadn't forgotten him; he still brushed her mind with an
occasional concern, but he suddenly seemed so much more far away than he
ever had been before . . . no longer a significant part of her life.  She felt
guilty about these thoughts and mentioned them to no one.

                              {     {    {

         Amaranth stared at her ceiling.  It was touched with pale yellow,
shimmering light from the rising sun.  The Princess could feel it warming her
body and didn't want to get out of bed.  She turned over to lay on her side and
closed her eyes against the sun's rays.
         Another year.  That meant it had been nearly two years since she'd last
seen Yahika.  One year since she'd last heard from him.  Time had seemed to
go by so quickly.  Besides the war, Amaranth felt that nothing had changed.
Not herself, Leila, Astaseez or her parents.   Life was monotonous and
uneventful.
         She was fifteen today.  She'd thought Leila so mature and grown up at
this age, back when she had been only twelve.  She didn't feel that way now.
She felt as she always had.
         She'd always imagined that by the time she was fifteen, her life would
be full of excitement: suitors, love and romance.  By Allah, had she been
wrong!  In all her life she'd had but two suitors, only the couple that had
overlooked Leila.  They were both so absorbed in themselves that she
wondered why they wanted a wife sharing their spot-light.  More than likely,
they'd wanted one to dote on them as everyone else did.  Amaranth hadn't
approved of either and politely sent them away.
         She couldn't help wondering why others never came.  The palace was
now almost always devoid of company interested in her or her sister.  The
suitors had finally given up on Leila.  Apparently they didn't know Amaranian
had another daughter, thought Amaranth as she finally rose from her bed.
         Birthdays were something she didn't particularly enjoy.  She sometimes
felt the townspeople appreciated them more than she, for in Astaseez the
birthdays of royalty were observed as holidays and shops were closed.
         Servants were soon in her room, decking her out in all her finest gowns
and jewels, and styling her hair in elaborate designs.  All part of the birthday
routine.  She had to look her best for the kingdom's portrait painter, who
would today draw a set of new pictures for her fifteenth year, to replace all
the ones currently hanging up.  They would be removed to a storage room and
forgotten.
         When she was finally ready, a servant led her downstairs.  Her father
met her at the foot of the staircase and took her hands between his, smiling.
"Happy Birthday, my daughter.  I have something for you."  He pulled out a
tiny box from his pocket.
         "Now?" asked Amaranth, a bit surprised.  She usually had to wait until
after the painting session to receive her gifts.
         "Yes.  This one is very special.  You will be happy to see who it is
from."  He passed the package into her hands.
         She lifted the tag.  Yahika!  After all this time . . . it seemed almost
unreal to have received something from him.  She was surprised he
remembered.  She read his fine writing on the label.

 Amaranth,
      I want to wish you the happiest of Birthdays and send my
regrets for being unable to attend.  Please accept this gift as a token of my
love and friendship.
        Yahika

         Slowly, she untied the ribbon and pulled the top off the box.  She
gasped.  Twinkling up at her was the most beautiful necklace she'd ever seen.
The chain was gold, and the pendant was a red rose fashioned of rubies, with
emeralds on the side that had been carved into the shape of leaves.  A single,
tiny diamond shimmered on the red stone, making the rose appear to be
kissed by dew.  As if afraid it might crumble in her hands, Amaranth slipped
her fingers gently beneath the chain and drew it out.
         "It's so beautiful," she breathed, holding it up so it reflected rays of the
sun that danced upon it from the high windows.  She immediately tore off all
the jewelry that adorned her neck to replace it with the single, dainty
necklace.
          Her father stepped forward, lifting the pendant from where it lay on her
chest to examine it.  He whistled softly.  "Superior craftsmanship," he
murmured.  "I'm surprised Yahika could afford it in war-time."  He raised his
eyes to meet his daughter's and smiled.  "He must care for you very much."
         Nervous under her father's gaze, Amaranth lowered her eyes and
caught sight of another tiny note inside the box.  She pulled it out and read.
 
     I remember you saying once that the worst thing about flowers was
that they had to wither and die.  So this is my gift, an everlasting Flower in
Full Bloom that, like you, will never fade.
        Yahika

          A smile touched Amaranth's lips as she tucked the note into the bodice
of her dress.  Dear Yahika . . .
         "Well, Amaranth, you must be going.  You know the painter is waiting
outside to do your sketches," reminded Amaranian.
         "Oh, yes, of course."  Amaranth bowed quickly to her father before
rushing to the garden.
         The artist was waiting there, his supplies arranged before him.  He
smiled when he saw the princess and motioned for her to sit on the bench.
He situated floral arrangements around her and repositioned her body a few
times until he got the best angle for his pictures.  When this was done, he
scurried back to his canvas and began sketching, all the while making
pleasant conversation.
         "My, my," he said, glancing up from his work.  "Each year it becomes
more difficult for me to capture you, Majesty, as you continue to grow more
beautiful.  Duplicating such perfection is no easy task!"
         Amaranth blushed and thanked him for the compliment as he continued
to chatter.  The princess remained quiet most of the time, because he seemed
to enjoy talking more than listening anyway, and Amaranth was bored with
the process which was repeated each year.
         Numerous times during the day, Leila brought Amaranth a cup of water
or something to eat, since the session lasted till just before the evening meal.
When she did come out, she spent a few minutes talking with her sister, and
Amaranth was grateful for the company.
         It was finally finished at sun-set, and after Amaranth and her father
gave their approval of his sketches, he carried them off to be painted, which
could be done without a model.  Thank goodness.
         After going through the usual routine of opening tons of gifts that she
didn't really want and dancing with nobles at a ball she was too tired to enjoy,
Amaranth was finally allowed to retire to her luxurious chamber.
         Each year she was more convinced that Birthdays were useless.  There
were too many people watching her, especially at the closing banquet and
ball.  So many eyes scrutinizing and expecting certain reactions was not
something Amaranth enjoyed, and at this particular moment, the quiet of her
dark room was paradise compared to the festivity which continued
downstairs.
         Amaranth heard a knock on her door and gave permission for the
person to come in.  Leila entered, looking as exhausted and bored of the
experience as Amaranth was.
         She sat down beside her sister on the bed.  "I have something for you,"
she announced.
         Amaranth gave her an annoyed look.  "Not another present."
         Leila smiled.  "Sorry.  That's what it is.  But this one you'll actually
enjoy.  Father didn't approve of me giving it to you in front of the guests."
She pulled a package from beneath Amaranth's bed and her sister laughed at
the hiding place.  She had to admit, she hadn't thought of looking there.
Passing it into Amaranth's hands, Leila said, "Open it."
         She did as was instructed and was at first disappointed by what she
saw in the parcel.  It appeared to be yet another outfit that she'd never wear.
         "Take it out," said Leila.  "Get a closer look at it."
         Slowly, Amaranth obeyed and drew the garment out.  Upon seeing it
her face immediately broke into a smile.  "Leila!  Where did you get this?"
         It was attire unlike what Amaranth was used to wearing, for rather than
the customary dresses and veils, this was a pair of pantaloons and a top, and
rather than being made out of fine silk, they'd been sewn from a heavier, more
durable fabric.  The articles were olive green and very plain, the only
decoration being thin, filmy, billowing sleeves made of transparent green
material.  There was also a pair of coarse brown slippers.  It reminded
Amaranth somewhat of what she'd seen gardeners wear, that is, before she'd
taken over most of the gardening herself . . . She raised her face and repeated,
        "Where did you get this?  And how did you convince Father to let you give it
to me?"  She knew all too well her father's ideas about royalty being "properly
clothed according to their rank at all times."
         "Believe it or not, I convinced our seamstress to sew this, fashioning it
after what some of the servants wear.  She thought I was absurd for wanting
to give you such an . . . ugly garment when you had so many more pretty
things, but I assured her that this would be more useful to you.  As for getting
Father to allow it,"-she began to smile as she spoke- "it wasn't as hard as you
might think.  He'd seen enough of your dresses ruined out there to win his
approval."
         Amaranth gave her sister a quick hug.  "Thank you so much!  I'll never
have to deal with unnecessary attire trailing after me when I work again!"
         "There was one condition," warned Leila.  "You mustn't wear this at
any time other than when you're in the garden, and only when you're out there
alone.  Father doesn't want you to be seen in such an unbecoming piece."
         "Agreed," laughed Amaranth.
         Leila rose from her sister's bed, saying she was tired, and slipped out of
the room.  Amaranth quickly stripped out of her confining dress and tried the
new outfit on before changing into her nightgown.  It was wonderfully
unrestricting, allowing much movement and freedom.  Her sister knew her
well.
         As she was crawling into bed, Amaranth heard a knock on her door.
Not wanting to get out, she called, "Who is it?"
         "Your mother."
         "Come in."
         She heard the door creak open and her mother's light steps through the
entry-way before she emerged through the lavender curtains separating the
room from it.  She sat down beside her daughter, saying, "You look tired."
         "I am," sighed Amaranth.  "To me, the best birthday present in the
world would be an entire day of peace and quiet, with no interruptions or
worries."
         The Sultana touched Amaranth's hands.  "I understand," she said. "I
remember when I was your age . . ." A wistful smile came across her face.
"It doesn't seem so very long ago . . . You are growing up so fast!"
         "I don't feel grown up," admitted Amaranth.
         "That's normal," assured her mother.  "Sometimes I don't even feel
grown up . . . I was going through some of my private things yesterday, and
found something that made me realize how much things have changed and
stayed the same.  I knew then that I must make sure you had a similar piece
of your life to keep forever."
         She pulled a small, blue book out from beneath one of her veils and
pressed it into Amaranth's hands.  Amaranth glanced up at her mother
questioningly and then looked down at the book, beginning to thumb through
the crisp white paper.
         "It's empty," she said, wondering what the point of it was.
 Her mother laughed.  "Of course it's empty!  It's for your own story,
Amaranth."
         "My story?" she repeated.  "I have nothing interesting to tell."
         "I thought the same thing when I was a girl," said her mother.  "But I
discovered I was quite wrong.  I found my journals yesterday, Amaranth, and
it was such a joy to read over them, pulling out from the ashes all those
buried and forgotten memories.  It makes me realize why I am the woman I
am today, and even helps me understand why Leila and you act as you do
sometimes.  I would like you to write in this for these reasons."
         "What am I suppose to write?" asked Amaranth.
         "Anything you want," said her mother.  "Your emotions, thoughts,
experiences, dreams, everything it means to be a fifteen year old Princess."
         Amaranth still wasn't sure about the idea.  "I have to do this?"
         "You don't have to," said her mother.  "But I encourage it.  I really
think it will mean a lot to you later, Honey.  I can't stress enough how
wonderful it was for me to escape to girlhood again in the pages of my own!"
         "Are you going to read it?" asked Amaranth, wondering if this was a
plan on her parents part to break into their child's private thoughts.
         "Oh no!" gasped the Sultana.  "I wouldn't think of it!  This is for you
and only you, Amaranth.  It's like a best friend that you can tell anything to.
It'll help ease the loneliness and boredom of palace life.  I've given Leila a
similar book.  She's already begun writing in it."
         A best friend that I could tell anything to, thought Amaranth.  That
did sound tempting . . . she still had Leila, but Yahika had become so distant
to her that she couldn't tell him things anymore . . . "All right," she decided.
"I'll write in it."
         "Wonderful!" exclaimed her mother.  She rushed over to Amaranth's
desk and jerked a quill out of its inkwell.  Pressing it into her daughter's
hands, she commanded, "Write your name in the front cover."
         "Why?  I know it's mine."
         "Someday, a long way in the future, when you nor I are no longer
around, someone else may come upon this.  A future ruler of Astaseez,
grandchildren, whatever.  And it will make it more personal."
         "If you say so," sighed Amaranth.  She opened the book and scribbled
Princess Amaranth of Astaseez in the front cover.  "There."
         "Well, I'll let you get your sleep, Honey," said her mother, rising from
the bed.  "You remember what I told you.  Write in that, and these years of
your life will never be lost."  With that, she left.
         Amaranth rose, tip-toed across the room, and slipped the journal into
the top drawer of her dresser, where she kept her letters from Yahika.  She
yawned as she dragged herself back to bed.  Blowing out the lamp resting on
one of the wooden swan's graceful wings, she snuggled beneath her blankets
and closed her eyes, looking forward to the peacefulness brought on by sleep.
         Another knock on the door.  It was the middle of the night, and
Amaranth didn't want visitors.  Too tired to open her eyes, she mumbled,
"Come in."
         Luckily it was only her father, and he didn't object to her refusal to get
out of bed.  She was so exhausted, that had his words not been of such
importance, she would have forgotten them.
         "The war has ended.  Tirvaltan emerged victorious."
 
==================================================================
{Chapter Three{

         "Did you hear?" exclaimed Leila, bursting into Amaranth's room early
the next morning.  She rushed to her sister's side and hugged her quickly,
repeating, "Did you hear?"
         Amaranth dropped her hair-brush, startled by her sister's entrance and
embrace.  She turned toward her and smiled.  "About Tirvaltan, you mean?"
         "Yes!  Isn't it wonderful!  The war is finally over!"
         "I know, and Tirvaltan won!"
         "And Yahika and Jameen are still all right."
         "Praise Allah!"
         Leila calmed herself down and sat on Amaranth's bed.  "When did
Father tell you?" she asked.
         "Last night.  It was the last thing I remembered hearing before going to
sleep."
         Leila folded her arms across her chest.  "How unfair!  I wasn't told until
this morning.  What makes you so special?"
         Amaranth laughed off her sister's question.  "I think he may have told
you last night too.  Maybe you were just too sleepy to remember."
         "No, I don't think he even told me.  Well, I suppose you are entitled to
the information more than I anyway," decided Leila.
         "Why?" questioned Amaranth as she began braiding her thick hair.
         "Well, Yahika and you are such good friends and all . . ."
         Amaranth felt a sharp twinge of regret for the years they had missed,
but was kept from dwelling on her feelings by a knock on the door.  "Come
in," she called.
         Her father came into the room, smiling.  "Wonderful news, Amaranth!"
he announced, and then, noticing Leila, regarded her with a simple, "Good
morning, Leila."
         "Good morning," she returned, rising from the bed.  "Does the news
concern me?"
         "You are welcome to stay, Leila, if you wish."
         "I think I'll go get dressed," she decided, glancing down at her
nightgown.  She'd been so excited to tell Amaranth the news that she hadn't
changed.  She exited.
         "What is it, Father?" asked Amaranth.
         Amaranian sat beside his daughter on the bed, in the place Leila had
previously occupied.  "Another messenger arrived from Tirvaltan," he began.
"Yahika shall be visiting again in four days."
         "Four days?" repeated Amaranth.  "That soon?"
         "Soon, child?  It has been two years since you've seen him."
         "Oh, I know," said Amaranth.  "I didn't mean that.  I mean it's so soon
after the war, that I'm surprised he can leave."
         "Tirvaltan is facing a minor reconstruction period," her father said
without much interest.  "Their side was the victor, so the damage isn't quite as
great as it could have been.  Wounded soldiers are being treated, and the dead
are being honored.  Yahika need not be present for any of this.  His brother is
quite a competent Sultan.  Besides, word from the messenger has it that
Yahika simply cannot wait to see you again."  The Sultan beamed.
         "I can't wait to see him, either," said Amaranth, her excitement
building.  They'd enjoyed so much together, and it had been too long that
they'd been separated.  She found herself looking forward to his visit eagerly .
. . that is, until she started thinking about it again later that night.
         Tirvaltan's victory had been the talk of the palace, and so naturally
thoughts of this and Yahika filled Amaranth's mind as she settled into bed.
Now that she was away from everyone else's excitement and happiness, she
had more time to think over things thoroughly.
         Yahika's not fifteen anymore, she reminded herself.  And he's been
through a lot.  War and the death of one's father could certainly change
someone . . . and she didn't want Yahika to change.
         It would be easier to judge his current character if she'd at least heard
from him recently, but since they'd stopped writing . . . there was a distance
between them, one that went beyond the miles separating their kingdoms, that
had never been there before.  It had been so long since she'd heard about just
Yahika . . . Yahika the person, as she knew him, and not as Yahika the
Prince, brave defender of his kingdom.  She felt guilty for losing touch,
although it wasn't entirely her fault.
         Talk of Tirvaltan had dominated many conversations over the last two
years, but it was always too general, even when Yahika's name was
mentioned, it was never personal enough to let her know what kind of person
he was these days.
         Amaranth suddenly wanted to discuss these things with someone, but
knew she couldn't bring it up.  Everyone was so excited, and after she had
displayed her eagerness all day long, she'd hate to contradict herself by
admitting her doubts.  So for the first time, she drew out the crisp, new,
journal and wrote in it.  Surprisingly, it made her feel a little better, but she
still couldn't dispel one, haunting fear.
         What if he was no longer the man she remembered?
 

         "Why hasn't he come yet?" Amaranth asked impatiently, glancing up at
the palace's high windows.  They revealed that the sky was darkening to a
soft purple.  She and Leila had been in the throne room nearly all day
awaiting Yahika's arrival, and now the sun was setting with still no word of
his appearance in Astaseez.
         "I don't know," answered Leila.  "Have patience."
         "Do you think something could have happened?" questioned Amaranth
fearfully.  "Do you think maybe someone from Santnohen . . ."
         Leila raised her hand to silence her younger sister.  "I doubt it.  The
war is over, Amaranth.  Santnohen knows she is defeated.  Yahika is all
right."
         Amaranth moved her hand up to her throat and began to absently fidget
with the rose necklace hanging there.  She was nervous about meeting the
Prince, and she knew she shouldn't be, for they had been such friends in the
past.  But still . . .
         "Yahika has come!" announced Sultan Amaranian, bursting into the
room.  "He sent a messenger ahead to tell us he is within Astaseez's walls and
will be here in the hour."
         Amaranth turned to Leila and smiled excitedly.  The elder said, "I told
you everything would be okay."
         Half an hour later, the large doors to the throne room were opened by
two of Yahika's guards.  They stood to the side and allowed him to enter.
When he had, he turned to them, quietly gave them orders, and permitted
them to disappear the way they had come.
         Rising slowly from her throne, Amaranth eyed the prince making his
way over the red carpet toward her.  She fought back the urge to run forward
and give him a childish welcome hug because he was so cool and composed.
His face was solemn and his tread unrushed.
         When he was close enough for her to see his face clearly, the princess
tried to hide her surprise.  Was this person Yahika?  She immediately took
note of many physical changes, obvious to someone who had seen him as
often as she had.  He was taller; When Amaranth had last been with him, she
came up to his eyes if they were both standing.  Now the top of her head was
level with his shoulders.    His hair was longer, and it had been pulled into a
neat pony-tail at the nape of his neck.  His face was thinner, his features more
pronounced, his eyebrows darker; And his eyes registered something new.
Everything about him was mature . . . When Amaranth saw him she could
pick out very little of the boy he'd once been.  All she could see was the man.
         He opened his arms, an invitation for the embrace Amaranth had
wanted before.  She moved forward into them and let him hug her welcomely.
She could feel the muscles of a swordsman beneath his silk suit, which two
years of fighting in war had developed.
         "It is good to see you again, Princess Amaranth," murmured Yahika.
         "As it is to see you, Yahika," she replied.
         She backed away from him and he smiled at her briefly before turning
to Leila.  "Princess," he said, "you have been missed."
         "So have you, Prince Yahika," said Leila.  They embraced warmly.
Amaranth felt that her family was welcoming a brother home.
         Amaranth's father stepped forward and whacked Yahika affectionately
on the back.  "You've grown to quite an honorable man, Yahika.  It gives us
all joy to have you back among us."
         "I am happy to be here," said Yahika.  "I am sorry about my late
arrival."
         "Quite all right," assured the Sultan.  "You must be fatigued, young
man.  Let me show you to your room."
         Yahika allowed Amaranian to lead him out of the throne room and into
another hall, while Amaranth and Leila watched him go.  Amaranth turned to
her sister.
         "What did you think?" Leila asked.
         "He was . . . different," was all Amaranth could manage to say on the
subject.  She left the hall to think in the safety of her own chambers.
         Once there, she walked up to her mirror and stared at herself.  Have I
changed nearly so much in the past two years as Yahika has? she
wondered, examining her reflection.  It doesn't seem that I have . . . and yet,
when Yahika saw me, there was something in his face . . .  perhaps I've
changed just a little . . .
         She shed her elaborate receiving gowns and crawled into bed.  She
wished she'd been able to talk to Yahika before her father whisked him off to
his chambers.  Sure, he looked different, but was he still the same on the
inside?
 

         Amaranth chopped her breakfast into tiny bits as she listened politely
to the political conversation going on between her father and Yahika.  She
was rather bored with it herself.  She glanced up at her mother and Leila, who
both had their eyes focused on the speakers, looks of interest plastered on
their faces.  Amaranth knew they were just as bored with the talk as she was.
         She divided a piece of pita bread into four parts and centered them
around a date, creating a flower on her plate.  She added a few pieces of
lettuce to give the effect of leaves.  After admiring her work for a while, she
glanced up, to discover that Yahika had been watching as she arranged her
food.  She blushed, embarrassed, but the Prince flashed her a quick smile
before turning his attention again to her father's speech.
         "So all things taken into account, I believe the Sultan Hamid, despite
his youth, will successfully manage the kingdom," finished Amaranian.
         "Indeed, Sultan," agreed Yahika, nodding.
         Amaranth tried to remember what she'd been taught about kingdoms
within her region, but couldn't place her finger on which one Hamid ruled.
No matter.  It was men's talk anyway.
         Amaranian called for servants, and the remains of breakfast were
cleared away from the table.  The Sultan turned to Yahika and the women
before him.  "Well," he said, "what will you be doing today?"
         "I'd like to show Yahika the garden," said Amaranth quietly.
         "The garden, my dear?  Astaseez has so much more to offer.  Perhaps
Yahika would be interested in the library?  Or the drawing rooms?"
         Yahika spoke.  "Actually, Your Highness, a look at the garden would
be rather enjoyable."
         Amaranian arose.  "Very well, then.  Amaranth, you may take him."
He left the room, followed by his wife and Leila.
         Amaranth pushed her chair back and smiled at Yahika.  "I guess it's
just you and me," she said.
         Together, they exited the banquet hall and entered the paradise of the
garden.  Amaranth smiled and lifted her face to the warming sun, hearing the
familiar twittering of birds that flew overhead.  She and Yahika started
walking along one of the paths.
         She began to feel uncomfortable as silence continued to linger between
them, and she finally broke it, asking, "Would you like to sit down?"
         "All right."
         They situated themselves on one of the benches, while Amaranth tried
to think of something to dispose of the awkwardness between them.  What
could she say to a man she hadn't seen for two years?  She tried to remember
things they had talked of and experienced in the past, and asked, "Do you still
play the flute?"
         "As much as I can," answered Yahika, grateful to have something to
talk about.  "I didn't have a lot of time during the war, with fighting and
training . . ."  His voice trailed off, and he turned his face away from
Amaranth's, reaching out a hand to touch one of the flowers that grew beside
the bench.  "So many times during the fighting, I wished I was here," he
sighed.  "Where everything stays the same.  Beautiful and perfect."
         "That's why I like it," said Amaranth.  For a few moments she remained
silent, then asked the question that she'd been wondering for a year.  "Yahika,
why did you stop writing?"
         "I . . . I'm sorry.  With the war . . . there wasn't much time," was all he
could manage to say.  How could he tell her the real reason?  Every time he'd
thought of her during those long years, he'd seen her face smiling.  She was
spirited, care-free, innocent.  After his father's death, he felt for a while that
everything had been shattered, and as much as he had wanted to let those
feelings out, he couldn't bear to taint Amaranth's existence with his pain.  He
wanted her to be happy . . . forever.
         "I was worried," she said.  "But I understand.  It must have been hard."
         He nodded.  He looked around himself and for a moment saw
Amaranth's garden as being barren; dead and gray and haunting.  The way the
gardens in Tirvaltan had been left after the fighting.  He shook his head to
dispel the thought, and once again visions of color and life filled his sight.
His lapse, however, though only lasting moments, was enough to draw
Amaranth's attention.
         "Yahika?  What's wrong?  You can tell me."
         He put his head down.  "I suddenly saw . . . I mean, I'm glad your
garden stayed beautiful, Amaranth.  So glad."
         Amaranth put her hand on Yahika's arm and whispered his name.
"Talk to me.  It's okay."
         "There was nothing like this in Tirvaltan," he blurted.  "Everything was
dead and destroyed, and getting worse by the hour.  At the end of every day,
people, innocent women and children even, would end up dead!  Those who
you'd seen going about their lives one day, would be gone from this earth the
next.  Or they'd have their families torn away, their homes destroyed, all their
dreams crushed.  Everyone else saw it on the large scale, Amaranth.
Everyone shrugged and asked 'who cares'?  Tirvaltan is still winning.  But I
don't think anyone thought about the individuals.  Every person whose life
was taken, whether they were enemy or not, was more than just another
casualty.  They were someone's friend, sibling, parent, spouse, child!  And
nobody cared.  They just killed and killed . . . and I was expected to do the
same . . . so I did.  And I hated it!  I hated it so much.  It was all pointless . . .
         "Every day I'd go to sleep thanking Allah that my family was still safe.
Until that one day . . ."  He stopped to steady his voice and lowered his head
into his hands, feeling sick at the memory but knowing he had to narrate it
anyway.  He hardly remembered that Amaranth was there listening; he was in
his own world, venting his emotions to whomever would listen.
         He lifted his head and stared straight ahead, as if he was going to tell
someone far off.  "That night," he whispered, "I lay in bed and just before
drifting off to sleep, I heard footsteps in the hall.  They went right by my
door, and at first I thought nothing of it.  I was so tired . . . but then as I began
to think about it more, I realized the number of things it could be, an enemy, a
spy . . . I decided to get out of bed and inform my father's guards that there
might be an enemy in the palace.  But when I got there . . . All four of my
father's soldiers posted outside of his chamber . . . I knew they were dead
without looking, and I rushed past them into my father's room.  I heard him
scream from behind his curtain, and I was momentarily paralyzed with fear.  I
forced myself to go beneath the bed canopy, hoping I could catch the man
and praying he hadn't done what I suspected.  When I went inside, I saw his
shadow dash out the other side.  I chased him, but he escaped.  I went back to
my father's bed, but didn't dare to look at him.  There was so much blood
around him that I knew he'd been killed.  For a while I didn't feel anything.  I
couldn't.  I informed my brother, and as was his duty, he informed the rest of
the kingdom.  For the next few weeks, everyone questioned me, hoping I'd
seen enough of the man to be able to identify him.  I hadn't.  And I felt so
guilty.  I still do.  If I'd left my chamber moments earlier . . ." His voice
cracked, breaking into a sob.  He let his head drop again and his shoulders
began shaking uncontrollably.  It was the first time he'd talked about it, and
the first time he'd really cried.  He felt like a child rather than the man he was
suppose to be, and wished Amaranth couldn't see him.
         Amaranth took a deep breath, seeing Yahika weep for the first time and
not knowing how to react to it.  She'd seen tears in his eyes, or dried his face
when in his childhood he'd cried over matters that seemed trivial now, but this
was different.  Slowly, timidly, she reached her hand out and put it on his
back.  "It's all right," she said softly.
         "Oh, Amaranth," he murmured, turning toward her.  She opened her
arms and hugged him, letting him bury his face against her shoulder and allow
tears to wet it.
         She stroked his hair gently, as her parents had done to her when she
was a child and in need of comfort.  "It's over now, Yahika."
         "Thank Allah," he whispered.
         Amaranth didn't know how long he had wept, maybe only a few
minutes, perhaps a few hours, but eventually his tears subsided, and suddenly
he jerked out of the Princess's embrace.  "I'm sorry," he apologized.  "I don't
know what came over me.  I shouldn't have told you . . . I shouldn't have
cried."
         "It's okay, Yahika," Amaranth assured him.  "You have to let it out
sometime."
         He sighed shakily.  "It won't happen again."
         Wanting to change the subject, Yahika dug into his pocket and pulled
out a small envelope of flower seeds, which he passed into Amaranth's hands.
        "I brought these from home," he said.  "I don't know what kind of plant they
are.  The gardener was going to throw them out, but I told him you might
want them."
         Amaranth opened the packet and peeked inside, a smile beginning to
touch her face.  "Thank you, Yahika.  I'll have to plant them right away, so
we can discover what kind of flower they are!"  She sprang off the bench and
quickly found a bit of empty space to plant the seeds in.  She crouched down
beside it and began digging with her fingernails, since her shovels were
inside.
         Yahika knelt beside her.  "One more dress ruined for the sake of
Amaranth's gardening," he said.
         Amaranth laughed.  "Actually, Leila solved the problem by having an
ugly outfit made for me to use.  But Father would never let me wear it when
you were here."
         "I wouldn't care."
         Amaranth glanced at Yahika in his white silk apparel and wondered if
he would mind helping her at the expense of dirtying it.  "Do you remember,"
she began, "the time you ruined your newly tailored suit out here, and my
father insisted that I was a horrible influence on you, and that you'd never
have done it on your own?"
         Yahika slowly smiled.  "Yes.  And my father said it wasn't proper for
a boy of my position to be playing in the dirt."
         "How old were you then?"
         "About thirteen.  That would have made you eleven."
         For the rest of the afternoon, Yahika and Amaranth busied themselves
asking each other "Do you remember . . .?"  They came up with many
incidents forgotten, and they had twelve years worth to draw from, since
Yahika had been visiting Astaseez since his fifth birthday.  Amaranth was
more than grateful when laughter replaced the sadness in Yahika's voice.
 

         The next two days passed with none of the awkwardness between
Amaranth and Yahika that had been there the first.  All too soon, it was the
morning of Yahika's departure.
         Amaranth thought to herself of how short his visit had seemed as she
walked to his room, wanting to talk to him one more time before he left.  She
was about to knock on the door of his chamber, but upon hearing the voice of
her father and Yahika, she halted.
         I shouldn't eavesdrop, she told herself, even as she was leaning
closer against the door.  But I could have sworn I heard my name . . . Why
are they whispering?  What have they to keep from the rest of us?
         Amaranth could only hear bits and pieces of their conversation; not
nearly enough to draw any conclusions from.  Her father was speaking now.
His voice was very serious, as was Yahika's
         " . . . getting along quite nicely . . ."
         "When do you think . . ."
         " . . . haven't told her yet . . . wait . . . mature enough . . . hasn't started
thinking of such things . . ."
         "Whenever it's right . . . I can wait."
         ". . . glad you could come for a visit again . . ."
         Amaranth was becoming frustrated with the broken discussion and
wondered why they were being so secretive.  She knew, almost without a
doubt, that they were speaking of her and was a bit angry.  From her father,
this kind of behavior was acceptable, but Yahika had never kept things from
her before . . .
         She backed away from the door when she realized that her father was
preparing to leave the room and dashed silently back to her own chambers.
         Within that very hour, Yahika had to head back to Tirvaltan.
Amaranth, Leila and her parents all embraced him warmly and wished him a
safe journey.  Amaranth didn't get a chance to talk to him alone.  She
wondered if he would have told her what he and her father had spoken about
if she had asked him.
         After he'd left, she went back to her room and replayed the broken
conversation in her mind a few times before deciding to bring the subject
before her parents.  She headed to their room and knocked on their door.
         "Who is it?" asked her father.
         "Amaranth."
         "Come in."
         She entered to find her father explaining Tirvaltan's post-war territories
to her mother.  He rolled the map up and slipped it beneath the table, turning
to his daughter.  "Yes?"
         "Father, I noticed you were in Yahika's chamber this morning."
         "Yes, I was.  What of it?"
         "If you don't mind my asking . . . I was wondering what you were
speaking of."
         "What did you hear?" he asked.
         "Nothing much.  But . . . I was just curious.  It sounded . . . important."
         Her mother rose.  "Amaranth, you are not to eavesdrop on your father
no matter who he is speaking with," she scolded.  "Is that understood?"
         "I wasn't eavesdropping!" protested Amaranth.  "I was simply going to
talk to Yahika.  I didn't mean to listen."
         Her father waved his hand, as if to dismiss the topic before they'd even
discussed it.  "It was not important."
         "It sounded like it was to me."
         "We will tell you when it is right for you to know," stated her father,
glancing at his wife.
         She nodded.  "Yes.  Until then, don't distress yourself over it."
         "But, Father--"
         "That's enough," interrupted the Sultan.  "There is no reason for you to
pry when it is not your place to know."
         "Amaranian," muttered her mother, a bit disapprovingly.  He paid her
no heed.
         "What is it, Mother?" asked Amaranth, starting toward her.
         "Nothing," Amaranian answered for her.  "Amaranth, your mother and
I have important things to discuss."  He began ushering her out of the room.
        "They do not involve you."  He swung the door shut.
         Amaranth spun indignantly and stalked down the hall.  She hated being
excluded!  Why did her father always treat her like a little girl?  Like she was
too young to understand anything of importance!  She headed straight to
Leila's room.  She would understand.
         "Leila?" she called, stepping into her entryway.  "Can I talk to you?"
         "Of course," answered her sister.  "Come on in."  She moved over on
the bed and patted a place for Amaranth to sit down.  "What's wrong?"
         "Do you think Father and Mother would be keeping something from
me?"
         "What makes you think that?"
         Amaranth quickly related the bits of the conversation she'd picked up
and waited for Leila's analysis of the discussion.
         She was silent for a few moments, then she shook her head and said,
"I'm sorry, but I don't know what it means."
         Amaranth raised an eyebrow questioningly.  "Are you sure?"
         "I know nothing of it, Amaranth.  It probably isn't serious."
         "Don't you have any ideas?"
         "Not a clue."
         Despite her sister's words, Amaranth had a strong feeling that for the
first time in her life, Leila was keeping something from her.

==================================================================
{Chapter Four{

         No longer worried about the war in Tirvaltan, Yahika, or her
relationship with him, Amaranth felt amazingly free of burden.  She spent
every spare moment in her garden, and though she always thought it beautiful,
it seemed now it was more glorious than ever before, as if it were reflecting
her world's peace and happiness.
         Amaranth sang a song to herself as she padded fine soil over seeds
she'd received from her mother.  Her hands were brown from the dirt, as were
her knees, sleeves, and even pieces of her hair that had refused to stay pulled
up.  She noticed none of this, and neither did Leila when she came out beside
her.
         Her sister daintily arranged her gown to keep it from getting soiled and
gracefully sat on the clean stone path, watching Amaranth dig in the dirt.  "I
must say," she said, "the garden looks truly magnificent."
         "Thank you," said Amaranth, smiling.  She handed Leila a shovel.
"Care to help?"
         Leila hesitated, wondering whether she should risk ruining one of her
outfits.  Well, why not?  Her sister had done it every day before she got her
gardening attire, and it never got her in too much trouble.  She took the
shovel from Amaranth and began digging, asking which seeds needed to be
planted where.
         About an hour passed while they talked of a banquet they'd attended a
week before.  They busied themselves imitating all the "important" people,
bursting into laughter at their mimicry until their sides hurt.
         "Amaranth!"  It was the voice of her father, loud and stern.
         Amaranth changed her facial statement to a sober one and turned her
face up to him.  "Yes, father--" She cut herself off with a gasp, as she realized
that standing beside him, dressed in his finest, was Yahika.
         Leila lowered her eyes in embarrassment and Amaranth felt her face
turn red.  How could she have forgotten that Yahika was to come today? she
scolded herself.  Her father had told her less than a month before, and not
much time had passed since his last visit.  She knew that to Yahika she must
look like a foolish child playing in the mud, and not the dignified young
woman her father wanted her to be.
         "Amaranth, I told you Yahika was coming today!" reprimanded her
father.  "And you do not even have the decency to change out of that ugly
garden rubbish?  Where is your respect?
         "And Leila."  He turned his attention to her, and she reluctantly raised
her eyes.  "I sent you out here to remind Amaranth.  And I find that you have
ruined your finery as well."
         "I'm sorry, Father."
         Amaranth rose from the ground, brushing dirt from her clothes.  She
walked past her father to approach Yahika.  "I apologize," she whispered.  "It
was truly discourteous of me to forget the day of your arrival."  She
tentatively raised her eyes to meet his and was surprised to see the corners of
his mouth twitching.  Soon, his face broke into a smile.
         "Well," he said, heading for the plot Amaranth had been working on.
"There's no sense in leaving a job undone, is there?"  He fell to his knees and
began replacing dug up soil.
         Amaranth smiled at Leila and rushed to his side, happy that he wasn't
angry.  Her father's lectures she could handle; it hurt more when it came from
a friend.  Leila, a bit hesitant, also knelt beside them and continued with her
task.
         The Sultan, however, didn't get over the embarrassment so easily.
"Amaranth," he said, drawing her attention to him.  "Did I not tell you that
you are not to be seen in that wretched outfit by anyone besides those living
in the palace?"
         "It's all right," said Yahika, before Amaranth had a chance to answer.
"It doesn't bother me."
         "So, Yahika, Leila, are you going to let Amaranth talk you into playing
in the dirt with her?" asked Amaranian, a bit disgusted by his daughters'
informal behavior.
         Yahika and Leila both nodded.  Amaranth smiled at them.
         "I give up then.  You are not what most people think of as royalty!"
he exclaimed, throwing up his hands.  He left muttering something about
"when he was young, he'd never engage in such things".
         The moment he was out of earshot, Amaranth, Leila and Yahika all
turned to each other and burst into uncontrollable fits of laughter.
 

         Yahika was staying in Astaseez for six days, and on the first two, he
spent most of his time talking with Amaranian about the matters of commerce
and such.  On the first day they had all to themselves, Amaranth and Yahika
escaped to the garden immediately after breakfast.  Amaranth invited Leila to
come with them, but she declined, saying she'd rather stay in.
         As they stepped into the sunlight, Yahika let out a contented sigh.  "It's
so beautiful out here.  I can't get over it."  He looked around the vast, colorful
area and then turned his eyes to Amaranth.
         "I'm glad you appreciate it," she said.  "It seems so few people do."
         "Would you mind giving me a tour of the whole garden?" Yahika
asked.  "I haven't seen its entirety since before the war; I'm sure you've made
improvements since then, with the way you dedicate yourself to it."
         "I'd love to!" exclaimed Amaranth, delighted to be able to show off her
masterpiece.  She took his hand.  "Come, let's start here."
         They walked along the path and talked of events happening in both
Astaseez and Tirvaltan.  Amaranth was pleased to know that peace was
rapidly being restored to Yahika's kingdom.  As they conversed, Amaranth
couldn't help noticing that the prince was actually interested in what she was
saying; he wasn't just waiting for his turn to talk.  It seemed the other men
she'd been with liked her there only so they'd have someone to listen to their
endless brave accomplishments.  Amaranth enjoyed the change.
         As they continued their course, and ran out of topics to discuss,
Amaranth began pointing flowers out to Yahika and telling him their names.
He approached a small, white, delicate blossom and bent over it.  "What is
this one called?" he asked.
         "Oh, Yahika, how could you not know?" sighed Amaranth.  "This is
my absolute favorite.  It always has been.  It's a jasmine flower.  Smell it,
Yahika.  I'll bet you've never inhaled a more glorious scent."
         Yahika knelt beside it and did as the princess instructed, agreeing that
it was the best fragrance he'd ever smelled.
         "This is Crown of Thorns," Amaranth said, moving on.  Yahika
followed her, leaning over to tap the delicate pink petals of the plant.  He
drew back abruptly, for his finger had slipped and touched one of the thorns.
         "Careful!" gasped Amaranth when she'd seen what he'd done.  "Let me
see your finger."
         "It's not bad," he said, holding his hand out in front of her face.  "Just a
little pin-prick."
         She observed the tiny bead of blood on his finger and agreed, saying,
"I've done the same thing before.  Crown of Thorns is beautiful, but
sometimes if you get too close, it hurts."
         Yahika nodded and pressed his bleeding finger against his red cape.
He continued forward.  "Ah!" he exclaimed.  "I know what this one is!"  He
stopped by a tall plant of almost six feet.  It had vibrantly bright colors and
the red flowers were drooping and tassel like.  "Love-lies-bleeding," he said.
        "A member of the Amaranth family."
         "One of the few in my family I can be proud of," she laughed.  "For the
Amaranth family also includes various kinds of weeds."
         Yahika waved his hand.  "Just forget about all that," he said.  "You
know, while I was younger and still with my tutor, I studied Greek.  Did you
know that in their language Amaranth means unfading?"
         "Really?" she asked.  "No, I never knew that."
         Smiling, Yahika said, "I can't think of anything more fitting."
 

         Four days later, the night after Yahika's departure, Amaranth had
trouble falling asleep.  It wasn't because Yahika was gone, for now that his
kingdom was undergoing reconstruction she no longer worried for his safety
and knew their meetings would be frequent from then on.  But during his
entire stay, her father had been acting rather peculiar.  She ran the week's
events over in her mind.
         She'd first noticed it that day when she showed Yahika her entire
garden.  When they'd finished the tour, it was nearing sun-set, and they had
leisurely strolled back to the palace.  They arrived there to find her father
waiting for them, and when he saw them approach, a strange smile had
lighted his face.  It wasn't that Amaranth disapproved of her father being
happy, but she had watched his facial expressions so many times while she
was growing up, and she still couldn't figure out what that particular smile
meant.  The inability to grasp the knowledge annoyed her.
         On the night before Yahika left, he had asked Amaranth if he could
have the honor of walking her to her chambers.  She had politely agreed and
allowed him to lead her to her room, giving him a friendly hug before he
returned to his own.  Then, just as she was about to enter her room, she saw
her father coming down the hall and decided to wait for him, lest he had
something to tell her.
         It seemed he had been coming only to say good-night, but again he had
that smile on his face.  When he stopped next to his daughter, he said, "It
appears that you are getting along well with Yahika.  I am happy to see that."
         Amaranth gave him a questioning look.  "Of course I am, Father," she
said.  "We have always been friends."
         "Ah, but sometimes growing older can change people," her father
commented.  "I can see it is changing your friendship for the better."
         Amaranth had noticed how happy this statement had seemed to make
him and it was beyond her understanding.  Was he perhaps worried that
        Yahika and she would be unable to regain their friendship after being parted
for two years?
         She rolled over in her bed and again tried to piece things together.
Parents could be so elusive sometimes.  Wishing they'd come out in the open
more often, she vowed never to be that way if she had children.  Then she
decided to stop thinking about it and get some sleep.  If it was anything of
real importance, Yahika or Leila would tell her.
 

         Amaranian smiled as he changed into his bed robes.  Yahika's visit had
proven to be quite successful.  He'd stayed for an entire week, and Amaranth
showed no signs of tiring of him.  Nor did Yahika seem to be bored with
Amaranth's company.  Well, that was all expected.  Yahika was a noble and
honorable man, and Amaranian was proud to know him so well.  Even
prouder was he that his daughter had developed a friendship with him early in
life.
         And no doubt that friendship was getting stronger by the hour, thought
Amaranian happily.  It wouldn't be long before it developed into the next
level, he was sure of it.  Why, perhaps it already had.  After all, they had
spent an entire day alone together in the garden, and Yahika had volunteered
to accompany her to her chambers the night before.
         The Sultan crept quietly into bed so as not to disturb his wife and
continued to replay the week's events.  If only Yahika's father were still alive,
he thought.  He'd be quite pleased to see that everything was going perfectly.

==================================================================

{Chapter Five{
 
           In his room, Yahika waited for the sound of his older brother, the
present Sultan, to leave conference.  He had a request to ask which he was
sure would not be refused.
         When he heard the sound of Jameen's footsteps down the hall he
sprung off the chair he occupied and burst out of the room.  "Jameen!" he
called.  "May I talk to you before you retire?"
         "Of course, Yahika," he answered, but his voice sounded tired and his
tread was slow.  Yahika decided not to keep him long.
         "I'd like to make a request," began Yahika.  "For twelve years,
skipping the two we were at war, I have traveled to Astaseez to see
Amaranth.  But because Tirvaltan has been so unstable, we've been afraid to
invite her here.  Things are getting better now though, and I believe the time
is right for her to visit our home.  Do I have permission to send a messenger
to Astaseez with this request?"
         Jameen grinned.  "By all means, yes, my brother.  I am confident to
say, especially after today's conferences, that our kingdom is approaching its
best era.  And what better time then now, right, Yahika?"
         "Indeed," smiled Yahika.  "I shall send the messenger to Astaseez
tomorrow morning."
         He did that, and after delivering the command, he passed a large door
leading to the garden and stopped abruptly.  He stood in the doorway and
surveyed the scene with displeasure, realizing for the first time how dull it
looked.  What would Amaranth think of that? he wondered.
         Upon recognizing one of the gardeners, Yahika rushed to him.  "Sir,"
he said, breathless from the run, "Would you mind working overtime?  This
place needs to be perked up a bit, and it must look as brilliant as possible
when she arrives."
         The gardener complied without complaining and set about his extra
duties.  There was no need for him to ask who she was.  Everyone in the
palace knew who Yahika was talking about.  For when it came to women, he
thought of no one else.
         Yahika spent the rest of that week surveying the progress of his
gardeners, and though when they were finished and it was just a day before
Amaranth's arrival the garden had drastically improved, he felt it was still dull
when compared to her beauty, and not quite worthy of her.  But then again,
nothing really was.
==================================================================

{Chapter Six{

         Amaranian was more than pleased when the messenger brought an
invitation to Tirvaltan. He read over it hastily and quickly sent one of his
servants to find Amaranth.
         When she arrived, he got straight to the point.  "Amaranth," he began,
"I received a message from Tirvaltan requesting that our family stay there
with them for a week or so."
         Amaranth was surprised.  "Us go there?" she asked.  "Why?"
         "It will be a good experience for you," her father said.  "I want you to
get to know Yahika in his own home and . . . Have you ever met Yahika's
brother, Jameen?"
         "No, Father."
         "Ah, well he would like to meet you.  Besides, it wouldn't hurt to get
acquainted with the citizens of Tirvaltan, would it?"
         "I suppose not," said Amaranth slowly, and then politely requested to
leave, which was granted.
         The next couple days were filled with talk of the royal family's
departure, and the palace was abuzz with the excitement of going.  Strangely,
Amaranth didn't feel as enthused about the trip as everyone else did, although
she acted as if she did.
         Alone in her room, as she packed her bags, she wondered exactly what
the trip and excitement was really about.  Part of her was as anxious as the
rest of the family, but there was also a part of her that wondered suspiciously
of an ulterior motive.
         Leila had talked of nothing but visiting Tirvaltan, and though Amaranth
knew her sister was a good friend of Yahika's, she didn't know him the way
Amaranth did, and thus shouldn't be too overly excited about this.  Her
parents were even worse; it seemed Amaranth couldn't say two words without
Yahika being brought into the conversation, and of course that led to talk of
the upcoming journey.
         It was as if they all knew something special was going to happen in
Tirvaltan, and were keeping it from Amaranth.  The princess tried to figure
out what it could be, but nothing came to mind.  She'd asked once why Leila
was so anxious to go, and her sister had simply asked, "Well, aren't you?"
         And Amaranth had answered yes, although it wasn't the complete truth.
Part of it was because Yahika had always visited her, and she knew she'd feel
more comfortable having him in her home, but part of it was something else .
. . It was knowing the mystery surrounding this trip was all about her, and
fearing she wouldn't like the surprise.
 

         Amaranth arrived in Tirvaltan in the late afternoon of the fourth day of
the month.  She surveyed the kingdom almost warily as they approached the
palace.  She could tell that even though the war was over, there was still
much to be mended.  Children stood alone in the streets and watched with
wide eyes as the royal caravan passed; a few scampered forward and begged
for money before quickly being reprimanded by their caregivers and ushered
into their houses.  Parts of the city that hadn't yet been reconstructed looked
old and decaying, and the families that lived there appeared the same way.
Contrasting this with the bright prosperity of Astaseez, Amaranth lowered her
eyes and wished she couldn't see everything.  She wondered if the rest of her
family was as bothered as she was.
         Finally, they arrived at the palace, its imposing beauty almost out of
place in the war-recovering city.  Amaranth tried to banish all thought of the
previous scene and concentrate entirely on this stay.
         When they entered the throne room, Amaranth noticed two men side
by side at the end of the carpet.  She recognized one as Yahika and knew the
other to be Jameen.  With her family she proceeded forward and was greeted
by them.
         Jameen opened his arms warmly to receive Amaranth, and as she
returned his welcoming embrace, he said, "My dear, I feel that we are already
family!"
         What did that mean?  she wondered.  She backed away from Jameen
and he held her at arms' length away from him.  "You are more beautiful in
reality than in any of your portraits," he complimented her.  "Of course I
should have expected this, from what Yahika has told me.  He talks endlessly
of you, Princess!"
         Really? thought Amaranth, glancing over at Yahika.  He had his
head lowered and appeared to be embarrassed.  Amaranth wondered if what
Jameen had said was true or just another compliment; she'd never thought
Yahika gave her much thought when they weren't around.  Of course she had
wondered about his safety during war-time, but once that danger was past,
she had to admit that she didn't speak much of him . . .
         After everyone had been welcomed and introduced, Amaranth's family
was shown to their sleeping chambers.  As the sky was beginning to change
colors with the setting sun, Amaranth heard a knock on her door.
         "Come in," she called, and Yahika entered.  She motioned for him to
sit on her bed and sat beside him.
         "Well," he started, "How do you like Tirvaltan?"
         "It's . . ."  Amaranth didn't mean to hesitate, but she couldn't keep the
scene from before from painting itself in her mind . . . the poor children, the
crumbling houses . . . But she couldn't say this to Yahika.  Of course she had
to tell him she enjoyed it . . . "It's a beautiful kingdom, Yahika," she finished.
"I enjoy being able to escape Astaseez for a while."  She knew the words
sounded phony, and she lowered her eyes.
         Yahika shifted his position slightly as silence hung heavy in the air, and
Amaranth realized that he was nervous around her.  This is ridiculous, she
thought.  We've known each other for twelve years, and suddenly I feel that
we're strangers . . .
         "You hesitated," Yahika said slowly, breaking the silence.  "Is it the
truth, Amaranth?  Do you truly enjoy being here?"
         Amaranth rose her eyes to meet Yahika's and for a few moments
couldn't answer his question because of the look she saw in them.  So
different from how he usually looked . . . they were unsure . . . and searching
. . . searching for what?  Amaranth knew suddenly that Yahika too was in on
the secret she couldn't uncover, and felt betrayed that he hadn't told her.  She
held her tongue to keep from asking and was so occupied by these thoughts
that she forgot Yahika's question.
         "Amaranth," he repeated.  "Do you truly enjoy being here?"
         "Yes," she said quickly . . . too quickly.  "I mean, your country is
recovering from war," she added.  "I'm not used to that.  But I enjoy being
here, in the palace, and I enjoy being with you."
         Yahika smiled, seeming pleased with her answer and began telling
Amaranth about Tirvaltan's plans for the future.  She tried to sound interested
in his words, but she knew something between them was different.  He's
trying to act as if everything is the same, she thought, but something is
changing . . . She watched his face during their conversation and tried to
read it, tried to solve the mystery, but as always, the answers wouldn't come
to her, and she was left frustrated again.
 

         The next two days weren't any better; they were almost worse.
Amaranth knew she should feel comfortable with these people, her family and
closest friend, but she felt oddly removed from them, as is she was watching
from the outside.
         An aura of anticipation dominated Yahika's entire household, including
the Prince.  Amaranth felt as if she had been suddenly placed on a pedestal
like a statue, for everyone seemed to be constantly studying her.  She could
imagine them all with check-lists in their hands, although what exactly they
were looking for was still unclear to her.
         Why am I suddenly the center of attention? he asked herself.
Yahika and Jameen pay more attention to me than to Leila or my parents,
but this seems not to bother them.  In fact, they too have begun focusing
solely on me . . . Every time I enter a room I can feel all eyes on me,
watching and evaluating every move I make.  Even Yahika and Leila, though
they are still as good of friends as they've ever been, have taken up this
strange habit.  And each casual inquiry feels like a test question . . . and is
treated as one, with approval or disapproval . . . especially when they ask
about Yahika . . .
         For instance, just that morning, Leila had asked her a question similar
to the one Yahika had asked the first night.
         "Do you enjoy being here in Tirvaltan, Amaranth?"
         Amaranth, feeling that she didn't have to hide her true feelings from
Leila, answered truthfully with, "The damage left by the war worries and
saddens me.  I look forward to being in safe, familiar Astaseez again."
         Leila frowned.  "You are not homesick already, are you, Amaranth?"
         "I don't know," said Amaranth.  "I just don't feel right here . . .
something strange is going on . . ."  She trailed off and glanced at her sister,
hoping for an explanation.  But Leila remained silent and turned her face
away to hide her statement.  Amaranth knew her sister was aware of her
own suspicions and didn't want to entertain them.
         Leila rephrased her question.  "What I really meant was, do you enjoy
spending this time with Yahika?"
         "Yes.  You know I always enjoy spending time with Yahika.  He's such
a good friend," Amaranth answered, but she was thinking differently: I
would enjoy it more if he were acting more like himself, for he watches me
constantly, as if he's afraid I'll disappear into thin air any moment . . . I
don't like the constant "supervision" and wish he'd go back to the way he
used to be . . .
        Leila didn't guess at Amaranth's thoughts and seemed to be quite
satisfied with her younger sister's reply.
 

         The next day, Yahika offered to show Amaranth his garden.  She
eagerly agreed, thinking that this was the chance she needed to be herself
again.  Surely when it's just the two of us, thought Amaranth, it'll feel
more natural.
         And for the first couple minutes, it did.  Amaranth examined each
flower, complimenting Yahika on the breeds she especially liked.  In her
mind, however, she couldn't keep from thinking that her own garden was so
much more alive and picturesque.
         Amaranth paused when they reached a huge and thriving rosebush,
stretching out her fingers to touch the petals.  "This is by far the best one in
your garden," she commented.  "It's truly beautiful."
         "I'm not so sure about that," said Yahika, his voice strangely soft.
Amaranth turned a questioning face to him, and he continued, "I believe you
to be the most gorgeous flower in any garden."
         Unsure of what to say, Amaranth just stared into those dark, searching
eyes, and before she knew what was happening, Yahika had her face in his
hands, and was drawing her to him.
         His lips met hers.  A thousand thoughts and questions flashed through
Amaranth's mind at that moment, but the most prevalent were: Why are we
doing this?  It doesn't feel right . . . And she jerked nervously away from
him.
         Yahika, surprised and hurt by Amaranth's withdrawal, slowly slid his
hands away from her face, confusion in his eyes.  "Amaranth . . ." he began
quietly.
         "Yahika . . ." she whispered, unsure of what to say.  "I'm . . . I'm
sorry," she stammered.  "I have to go."  She pulled away from him and ran up
to her room.
         The pain of rejection stabbing mercilessly into Yahika's heart, he
watched her go without following, asking himself: Why can't you feel for me
the way I do for you?  And what is it that I've done wrong?
 

         Alone in her room, Amaranth played the previous scene over in her
mind a thousand times.  Yahika, why did you do that?   she wondered.
Why did you ruin the beautiful friendship we had by trying to make it into
something more?
         She knew now that things could never go back to the way they had
been with Yahika.  Now that he had kissed her, she had only two options:
Continue on the path he had started, leave their friendship behind and become
lovers, or lose his friendship entirely.  Neither idea appealed to her.
         But what else could she do?  They couldn't go back, no matter how
much Amaranth wanted to.  The relationship would have to change, and
Amaranth didn't like that at all.
         I love Yahika, she thought.  I know I do.  But I love him in the way
a woman loves her brother, and now I'm afraid he loves me in the way a
man loves a woman . . . And it doesn't feel right.  It's unnatural for me to
love him in that way . . .
         She wanted to tell someone what had happened.  But who could she
turn to?  Definitely not her parents, nor Yahika, nor Jameen.  Even the
thought of confiding in Leila didn't appeal to her.  What would she say?
What would she think?  Would she reprimand her for pulling away?  For
leaving Yahika alone with no explanation?
         Amaranth knew the way she had left was cruel; all she had to do was
glimpse the look on Yahika's face to know that.  But at the time, she knew of
nothing else to do.  Even after thinking it over, she could figure no way to get
out of the situation other than running away from it.
 

         After that, Amaranth actually feared meeting Yahika, and she hated
herself for thinking that way.  But that look in his eyes, what he wanted from
her . . . It just wasn't right . . .
         She kept her feelings and suspicions hidden away.  How could she tell
someone?  Over and over, she tried to convince herself that it was nothing to
worry about.  Perhaps I am only flattering myself, she thought, but that
idea was always dispelled when her eyes met Yahika's again.
         The remaining three days of her visit dragged on, and when the last
night came, she felt sure she could wait no longer to leave, and was stabbed
with a pang of guilt for thinking that way.
         Finally, the morn of their departure arrived, and Amaranth felt worse
than ever.  What would Yahika think of her now?  Would he hate her for
avoiding him during her stay?  Would he try to kiss her again?  Would he say
those dreaded words that she wouldn't be able to return?
         She couldn't face him during breakfast, and she kept her eyes lowered
the entire time.  She was so withdrawn, that her father inquired politely, "Are
you ill, Amaranth?"
         Amaranth could feel everyone turn to hear her answer, but was acutely
aware of Yahika's eyes burning her.  "No, Father," she whispered.
         "It has been a busy week," commented the Sultana, placing her hand
over her daughter's.  "I'm sure Amaranth is just worn out."
         Amaranth nodded mutely.
         After the meal was finished, servants brought the royal family's luggage
down from their rooms and they prepared to leave.
         "It has been a pleasure meeting you," said Jameen, and he embraced
Amaranth warmly.  "I look forward to seeing you again."
         She nodded, and Yahika stepped forward, pulling her into his arms.
But what should have been a comfortable farewell seemed suddenly stifling to
Amaranth, and being held so closely against Yahika was frightening.  She
pulled away from him again, in much the same way she had in the garden,
and was met by the same crushing look from his dark eyes.
         "I truly hope to see you again soon, my Princess," murmured Yahika,
kissing Amaranth's stiff hands lightly.
         "As do I, Prince," said Amaranth.  It was a lie, and all the Princess had
to do was look at Yahika's face to know he recognized it as such.
         Why must you know me so well? thought Amaranth, almost angrily.
Must you make me feel that by looking at me with those piercing eyes, you
can see straight into my soul?
         She turned away from him and quickly followed her family out of the
building.
         As they rode home, her parents and Leila all spoke happily of their
stay, and were already planning the next trip to Tirvaltan.  But Amaranth
could not stand to listen to their talk, and turning her head to look over her
shoulder, she hoped no one caught the tear that slipped out of her eye.
         What will I do without a best friend? she wondered sadly.  Have I
done wrong?  Should I have gone along with him, despite all those feelings
telling me it wasn't right?  Will Yahika ever understand?  Will I ever
completely understand what has happened?
         She pulled her veil in front of her face to keep her family from seeing
her statement, trying her hardest to hold back the tears that threatened to
come.
         Knowing he'd never hold the same place in her heart again, Amaranth
whispered so softly she could hardly hear herself, "Good-bye, Prince Yahika . . ."

==================================================================

{Chapter Seven{

         "Well, that certainly was a pleasant trip," commented Leila brightly the
next evening as she was putting away the remaining articles of her luggage.
"I must admit, I am already looking forward to the next one."
         Next one? thought Amaranth.  Could she go through that again?  Could
she ever bear to see Yahika after how she'd rejected him?
         "You're awfully quiet," remarked Leila, her back still turned to her
sister.  "Has something happened?  Are you missing Tirvaltan already?"
         "Yahika kissed me," Amaranth said softly.
         Leila turned toward Amaranth, a smile lighting her face.  "Really?
Well aren't you lucky!"
         "Leila I . . ."  Amaranth had trouble finishing her thought as she looked
into her sister's happy eyes.
         "Well, it's about time, anyway," laughed Leila, swatting Amaranth's
shoulder affectionately.  "I thought he'd never--"
         "Leila, I didn't want him to!" blurted Amaranth, and as the words left
her lips, Leila's face immediately fell.
         "Didn't want him to?" repeated Leila.  "Ammy, what do you mean?"
         "It . . . It scared me," admitted Amaranth, lowering her eyes.
         "Well, the first time is always a little scary--"
         "That's not what I mean," interrupted Amaranth.  "It scared me in the
way that I never want it to happen again."
         "What?"  Leila breathed, sounding shocked.  "But you and Yahika . . ."
         "Are . . . were good friends," finished Amaranth.  "But, Leila, now that
he's kissed me, we'll have to go past that, and--"
         Leila cut her off.  "You'll go on to something better."
         "No!" cried Amaranth, ardently shaking her head.  "I don't want to!  I
wanted to stay the way we were . . . that was special; perfect the way it was.
I don't want to go past that!"
         Slowly, Leila lowered herself onto the bed beside her sister.  "But
Amaranth," she murmured.  "I thought you had feelings for Yahika . . ."
         "I do!" said Amaranth.  "But . . . not like that, Leila."
         Leila sighed.  "You know, Amaranth, I think you need to give Yahika
more of a chance."
         "What kind of chance do you mean?" asked Amaranth.  "I've given him
the chance to find a place in my heart as one of my dearest friends.  That is
the place he has, Leila.  I cannot fathom the idea of having him in another.  I
love him, yes.  But in the way a woman loves her brother.  Not in the way a
woman loves a man, Leila.  Not in that way at all.  It doesn't feel right . . . the
thought is almost incestuous . . ."
         "Amaranth!"
         "It's true!" she cried.  "It's like I know him too well to want a
relationship romantically . . ."
         "But that's the way it should be!" argued Leila.  "Isn't it better than
some stranger loving you in that way?"
         "It depends . . ."
         "On what?"
         "I don't know . . . All I'm sure of is I don't want that with Yahika . . ."
         Leila sighed again.  "You are young and do not know what you want
yet, Amaranth.  Maybe you'll change your mind.  Until then, don't tell Father
what you just told me, okay?"
         "I won't," whispered Amaranth.  She couldn't help feeling ashamed by
her own feelings, or angered by Leila's reaction.  She was suppose to listen
and offer her support, not act as if she was part of the opposing side in a war.
But then, it was beginning to seem to Amaranth as if everyone was on the
opposing side.
 

         For nearly a week following that discussion, Amaranth secluded herself
in her room or garden.  All her feelings and fears remained locked inside, for
she was afraid to show them to anyone after Leila's response to them.  So she
suddenly became the quiet, withdrawn and modest Princess everyone
expected her to be.
         As she lay on her bed one morning after breakfast, she heard the sound
of an approaching parade, and curious, she left her chamber.  Across the hall
from her own room were empty guest quarters, and she entered one of them,
so that she could stand atop the balcony which overlooked the city.
         The procession was moving steadily toward the palace.  It was dotted
with festive flags and bordered with guards, their swords raised respectfully
and for protection of the man they accompanied.
         He was sitting atop a fine and mighty white Arabian horse.  Although
Amaranth couldn't see him clearly from her look-out, she heard a chorus of
voices announce: "Make way for Sultan Hamid!"  And townspeople all
gathered in the streets or leaned out of their windows to glimpse the monarch.
         Is he here to ask me for my hand? wondered Amaranth excitedly.
Her stomach began to quiver with nervousness at the thought, and she was
both eager and afraid to meet him.  Even though she was now considered a
woman, and the Princess of a very prosperous kingdom, she'd had very few
suitors, so unlike Leila, she was still delighted by their arrival.
         She watched him come through the palace gates, and when she knew
he was within the building, she rushed quietly to the throne room to see what
was going on.  Lest she be unwanted at the moment, she hid behind the door
and tentatively peaked into the chamber.
         The man had dark, silky hair to his shoulders, a trim beard, and
sparkling, kind brown eyes.  Amaranth noted that for a man, he was short, for
he appeared the same height as her.  Although he looked around her age, he
seemed much older, for he was dressed in the attire of a Sultan and not that of
a Prince.
         As Amaranth crept even closer to where he stood, she realized that his
face held a strange, melancholic sorrow.  And then she heard her father's
voice, and what he said both surprised and angered her.
         "I am sorry, Your Highness, but Amaranth is not accepting any suitors.
She has already chosen her future husband, and will not choose another over
him."  Amaranian folded his arms behind his back and gave the young Sultan
a look that said the discussion was over.
         Amaranth's temper flared up when she heard her father's words.  What
right did he have to say she'd chosen a suitor when she had not?  When she
glimpsed the suitor's face, her anger was compounded, for his statement was
of profound disappointment.  And all because her father hadn't even consulted
with her about her own suitor!
         "Please, at least let me meet her," protested the suitor.  "I have traveled
all the way from Agrabah, and--"
         That was it.  Amaranth refused to let this man be sent home without a
chance, and she burst angrily into the room.  "Father!" she shouted, walking
quickly toward him.  He turned to her, surprised by her entrance, but could
think of nothing to say.
         "Why did you say I had chosen a suitor when I haven't?" demanded
Amaranth.  "And why are you turning this young man away without giving
me the chance to meet him?  I believe if it is me he wants to see, then it
shall be I who decides whether or not to turn him away."
         The suitor turned toward Amaranth, seeming surprised by her outburst.
But she saw a smile playing at the corners of his mouth and knew he was
pleased by her words.
         Smiling, Amaranth approached the Sultan, looking into his sweet eyes
and wondering how anyone could turn him away.  Dropping in a low curtsy
to him, she said, "It is a pleasure to meet you, Sultan Hamid of Agrabah.  You
are welcome to stay in Astaseez, and I would be honored to get acquainted
with you."
         He returned her bow.  "As I would like to get to know you, my
Princess."
         "You must excuse my father's behavior," said Amaranth politely.  "I
believe he's a bit . . . overprotective."  Out of the corner of her eye, Amaranth
caught the angry glare on her father's face but tried her hardest to ignore it.
Extending her hand to Hamid, she continued, "Would you allow me to show
you to your rooms?"
         "Indeed, Princess."
         Amaranth led him to one of the most beautiful guest chambers and told
him to have a comfortable stay.  She then bid him farewell, letting him get
used to the place.
         When she had returned to her own room, she spent the rest of the day
anticipating her father's reprimands for disobeying him.  Or for Leila to come
in and ask why she had done it.  But neither came, and she was left to ask
herself why she'd felt so strongly that Hamid needed a chance.
         However, there was only one answer she could come up with; It just
felt right.
 

         Sultan Hamid had trouble falling asleep that night.  His mind just
wouldn't relax.  It kept drifting back to Princess Amaranth, although he'd met
her only that morning.
         What is it about her? he wondered.  Why do I see her face still so
many hours later?
         Of course, she was beautiful . . . so much so that it was blinding.
Those eyes, that hair, that genuine smile . . . but it was more than that.
         And then there was the kingdom she came from, one that was
prosperous and peaceful.  Having Astaseez as an ally would prove to be quite
profitable . . . but this was hardly foremost in his mind.
         She appeared to be healthy, which meant she could bear him an heir,
and seemed to have no current marital or romantic engagements, at least
judging from the way she had greeted him . . . but this too was only a trivial
aspect of who she was.
         She was so surprisingly bold, he thought.  So eager to stand up for
what she believed was right.  Why, she even contradicted her father, the
venerable Sultan Amaranian.  Such spirit!  And such character!
         Hamid had been told by his advisor two years ago that he need find a
wife, and so he had traveled to many different kingdoms and met many
different Princesses.  Although they all had certain admirable and pleasant
qualities, he didn't like the idea of having one as a wife.  They seemed to be
programmed, and their mannerisms were too practiced.  They did things
simply to impress him, not allowing him to see their true characters.  He knew
after marriage, they'd become a different person.
         Ah!  But this Princess Amaranth . . . Why, she'd shown her true
feelings and personality from the start.  How could he not be drawn to such a
woman?
         It was this that prompted all Hamid's feelings toward her to be stronger
and deeper than any he'd had before.
         So is it truly possible, he wondered, that after all my futile
searches, I have fallen in love so easily?
 

         At breakfast the next morning, an uneasy silence cloaked the royal
family.  Amaranth caught her mother, father, and Leila glancing at Hamid
repeatedly, and then returning their focus quickly to their food when they
realized they'd been discovered.  Amaranth could almost feel the weight of
rejection and tension resting on the suitor, and her heart went out to him.
During that meal, and every one after it, she smiled at him and met his eyes,
letting him know that despite her family's reaction, he was accepted by her.
         Amaranian found an excuse to leave early, bidding his wife to come
with him, leaving just Amaranth, Leila and Hamid.  Shattering the remaining
silence, Amaranth turned to Hamid, and asked, "Would you like to see my
garden?"
         The Sultan smiled.  "It sounds like a wonderful idea."
         "Would you like to come with us, Leila?"
         Her sister stared at her for a few moments as if she'd spoken in a
different language, and Amaranth couldn't help noting how ill-mannered the
action was.  Finally, Leila shook her head, lowered her eyes, and murmured,
"No, thank you, Amaranth.  I believe I have other things to attend to."  And
she left the room.
         Hamid and Amaranth entered the garden together, and the Sultan
gasped as the splendor of it hit his eyes.  "Why!  This looks as if it is out of a
painting!"  Turning to the Princess, he asked, "Who does your gardening, my
dear?"
         "I do, Your Highness," she answered, blushing with pride at his
enjoyment.  "Do you like it?"
         "It is splendid!" he exclaimed, and sat down on one of the benches.
Amaranth lowered herself beside him, and he glanced at her, then at the patch
of flowers growing in clusters around them.  "Do you mind, Princess, if I pick
just one?"
         She shook her head, and Hamid gently plucked a delicate white flower,
breaking the stem in a clean line.  He brought it to his nose, inhaled its scent,
and then tucked it behind Amaranth's ear.  "It seems only fitting that you
should wear it," he remarked.  "You and these flowers compliment each other
so well that you seem to be one!"
         Smiling, Amaranth let her fingers drift to her hair, and where the
blossom rested behind her ear.  "You've chosen a jasmine flower for my hair,"
she murmured.  "It is my favorite."
         Hamid smiled.  "I must admit, I don't know the names of these plants.
It's been so many years since I've studied such things.  But I know that it is
the one that looks the most lovely against your face and hair."
         Amaranth continued to finger it, replaying Hamid's words, pleasantly
surprised by how genuine they had been.  He wasn't saying these things to
make a good impression; he was saying them because he meant it.  And this
was no lowly suitor, either, who needed to impress someone higher.  No, he
was the Sultan of Agrabah, one of the most prosperous kingdoms of the
Seven Deserts.  And even though because of his possessions any Princess
could be his for the taking, he was showing a true interest in Amaranth, as a
person, and not a short-cut to alliance between their kingdoms.  Amaranth
knew that such men were rare among royalty . . .
         Realizing how long she'd remained quiet, she broke the silence.  "How
long have you been Sultan of Agrabah, Hamid?"
         "Officially, two years, since my coronation when I turned sixteen.  By
the laws of inheritance, however, I've been Agrabah's sovereign since the
death of both my parents in an accident during one of their journeys, when I
was twelve," he answered, and Amaranth saw a memory creep into his eyes.
         "I'm sorry about that," she whispered.  "I hope I did not mention
anything to bring up painful remembrances . . ."
         The Sultan shook his head.  "No, not really.  I never knew my parents
very well.  I'm not sure if that made it harder or easier for me.  It wasn't
difficult for me to let go of something that was hardly ever there, but I was
left feeling guilty for losing my chance at knowing them . . . But I need not
bore you with stories of my childhood."
         "As Sultans go, you are quite young," commented Amaranth.  "I am
impressed at your ability to manage a kingdom as busy as Agrabah."
         The Sultan chuckled.  "Please, don't flatter me, my dear.  Only recently
have I begun taking part in the affairs of state.  Before my Sultan-Making,
and even now, most major decisions are made or greatly influenced by my
chief advisor, Jafar.  He is a very learned and educated man, though not a
very warm fellow; he does his job well.  He was the son of my father's most
trusted vizier, and it seems the power to give valuable council runs in the
family."
         "Be that as it may," said Amaranth, "the weight of a kingdom must be a
heavy burden.  That you can manage it with such modesty is very admirable."
         The Sultan shrugged.  "I am just a man who was born into it.  Any
other, with the counsel I receive, could do the same.  But enough about me.
Will you tell me about yourself, my dear?"
         "I don't know what to say," admitted Amaranth.  "Except that I love
flowers, my garden, and the freedom it gives me, and that I become bored
easily with palace affairs.  I think I would go mad if I did not have this place
to escape to."
         Ah, thought the Sultan, then I must see to it that Agrabah's
menagerie is touched up as befits her.
 

         Amaranth glanced over her shoulder again to make sure she wasn't
being followed.  How exciting, she thought, to be doing something that is
"forbidden"--Meeting with a young man without her family's consent.  How
exciting to be doing something because she wanted to and not because she
was expected to . . . and how exciting to have a chance to be alone with
Sultan Hamid!
         She was moving quickly and silently through one of the palace's large
halls; the one leading to the ballroom.  She was wearing her favorite dancing
gown, and her hair had been let loose from its usual braid, except one strand,
which she twisted around the top of her head and tucked behind her crown.
         Finally arriving at the ballroom, she slowly pushed open the heavy
doors and slipped inside.  Hamid was already waiting for her, sitting at the
large banquet table.  Candles were lighted around the room, and a small meal
was on the table.
         As Amaranth sat down across from him, she noticed that there was a
strange, bubbly nervous feeling within her--As if she had been drinking wine,
even though her religion forbade it.  Even though it was unfamiliar, she rather
liked the feeling--It added to the excitement of the night.
         "You are truly a vision to behold, my dear," said Hamid, gazing across
the table at her.  Amaranth noticed that the candlelight was reflecting in his
eyes, making them shine brightly at her.  She blushed and lowered her eyes,
murmuring, "Thank you, Majesty."
         "It is a pleasure to dine with you," continued the Sultan, starting in on
his small meal.  "I am honored that you decided to join me."
         "The honor is mine," said Amaranth, beginning to pick at her own
food.  Both she and Hamid had eaten a large meal with the family, but she
preferred this.  For some reason, the food tasted much better now.  Although
Amaranth knew she should be prim and proper, she couldn't help asking,
        "Who prepared this meal for us?  It isn't customary for the cooks to make
supper twice."
         Hamid smiled.  "A few of my own servants attended me here.  They
were quite happy to be of service to us."
         "Be sure to give your servants my thanks," said Amaranth.
         "Show them your beautiful smile, my dear," Hamid said, "and they will
consider that thanks enough.  Any man would."
         Amaranth blushed again and dabbed at her face with her napkin to hide
it.  Then she folded it and placed it beneath her plate, waiting politely for the
Sultan to finish eating.
         The Princess was almost disappointed when the Sultan pushed his plate
away from him and wiped his hands.  Surely, this wasn't the end of their
meeting already?
         To her delight, Hamid reached beneath the table and pulled out a tiny
jeweled music box.  He lifted the lid, allowing the tinkling notes to drift
around the vast chamber.  Rising from his seat, he came around the table till
he was beside Amaranth and bowed to her.  "May I have the pleasure of
dancing with you, my dear?"
         Amaranth gave him her hand and let him lead her around the floor.
Their dance was carefree, simple and beautiful.  Amaranth felt as if she was
in a dream, a beautiful angel surrounded by twinkling stars and sweet music.
And Hamid . . . he was the lifelong companion promised to the faithful in
paradise.
         Her hand held in his fit so perfectly . . . as if Allah had always meant
for it to belong there.  She wondered if Hamid felt the way she did, even as
she hoped this new and exhilarating feeling would never end.
         Even when the notes of the music box died away, the dream continued,
as Hamid drew Amaranth to him and gently kissed her.
         That night, when Amaranth was back in her room, she shivered with
the remembrance of the whole evening.  That's the way it's suppose to be,
she thought happily, hardly realizing she was comparing her time spent with
the Sultan to countless times she had shared with Yahika.  This must be
what falling in love is all about . . .

==================================================================

{Chapter Eight{

         Amaranth didn't get to see Hamid the next day, because he was in
council with his advisors.  Nonetheless, she had a beautiful, light-hearted
feeling.  She spent the day dancing around her room and the halls, humming
the song from the music box, reliving the night in the ball-room with each step
she took.
         In her happiness, she became oblivious to the rest of the world; She
assumed they had to be as blithe as she was.  That evening, however, when
she danced down to her parents' room to say good-night, she realized her
feelings were not approved by everyone.
         Her dance immediately died when she heard angry voices from within
her parents' chamber.  Were they fighting?  Against her better judgment,
Amaranth crept to the door and pressed her ear against it.
         "I knew it," her father muttered.  "I knew that Sultan would bring
nothing but ill luck, Lily.  The timing is just so . . . inconvenient."
         "But Amaranian," said the Sultana, trying to remain calm.  "It just
didn't look good for us to turn away a Sultan from such a city as Agrabah.
Perhaps Amaranth was only thinking of the kingdom's reputation . . . "
         "If I know anything about my daughter," said Amaranian, "the
reputation of our kingdom didn't even cross her mind.  Allah knows she's
never cared about it before.  She had other reasons for inviting him to stay."
         "Amaranian, he is a perfectly nice man . . ."
         "That's not the point!"  Amaranian's voice was rising with each
comment, until Amaranth didn't even have to lean against the door to hear it.
        "Look at what is happening between her and that young Sultan!  Look at it,
Lily!  Even a fool could see that . . . This is terrible.  How could she let this
happen?"
         "You know you should have told her, Amaranian!" yelled Lily;
Amaranth was becoming worried.  It was the first time in her life she'd ever
heard her mother fight so vehemently against her father.  "How was she to
know?" the Sultana continued.  "How was she to know that she was already
betrothed to another, and shouldn't let other men into her life?"
         Amaranth's heart stopped.  Betrothed to another?  Who?  Why?
         "Yahika knew she was chosen to be his bride; He's known it all his life.
So why didn't you tell her?  Why?  You can't blame her for taking a liking to
that young man.  She didn't know what you had planned!" Lily cried, shifting
the blame from Amaranth to her father.
         A large weight seemed to crush Amaranth's heart, and for a few
moments she couldn't breathe.  Marry Yahika?  No . . . No . . .
         She couldn't stand to listen anymore.  She spun away from the room
and rushed to her own chamber, trying her hardest to suppress tears.  When
she reached it, she slammed the door behind her and threw herself onto the
bed.
         The conversation kept replaying itself in her mind.  So that was the big
secret . . . that was what everyone saw, everyone knew, everyone was
waiting for.  Except Amaranth.
         How could I be so stupid? thought Amaranth angrily.  Why didn't I
know?  Why else would Yahika and I be brought together so often?  Why else
was our relationship scrutinized so closely?  They were all waiting for us to
fall in love . . .
         But it didn't happen!  Not for me . . . Marry Yahika?  No . . . I don't
love Yahika . . . not in that way.  He used to be like a brother, but not since
he kissed me, not anymore . . .
         And then Amaranth realized why she never suspected her family's
plans.  She had always felt so comfortable with Yahika, and she'd never even
dared to look beyond friendship as everyone else was doing.  She had stayed
in her own safe relationship while everyone else's ideas changed . . .
         She had thought she wasn't ready for that kind of love, which was why
it felt so wrong with Yahika.  But then there was Hamid, and the way that she
felt about him . . . And she realized she was ready, but only if it was the
right person.  And Hamid was the right person for her . . .
         Dragging herself off the bed, she headed to her writing desk.  She
pulled the top drawer open and grazed her fingers over the piles of letters
within.  All from Yahika . . .
         He had known all along.  She pulled a letter off the top of the pile and
her eyes quickly skimmed it.  He never implied that he was more than a friend
to her . . . until she read the last line: Love Always . . . But she'd always
thought it was nothing more than a cordial closing.
         Does he really love me? wondered Amaranth.  Or has he been
told he will love me for so long that he only thinks he does?  The whole
idea made Amaranth feel funny . . . almost sick.
         No matter what,  she thought, I will never love him in that way.
That place in my heart is filled by Hamid.
         A knock on her door caused Amaranth to jerk her head up, cram
Yahika's letters back into the drawer, and quickly shove it shut.  "Come in,"
she invited, although she was not in the mood for company.
         Amaranian entered, looking very solemn.  "Amaranth," he began.  "I
have something very important to discuss with you.  Why don't we sit down?"
he gestured at the bed.
         Slowly, the Princess slipped over to her bed.  Her stomach felt queasy.
She knew exactly what was coming . . . but she didn't know how to handle it.
         "Daughter, have you thought about marriage?"
         Amaranth lowered her eyes, answering elusively with, "Everyone
thinks about it, Father."
         "I want you to take this seriously, Amaranth.  You are the Princess of a
very prosperous kingdom.  It is necessary that you make a match that would
benefit all of us . . ."
         As her father continued his speech, an anger began to grow within
Amaranth.  Listen to him! she thought.  He's rambling on, trying to justify
what he's done.  Well, it won't work.  I'll not give in to what he wants . . . I'm
not a child anymore.
         "And so the decision that was made long ago will finally be carried
through now," concluded Amaranian.  "You are to marry Prince Yahika."
         Even though she already knew, hearing her father tell her directly made
everything so final . . . as if those words were now written in stone,
impossible to change . . .
         Amaranth raised her eyes to meet her father's, and with a steady voice,
said, "I don't love Yahika.  And I don't want to marry him."
         "Amaranth, love is of little concern when we are talking of the good of
the kingdom," said the Sultan.  "This decision was made before you were
born, and to break this promise would bring horrible shame to our kingdom."
         "Why me?" cried Amaranth, finally allowing her frustration to show.
        "Why not Leila?"  As she said the words, she knew how selfish they sounded,
but she didn't care.  Leila was different . . . Leila wouldn't see anything wrong
with marrying simply for the good of the kingdom.
         "Leila is a year older than Yahika," said Amaranian, trying to remain
calm through his daughter's anger.  "It isn't right for the woman to be older."
         "What about Jameen?" asked Amaranth frantically, feeling as if she
was an animal caught in a snare.  "If you wanted to ally with Tirvaltan so
badly, why not marry Jameen to Leila?  Isn't it customary to betroth the older
children first?  Father, this doesn't make any sense to me!"  Amaranth was
angry at the way her voice came close to cracking.  She was just so
frustrated, so confused . . . so trapped!
         "Calm down, Amaranth," said Amaranian.  "Let me tell you how it
happened--"
         But Amaranth didn't want a logical reason.  She wanted to bring up as
many reasons as possible not to marry Yahika.  "Why ally with Tirvaltan
anyway?" she challenged.  "It's such an unstable kingdom.  Father, if you're
going to plan marriage, plan it into a decent kingdom; a prosperous kingdom
like . . . like Agrabah!"  Amaranth could hardly believe what she had said.
She'd just insulted the kingdom of her former best friend, and let the name of
Hamid's slip out.  There was no way to hide what she was thinking about.
And for some strange reason, it made her guilty.
         Amaranian's face turned red at Amaranth's reference to Sultan Hamid.
"Amaranth, I want you to calm down!  You want me to tell you what's going
on, yet you refuse to stop whining long enough for me to explain!  Now be
quiet, listen to me, and you will realize why I did what I did.  You will also
see why this union cannot be canceled.
         "You know that Astaseez has always been a stable, prosperous
kingdom," he began.  "But this does not mean we are without enemies.
Indeed, we have many: jealous Princes, paranoid Sultans . . . nearly sixteen
years ago, when you were still in your mother's womb, Sultan Abdullah of
Pitosah became very dangerous to me.  Although believed to be an ally, he
and his mercenaries were planning my assassination.  I'd never have suspected
if it hadn't been for Sultan Nusair, Yahika's father.
         "A large diplomatic meeting was being held within this palace.
Nobility from across the seven deserts came to attend.  It was at this
gathering, that Nusair happened to overhear Abdullah's horrible plans.  He
came to me at once with the news.  At first, believing Pitosah to be Astaseez's
loyal ally, I didn't believe him.  However, I did take precautions, and sent
spies to keep an eye on Abdullah.   And Nusair had been right; He was
jealous and planning an attempt on my life.  Had it not been for him, I might
not be here today.
         "Of course, I knew I owed him my life.  I promised to repay him in any
way possible.  At the time, Prince Yahika was only a child, but his mother
was unlikely to bear any others.  Nusair decided that, because of Tirvaltan's
instability, he wanted one of his sons to make a good alliance.  As I said, you
were yet unborn, but he said, 'If your wife Lily bears another daughter, I ask
you to promise her to my son.'  You were born, and the agreement was
finalized.
         "We would both benefit from it, of course.  By marrying our youngest
children to one another, we left the older ones free to ally with any kingdom
that would suit our present needs . . . or no kingdom at all.  Either way, both
of us needed to secure at least one heir.  Since I have no sons, I decided that
Astaseez would one day need a Sultan.  Yahika was a perfect candidate.  And
so, you were promised to one another.  And it is a promise that cannot be
broken."
         Amaranth felt as if she was listening to a story about somebody else.
This couldn't be happening . . . Her father couldn't force her to marry, could
he . . . ?  For a moment, the Princess felt as though she was suffocating.
There seemed to be no way out . . . Finally, she whispered, "Yahika always
knew, didn't he?  Why didn't you tell me?"
         "You were such a child," sighed Amaranian.  "I did not feel you were
ready.  Besides,"-his voice became stern-"you should be grateful to me.  I did
all that I could to ensure that Yahika and you had a strong relationship before
marriage.  If you do not, it is nobody's fault but your own, and it is you who
must deal with it."  With that, he left.
         Amaranth stared blankly at the closed door.  As if in a trance, she
walked over to her dresser again.  On its top was a small painting of Hamid.
She picked it up carefully, caressing the picture with her hand, running her
fingers lightly over the Sultan's hair, smile, and eyes.  All had become so dear
to her . . .
         "Oh Hamid," she whispered, a tear slipping out of her eye and
splashing onto to portrait, "Why couldn't it be you instead?"
 

         Amaranth was, once again, in her garden.  It was a beautiful spring
evening, and being with Hamid in her favorite place made it even better.  She
forced the details of the night before out of her mind, and refused to think
about her future.  All her attention was focused on living in the moment.
         Her head was rested against Hamid's shoulder, and his hands lightly
caressed her hair.  Everything was so perfect . . . she allowed herself to let a
contented sigh escape her lips.
         "It's been a beautiful day, hasn't it, my dear?" murmured Hamid.
         "Yes," whispered Amaranth.  She moved closer to the Sultan, and he
slipped his arm around her shoulders.  While doing so, his fingers brushed the
chain that held the rose pendant at Amaranth's neck, drawing his attention to
the article.
         "That necklace suits you so well," he commented.  "Where did you get
it?"
         Amaranth's blissful mood was shattered, and all her frustration about
matters with Yahika burst forward.  She swallowed hard, hoping to conceal
her feelings, and managed to whisper, "It's just something I got from an old
friend."
         An old friend . . . She felt so ashamed for calling him that.  They had
been so close once . . . and now, just thinking about him made her feel guilty.
         "I see," said the Sultan.  "This friend must have known you very well."
         Amaranth nodded, blinking back tears.  I should tell him, she thought.
 I should tell Hamid now, before it gets harder, before I become
even closer to him . . . I have to tell him that I'm betrothed to Yahika, have to
stop leading him on . . .
         Yet, she couldn't bring herself to say the words.  She just didn't have
that much courage.  If I tell him, she thought, I'll let everything slip out . . .
I'll tell him too much.  If I start, I'll end up telling Hamid that I love him . . .
And what if he doesn't feel the same way?  The thought made her shiver, but
she knew all too well that love didn't always work on both sides . . .
         "Are you cold, my dear?" inquired Hamid, noticing that Amaranth was
slightly trembling.
         "Yes," she answered, grateful for the excuse to cover her thoughts.
         "Then we should go inside."
         Together, they rose from the bench, and together they entered the
palace.  Their lips touched lightly before they separated at Amaranth's door,
and then the day was over.
         Once Amaranth was alone, she was once again overwhelmed with
confusion, frustration, anger.  How much longer can this go on? she
wondered desperately.  How can I allow myself to keep getting closer to
Hamid when I know I'm promised to Yahika?  And how can I marry a man I
do not love . . . especially now that I know what love is?
 

         Hamid and Amaranth spent the following day in her garden as well,
and as the sun was setting, Hamid spoke of the matter Amaranth both
anticipated and dreaded.
         "My dear," he began, "We have had a wonderful time together . . . and
I'm sure that you know why I came to Astaseez."  He looked slightly nervous
and his cheeks became pink beneath his tan.  "I made the decision the
moment we met that I'd like you for my wife . . . May I have the honor of
your hand in marriage?"
         Amaranth fell into the grip of a thousand emotions.  Happiness: He
wants me for his wife!  He feels the same way about me that I feel about
him!  Frustration: But I'm betrothed to Yahika . . . it isn't my place to
decide who I marry . . . Anger: But why isn't it?  It's not fair! Guilt: I
should have told him I'm promised to another . . . And finally, sorrow,
despair, and regret: I'll have to tell him no . . .
         She even surprised herself when she whispered, "Yes."
 

         Anxiously, Amaranth paced her bedroom that night.  Well, I've done
it, she thought.  And now that I have, what can I do, but wait?
         She felt that she had to tell somebody . . . and finally, decided on Leila.
         Timidly, she knocked on the door, and Leila called, "Come in."
         Amaranth slipped inside and sat on the bed.  "Leila," she began, "I
have to talk to you.  It's important."
         Leila studied Amaranth's face, and could see how troubled she was.
"Ammy, what is it?"
         "Leila . . . I . . . I'm going to marry Sultan Hamid."  There.  She had
said it.
         Leila stared at Amaranth, letting the words sink in.  "Marry Hamid?"
she repeated.  "Amaranth, I thought Father told you--"
         "He did," interrupted her sister.  "But . . . tonight the Sultan asked me
and . . . I just . . . said yes."
         "You'll have to take it back, of course," said Leila matter-of-factly.
         "Leila!  I can't do that."
         "You have to.  How will it look if you break a promise made sixteen
years ago?  Amaranth, you have the kingdom to think of here."  Leila tucked
strands of hair behind her veil and continued, "Besides, we all know Yahika.
We trust him.  He'll take good care of you--"
         "But I'm tired of being taken care of!" cried Amaranth.  "I'm tired of
having my decisions made for me.  When Hamid proposed to me tonight, for
the first time in my life, I really made my own decision.  And do you know
what?  I liked it!"
         Leila simply stared at her.  "Amaranth, it isn't your place . . . and you
have to think about Yahika."
         "I'm tired of thinking about Yahika!" That Leila could remain calm
somehow discontented Amaranth . . . as if her sister wasn't taking what she
said seriously.  "This is my life, Leila.  And I've finally started to live it."
         Leila shook her head.  "Amaranth, you are too young.  You don't know
what you want."
         "Too young?" repeated Amaranth angrily.  "I'm not too young to be
married off, but I'm too young to make my own decisions?"
         "The decision you made wasn't a wise one," said Leila sternly, and
suddenly she reminded Amaranth of their father.  "You'll have to take it
back."
         "I can't."
         Leila sighed, obviously annoyed by Amaranth's persistence.  "What
ever possessed you to tell Hamid yes in the first place?"
         "I love him," whispered Amaranth.  In the back of her mind, something
added, and because I want to get away . . .
         To her surprise, Leila laughed.  "You're such a child, Amaranth!  You
don't even know what love is yet."
         "Don't I?" cried Amaranth.  How could Leila tell her what she felt and
what she didn't?  "Well, I do know that there's something between Hamid
and me that was never there and never will be between me and Yahika.
I do know that Hamid makes me feel in ways I've never felt before . . . and I
do know it's him I want to spend my life with."
         "Grow up, Amaranth," said Leila.  "How can you presume to love
Hamid when you've known him less than a week?  And how can you say you
don't love Yahika when he's been with you your entire life?"  She shook her
head.  "You have some pretty messed up ideas about love."
         "Love has nothing to do with ideas!  It's feelings, Leila . . ."
         "Well just because you have 'feelings' doesn't mean you can disregard
Yahika and our parents' plans.  You're being unfair to them, Amaranth.  All
you're thinking about is yourself, but remember, the reputation of both
Astaseez and Tirvaltan hang in the balance."
         "I'm being unfair to them?" shrieked Amaranth.  "Leila!  They
should have told me!  Yahika always knew--"
         "He's a man--"
          Amaranth cut her off.  "I don't care!  I had a right to know, Leila!  I
saw Yahika as a friend, and assumed he'd always be one.  But everyone else
saw him as a beau.  I was thinking of other men . . . I never pictured myself
spending my life with him.
         "Maybe it would have been all right if I'd been prepared . . . but I
wasn't!  And the Sultan of Agrabah came before I knew, and I fell in love
with him before I knew.  My feelings for him weren't forced or expected the
way Yahika's feelings for me are.  This is real, Leila, and you have to listen to
me.  You have to take this seriously.  I love him, and he loves me.  And it
feels right."
         "It may feel 'right' now, but that doesn't mean it will twenty years later.
You're caught up in the idea of a suitor sweeping you off your feet, and
you've let Hamid fit into this little fantasy.  You may be whole-heartedly in
love with the idea, but I doubt you are in love with the man."  Again Leila
shook her head.  "It's time for you to give up these childish romantic
fantasies."
         "Stop it!" demanded Amaranth.  "Stop telling me what I feel and what I
don't, because only I know that.  And stop making it sound like none of my
feelings matter, because they do.  And most importantly, stop treating me like
a child!"
         "You are a child!" stated Leila, her voice rising.  "If you were half as
grown-up as you think you are, you'd realize what a terrible mistake you've
made, what it will do to our kingdom, our parents, Yahika . . . There are too
many people involved here for you to just go by your feelings.  If you aren't
mature enough to handle it, let Father--"
         "You were suppose to understand!" interrupted Amaranth, and she was
angry to find tears stinging her eyes.  "You used to be there for me all the
time.  And now, you take their side.  I wish I'd never told you!"  Her voice
broke, and ashamed, she lowered her face into her hands.  Look at me, she
thought.  Here I am trying to convince Leila I'm not a child, and I end up in
tears . . .
         Leila tentatively reached out and touched Amaranth's shoulder, but she
said nothing.
         "Why can't you understand?" whispered Amaranth.  "You don't have to
agree with me, Leila, but please, at least try to understand . . . You were
always the only one that understood me . . ."
         Amaranth was answered by silence, and although her older sister's
hand still rested on her shoulder, she could feel a distance between them that
had never been there before.  It was the first real fight they'd ever had, and it
was the first time that they'd refused to understand one another.
         Wiping tears from her eyes, Amaranth looked up at her sister.  "Don't
tell Father," she murmured.  "Please."
         "I won't," answered Leila, but her voice was unusually cold and distant.
Amaranth knew then, that no matter what, things would never be the same
between them again.
 
==================================================================
{Chapter Nine{

         "The time I've spent with you has gone much too quickly," said Hamid.
        His servants were bustling around him, and a caravan of camels and horses
waited in front of the palace, restlessly stamping their feet.
         "Yes," whispered Amaranth.  They were in the front hall, but save for
Hamid's servants, they were alone.  "I feel that only yesterday you arrived,
and now your stay has already come to an end."  And it wasn't enough
time, she thought.  There's so much you don't know . . . so much I couldn't
tell you . . .  She wondered, somewhat sadly, if she'd ever find the courage
to tell him all that had happened because she fell in love.
         "I will return within in month's time for you, my dear," he said, taking
her hands in his.  "And after that, there will never be another parting."
         Amaranth smiled.  "I will look forward to that day."
         "I wish to give you something," continued Hamid, pulling a small box
out of one of his traveling bags.  "Something to . . . remind you of my
promise."
         Slowly, Amaranth opened the box.  It was a rather small necklace,
almost a choker.  And it was solid, pure gold.  There were no decorations
adorning it, and Amaranth liked its simplicity.  "Thank you," she whispered.
         "When you are my wife," said the Sultan, "you will have all the riches
you desire.  Nothing will be withheld from you."  He drew her toward him for
a parting kiss, and with that, he was gone.
         Amaranth stood in the front door-way for a long time, watching the
Sultan's caravan grow smaller until she could no longer see it.  When it was
entirely gone, she suppressed the urge to cry and instead let out a sad sigh.
        There goes the last person, she thought, who still understands me . . .
 

         In her room that night, Amaranth clipped the Sultan's gift around her
neck.  Because of its simplicity, it wasn't necessary that she take off her other
jewelry . . . it was more of a compliment to whatever else she was wearing.
         She stood before her mirror and got a good look at herself.  The
Sultan's necklace was clipped tightly at her throat, and below it, dangled the
rose pendant from Yahika on its chain.  Noting the irony of it, she couldn't
help but see how well the two pieces of jewelry looked together.
         Maybe that was the reason she didn't take Yahika's necklace off to be
replaced by Hamid's . . . or maybe it was just because, despite everything that
had happened, part of her wasn't completely ready to give up the man who
had been her best friend through all of her childhood.
 

         A week of terrible loneliness followed the Sultan's departure.
Amaranth spent it aimlessly roaming the halls, trying to work up enough
courage to tell her father what she had decided.
         Occasionally, she ran into Leila.  Every time they met, she tried to
regain the terms of closeness they'd once enjoyed.  But Leila was still angry,
disappointed, and Amaranth's efforts were met with cold politeness or simply
indifference.
         Finally, Amaranth could stand keeping everything inside no longer, and
she made the decision to tell her father.
         It was in the afternoon, and her father was in his study going over maps
and documents.  He rolled them up when his daughter entered and smiled at
her.  Amaranth couldn't help but notice that her father had been in a much
better mood ever since Hamid had returned to Agrabah.  This made telling
him that much harder.
         "Father . . . I have to tell you something very important."
         His face immediately turned sober.  "What is it, Amaranth?"
         "I . . ."  For a moment she faltered, sure she couldn't tell him.  But she
forced herself to continue, and quickly blurted, "I have decided to marry the
Sultan of Agrabah."
         Amaranian stared at her for a few moments, dumb-struck.  Finally, he
shook his head and said firmly, "No, Amaranth.  There is no excuse for what
you have done.  You knew you were intended to marry Yahika, and it will be
carried through."  He turned back to his documents as if to say that was the
end of their discussion.
         "No, Father!" protested Amaranth.  "I have made my own decision to
marry Hamid, and that will be carried through."
         The Sultan looked up at her, lines of anger appearing on his face.
"Amaranth, it is not within your power to choose a husband.  As your father,
it is my right and my duty to ensure your future.  I have done that by
joining you with a life-long friend, whom you will surely be happy with.  You
will have to tell Sultan Hamid of your mistake.  If he is anything of a
monarch, he will understand.  Then, we can put this whole thing behind us."
         "No we can't!" cried Amaranth.  "Father, I will not tell Hamid I've
changed my mind--"
         "If it would make you more comfortable, I'll do it," interrupted
Amaranian.
         "No!  No one will do it, because I will not change my decision.  I love
Hamid, Father!  It's not as easy as everyone says to forget about the man I
love--"
         Her father waved his hand impatiently.  "You know nothing of love, or
of the world, Amaranth.  Running off with that Sultan will not bring you
happiness.  I know you are young and eager to be an adult, but you are not
mature enough to make such a decision.  When  you've thought through what
you've done, you'll realize I was right all along.  And you will thank me for
forbidding your union with Hamid."
         "You cannot forbid it," said Amaranth steadily, looking her father in
the eye, something she'd never done before when they were angry at one
another.  "You can't control me anymore, Father.  I've made my decision, and
I will stand by it, whatever happens."
         Her father shook his head.  "Amaranth, you are overcome with the
thrill of rebelling right now.  But as soon as that wears off, you will regret
your decision.  You will not have the courage to go through with this."
         "Yes I will," contradicted Amaranth.  At that moment, she decided
she'd never back out just so she could prove her father wrong.
         Amaranian studied his daughter's face, and saw the determination
there.  This only further angered him, and he said harshly, "If you do, Allah
will frown upon your union, Amaranth.  Mark my words.  It is written in the
Koran that a woman must obey her father in all things, and this is among the
most important.  It is within my power to decide who you will marry, not
yours.  And if you go against this age-old rule, nothing but ill luck will plague
such an unholy marriage."  With that, he turned his back to Amaranth,
refusing to say any more.
         Amaranth stood beside him, silenced by what he had said.  The room
was deathly quiet, the only sound being Amaranian's and his daughter's
breathing.  For some reason, the silence disturbed Amaranth far more than her
father's words had, and if it hadn't been for what Amaranian said next, she
would have been grateful to have it broken.
         "Yahika has come again.  He arrived early this morning and is in the
palace at this very moment."  He looked up at his daughter sternly and added,
"You will not mention a word of this to him.  That way, you will not feel so
foolish when the time comes for you to change your mind.  He needs never to
know about it."
 

         Amaranth heard a knock on her door that night and cringed.  There was
nobody she wanted to see, nobody she still felt comfortable with . . . except
Hamid.
         "Come in," she whispered.
         The door swung open, and a man emerged through the curtains
dividing Amaranth's room from her entry-way.  It was Yahika.
         "Good evening, Yahika," greeted Amaranth, trying to sound pleasant.
She knew she wasn't doing a very good job of it.
         "Good evening, Amaranth."  Yahika nodded to her, and then,
awkwardly, sat down beside her on the bed.  Amaranth looked down at her
bed sheets and said nothing.  She just kept wondering: what should I say?
What is he thinking?  Will he try to kiss me again?  By Allah!  Why can't we
just go back to being friends?   "It has been a long time since we've seen each other," said Yahika.
         "Yes."  The distance between us has grown so great, thought
Amaranth, that no matter what happens, we'll never go back to easy
friendship again . . .
         Yahika eyed Amaranth for a few moments, his attention focusing on
the gold choker at her neck.  He glanced up at her, and when he saw that she
knew he'd been watching her, quickly looked away.
         Amaranth saw his eyes rest on the portrait of her hanging beside the
bed, and it held his attention for many moments.  Finally, he whispered, "I
have a picture like that at home.  You truly look beautiful in it."
         "Thank you."  Amaranth could barely get her voice out.  This isn't the
way it's suppose to be! she kept thinking furiously.  We're not suppose to
be like strangers!  I'm not suppose to treat him like I've treated any other
prince that comes to the palace . . . he should be more than that . . . but still
not as much as everyone else thinks he is . . .  She glanced up at him, and
was relieved to see that he wasn't looking at her.  Yet, in what other manner
can I treat him, without giving him the wrong idea . . . especially now that I
know what was planned for us . . . ?
         Slowly, he arose from the bed and paced to Amaranth's writing desk.
The Princess winced when he lifted the small painting of Sultan Hamid,
turning it over in his hands and intently studying it.
         Glancing over his shoulder at Amaranth, he said, "This looks like the
Sultan of Agrabah."  His voice was expressionless.
         "It is," acknowledged Amaranth softly.
         He turned back to the portrait.  "A rather good likeness," he remarked.
Then, he added, without looking at Amaranth, "Why do you have this?"
         Amaranth felt her heartbeat speed up . . . Her father's instructions
echoed in her mind: You will not mention a word of this to him . . . But
doesn't he deserve to know? something within her argued.  Isn't my
keeping this from him exactly the same as my parents keeping their betrothal
plans from me? Again her father's words: The Koran says a woman must
obey her father in all things . . .
         "The Sultan visited Astaseez recently," Amaranth finally answered,
trying to sound disinterested.  "The portrait was just a little . . . diplomatic
gift."
         "I see," responded Yahika, but his voice was cold and distant.  He set
the painting down and turned back to Amaranth.  The pain in his eyes was so
obvious that Amaranth could almost feel it, and for the first time, she felt an
inkling of regret for the decision she had made.
         He stared at her for a long time, his eyes studying her face, roaming
down to her neck to take in the two articles of jewelry adorning it.  Again, his
focus stayed on the gold choker.  Then he moved his gaze between the choker
and the painting . . . back and forth, and the pain in his eyes grew deeper and
deeper, until it was almost desperate.
         He knows, thought Amaranth sadly.  I never told him, but he
knows . . . And what can I do about it now?
         Yahika sighed.  "It grows late, my Princess.  I should retire to my
chambers and allow you to rest."  He moved forward, took her hands, kissed
them politely, and left her alone.
 

         Once in his own chambers, Yahika allowed himself to be swallowed in
sorrow, despair and heartache.  It took all his strength to hold back tears, and
he slammed his fists onto his desk, trying to vent his never-ending frustration.
         The articles on the table-top wobbled, and his small portrait of
Amaranth fell over, face down.  He picked it up and studied it intently, even
though he'd looked at it so often that he had it memorized.
         Why can't you love me? he wondered desperately.  What have I
done to deserve such indifference from you?  And how long must I wait for
you to forget your romantic ideas and realize I've been here for you the
entire time?  What will it take to change your mind?
         So many questions without answers, questions he'd asked himself so
often since he'd felt the pain of Amaranth's rejection that day long ago in
Tirvaltan.
         He remembered a time when they had been close, when he'd even
believed Amaranth loved him.  In his mind, he saw the day he had returned to
Astaseez for only the second time after the war, and the tour Amaranth had
given him of her garden.  One thing painted itself in his mind more vividly
than any other of that day . . . Amaranth showing him the Crown of Thorns.
         He recalled its beauty, remembered reaching out to touch it, pricking
his fingers on the thorns.  And he remembered Amaranth whispering, "The
Crown of Thorns is beautiful, but sometimes if you get too close, it hurts..."
         That was the way he felt about Amaranth.  She was beautiful, the
feelings he had for her were beautiful . . . but he had gotten too close . . . and
now it hurt more than anything he'd ever imagined.
 

         For Amaranth, the following week she spent with Yahika seemed to
drag endlessly on.  There was a tension between them that refused to be
broken, and Amaranth was grateful when he left.  The thread of guilt that had
begun spinning itself within her grew even stronger at this emotion.
         Why should I feel guilty? thought Amaranth, trying to justify her
emotions.  It's my right to choose a husband, and I've made a wise choice.
Agrabah is more prosperous than Tirvaltan, and more importantly, I love
Hamid . . . If anything, my parents should feel guilty . . . Yet, none of her
thoughts comforted her.
         A dark depression unlike anything Amaranth had ever known had
made its home in her heart.  She let the days slip by her, each night glad that
another was over.  Although the desert sun shone almost constantly,
Amaranth felt as though dark clouds always covered the sky.  There was an
ache in her chest all the time; she got headaches and stomach-aches more
often than ever before.  Sometimes she slept all day, and other times she'd lay
awake at night for hours, but she was always tired . . . so tired.  Even her
garden couldn't make her happy.
         I should be happy, she kept telling herself, but it wasn't very
convincing as she lay in bed at night with fresh tears on her face.  I'm going
to be married in less than a month to a man I have chosen, to a man I love.
And then, when I leave this place, everything will change.  I will start over
again; I will be happy . . .
         Her days were spent aimlessly roaming the halls, reading over the
letters that came from Hamid, and staring out her windows at the world . . .
the world that she would soon leave her home to enter . . .
         With each passing hour, she felt more suffocated.  She had become a
bird in a cage, and the cage was the luxurious wealth and familiarity of her
own home.  Yet all she wanted was to escape, to escape and spread her
wings and fly away . . .
==================================================================

{Chapter Ten{

                                                                             May 10
 My Dearest Amaranth,
         Do the days seem as long to you as they do to me?  Could it be
that I saw you last only two short weeks ago?  And must I truly wait as
long to see you again?
         I think of you constantly, my dear.  I have hired the best gardeners
in the seven deserts to make sure our menagerie is as close as paradise
can be on earth.  I want everything to be perfect for your arrival.
         Amaranth, your name is forever on my lips and on my mind.
Everyone in the palace has heard of you, and they wait almost as
anxiously as I.  But not quite, of course.  I don't think anyone misses you
as much as I do.
         My dear, I should thank you.  I don't think I've really known what
love is until now.  That you have given me your promise makes me richer
than all the wealth in the seven deserts ever could.
         The entire city is prepared to rejoice.  I feel as if we are all little
children preparing to throw a surprise party, all in your honor, of course.
In choosing a wife, I have to flatter myself and say, I know that not a
single vizier could do so well.  May twenty-fourth cannot come soon
enough.
         My unending love and admiration,

                              Sultan Hamid of Agrabah

         Leila silently folded the letter closed and slipped it into Amaranth's
drawer.  Her conscience nagged at her, telling her that she knew better than to
search through her sister's private belongings, telling her that she had better
morals than that.
         But I had to, she justified.  It's never been necessary before; Our
kingdom has never faced such uncertainty . . . and Amaranth and I have
never not been able to talk to each other.
         To her surprise, there were tears in her eyes.  I never cry! she
thought, furiously brushing them away.  But everything was changing so fast
. . . the future she'd always envisioned was falling apart.
         May twenty-fourth.  Hamid was coming for Amaranth May twenty-
fourth.  By Allah!  That was so close . . . She'd have to give up her sister in
less than two weeks.
         With that thought, she realized that she had accepted Amaranth's
decision, and that Amaranth would never back out as the family hoped.  She
just wasn't like that.  Further angering Leila, more tears sprang to her eyes,
and a strange sick feeling settled into her stomach.
         Amaranth still thinks I'm mad at her, she thought.  And until very
recently, I was.  But for all my anger, she won't change her mind.  And I
couldn't bear for her to leave me with the two of us still angry at each other
. . . I have less than two weeks to apologize, to regain what we once had . . .
         She read over Hamid's letter again.  For some reason, she knew that
every word written on the parchment was true.  She also realized that Hamid's
love for Amaranth was real, serious, and honorable.  But she still didn't
completely forgive him for it.
 

         "Amaranth, come into my room.  I need to talk to you."
         Amaranth gave her sister a questioning look, but at the same time, she
was thrilled.  It was the first time in what seemed like forever that Leila had
wanted to talk privately to her, and she took this as a good sign.  Perhaps she
was finally forgiven . . .
         Eagerly, Amaranth followed Leila into her room and they sat on the
bed.  Leila got right to the point, and said without statement, "I know the
Sultan is coming for you soon."
         Amaranth wanted to ask how her sister had known, but she didn't.
Instead, she said, "Don't try to dissuade me again, Leila.  If that's what you
plan to do, I'll leave."
         Leila shook her head.  "No.  Neither I nor anyone else could change
your mind now . . . which is why I want to say . . . I'm sorry.  About . . . the
things I said, and the way I reacted to your decision."
         Shocked, Amaranth simply stuttered, "What made you change your
mind?"
         Leila's composed appearance suddenly shattered, and she broke into
tears.  It frightened Amaranth because she'd never seen anything like it
happen before . . . not even when Sultan Nusair had been killed.  "You're
leaving!" cried Leila, obviously annoyed at herself for loosing her composure.
"In less than two weeks, you'll be gone!  And everything will change, and fall
apart . . .Ammy, I know this sounds silly, but I thought we'd always be
together.  If you married Yahika, he'd rule Astaseez, and you'd never really
leave me . . . but now, you're marrying Hamid from Agrabah . . . and there
will be nobody left for me."
         Amaranth couldn't let herself think about all Leila was saying.  She
wanted to escape Astaseez, and if she let doubts get in the way, she might not
allow herself to go through with her decision.  "You'll still have Father,"
murmured Amaranth, knowing it wouldn't be much of a consolation.  "And
Mother--"
         "You know that won't be the same!" interrupted Leila.  "They aren't
like you, Amaranth.  You're more than my sister.  You're the best friend I'll
ever have . . . And I have this terrible feeling that after you leave, I'll never
see you again . . ."
         Amaranth laughed nervously. "Of course that won't happen, Leila.  I'll
come back to visit, and I'll write all the time!"
         "You have to write," stated Leila passionately.  "I can't lose track of
you . . . But you won't visit.  Agrabah is far off, and even if you did come
back, it wouldn't be the same.  You'd come back as a wife.  You'd come back
with your own family . . . You'd come back as a woman and not my baby
sister.  We won't matter to you anymore!  We hardly matter to you now.
That's why you're leaving."
         "No," disagreed Amaranth, and she noticed that she too was crying.
She had never seen Leila so emotional, which made her realize that what was
going on was major to everyone involved.   "You still matter to me . . . But I
have to grow up, and you have to realize that.  You have to let me go, just as
I have to let you go.  I'm not leaving because you don't matter to me.  I'm
leaving because I love Hamid and need to start a life of my own . . ."  She
couldn't continue.  The entire conversation stirred so many emotions that she
felt as if someone was playing tug-of-war with her heart.  She was happy,
relieved, that Leila had forgiven her.  But she was more scared of leaving
now . . . It might have been easier to leave angry . . . but maybe not . . . She
would never know.
         As if Leila was reading her thoughts, she said, "Please don't leave
being angry with me, Amaranth.  I couldn't bear that.  I've forgiven you for
loving the Sultan, even for promising yourself to him.  Will you forgive me?"
         Amaranth nodded, closing her eyes against more tears.  "Oh, Leila.  I'm
so glad we've made up.  This is the way it always used to be . . . Finally you
understand me again.  Nobody else will even think about it.  They hate the
Sultan, simply because he was foolish enough to love me.  But Leila, you've
forgiven him as well, haven't you?"
         Leila lowered her eyes, but didn't dare answer.  She couldn't tell her
sister a lie.
 

         Standing on her balcony, Amaranth overlooked her garden.  It was
changing colors in the setting sun, something she didn't dare take for granted,
for this was the last night she'd ever watch it happen.
         The scene blurred before her as tears filled her eyes, but she didn't
bother to brush them away; She had been seeing the world through a haze
ever since her depression set in anyway.  My garden has been my paradise
for growing up, she thought sadly, and tonight, I will leave it.  Even if I do
return, Leila was right.  It will never be the same . . .
         For weeks, she had felt suffocated, dreamed of the day she'd escape,
told herself that then she'd be happy.  Now, it was the night of May 24th, and
Sultan Hamid could arrive for her any moment.  The day she'd thought would
never come was here too soon, and instead of happy and excited, she was
deathly afraid.
         She had felt the first inkling of regret for what she'd done after seeing
the pain in Yahika's eyes.  Now, for the first time, she really began
questioning the logic of her decision.  Of course, she couldn't back down, but
. . . was she doing the right thing?
         Things would be simpler, she thought, if I just married Yahika.
I'd never have to leave home; Leila and I would always be close; My parents
wouldn't disapprove of me . . . Nothing would have to change.
         She shook her head, reprimanding herself for the thoughts.  Life was
about change, moving on, finding yourself.  By choosing her own husband,
she was finally beginning to live.  Again, she told herself: I will be happy.
Hamid and I will have a wonderful life together . . .
         Her mother had talked to her about Hamid that morning.  She hadn't
been angry, and Amaranth thanked Allah for that.  She had talked gently to
her daughter of all that was expected of a wife, of the dramatic turn the path
of her life would now take.  Lily had wept very softly while she spoke,
lamenting over having to give her baby up so soon, and in such a different
way than she had planned.  But she had also told Amaranth that she was not
in the wrong for loving Hamid, which had made her feel better about what she
was doing.  But before she'd left her daughter, she let Amaranth know she
wasn't entirely on her side by saying: "I have told you I understand what you
are going through; I didn't say I approve of the way you are handling it."
         By now, Amaranth's engagement to Hamid was no secret.  By
overhearing servants' gossip, she knew it was the talk of the entire kingdom.
She wondered if her father's subjects had known all along that she had been
betrothed to Yahika . . . she was becoming further convinced all the time that
things were kept only from her.  She wondered how so much had managed to
slip out, but accredited that to big mouthed servants spreading rumors on
their days off as well.
         Her hand moved up to touch Yahika's rose pendant at her neck.  She'd
never told him about promising herself to Hamid, but there wasn't a doubt in
her mind that he knew as well.  She felt both guilty and relieved that she had
not been the one to tell him.
         The sky was dark now, and she was becoming sicker with nervousness
every moment.  It was getting so late . . . Where was Hamid?  Why hadn't he
come yet?  Had he forgotten about her . . . ?
         There was a knock on the door, and Amaranth jumped before bidding,
"Come in."
         A man-servant entered, and stiffly informed her, "The Sultan of
Agrabah has come for you."
 

         One of Hamid's servants silently attended Amaranth as she said her
good-byes to her family.  Her parents were first, and as soon as she entered
their room with Hamid's man, she dreaded saying her parting words.
         Her father rose stiffly from his desk and stared sternly at Amaranth.
Her mother was behind him, completely veiled.  Only her eyes could be seen,
and they were filled with tears.  But she said nothing.
         "Father," began Amaranth before tense silence could settle in, "you
have known for weeks of this date.  I am leaving for Agrabah."  She was
surprised at how steady and resolute her voice sounded.  If only she felt that
way as well . . .
         Amaranian stepped toward her.  "My daughter.  You do not have to go
through with this.  Your last chance to back down is right now.  I suggest you
take it."
         Amaranth shook her head.  "I will not."
         "Very well," replied her father without statement.  "Then remember
that you have chosen this path, and that any misfortunes that befall you are
your own fault.  I pray that Allah will be merciful."
         For a few moments, father and daughter stared each other squarely in
the eye, each waiting for the other to apologize or give in.  Neither were
satisfied, for their stubbornness was equally matched.  When Amaranth
realized this, she finally said what she knew must come.  "Good-bye, Father,
Mother.  Thank you for all you have given me."
         "Good-bye, my daughter."
         Unable to stay a moment longer, Amaranth turned away from her
parents.  Hamid's servant dutifully followed her out of the room, toting her
richly embroidered bags.  Amaranth barely closed the door behind her when
she heard her mother break into uncontrollable sobs, but she didn't turn
around.  She knew if she did, she might not ever be strong enough to leave.
         Next, she had to say good-bye to Leila.  She knew this would be the
hardest, but she couldn't leave without doing so.
         Leila rose from her bed at her sister's entrance.  She turned toward
Amaranth and said, "You're leaving, aren't you?"
         Amaranth nodded.
         Leila stepped forward and embraced her.  "Then do it quickly," she
whispered, tears gathering in her eyes.  "Before it has a chance to really sink
in."
         "Leila . . . I'll miss you more than I can say . . . I know in the last few
months we've disagreed often but--"
         "Stop," commanded Leila.  "I hate this and want it over with quickly.  I
know what you want to say, so leave the words unsaid.  Good-bye."
         "Good-bye?" repeated Amaranth, drawing away from Leila's embrace.
"Is that all?"
         Through her tears, Leila smiled sadly.  "What else is there to say?"
 

         Amaranth was somewhat reassured when, the moment she stepped off
the palace steps, she was swept into Hamid's waiting arms.  He lifted her atop
a dashing white mare, and smiling, said, "I chose Lakia for you myself.  For
years I've been taming horses for the royal army, and this one seemed suited
to you, my dear.  You do know how to ride?"
         Nodding, Amaranth situated herself on the horse and clutched the reins
in her trembling hands.  Her face was veiled, for it always was when she went
out in public, and she was glad of it.  She didn't want Hamid to see how afraid
she was.  Yet at the same time, being able to glance down from her mount
and seeing him gazing adoringly up at her, a new melancholic happiness
joined her fear.  Lately, it seemed she was having trouble feeling just one
emotion at a time.
         "I have dreamed of this day for what seems like forever," murmured
Hamid, removing one of Amaranth's hands from the reins so he could brush
his lips against it.  Then, he hoisted himself atop his own horse and moved
ahead of Amaranth.  Her mare followed docily behind Hamid's prancing
stallion.
         An entire entourage moved around and behind Amaranth, but when she
could no longer see Hamid's face, a terrible sense of being alone cloaked her.
She glanced over her shoulder at the palace which would be her home no
longer, and she couldn't hold back silent tears.
         It was hard for her to accept all that she was leaving behind; Her home,
her garden, her family . . . but most importantly, and most frighteningly, her
childhood.  And no matter what, she knew she'd never have a chance to
regain that precious item.
         She turned her face away from the palace to stare straight ahead, into
the future and not the past.
==================================================================
 

|Part Two|
The Fading

Though nothing can bring back the hour
Of splendor in the grass, glory in the flower,
We will grieve not, rather find,
Strength in what remains behind.
                                -William Wordsworth

==================================================================

| Chapter One|
 
         Yahika turned the note over in his shaking hands again.  Although the
messenger had brought it to him half an hour ago, he hadn't yet read it.  He
didn't want to when he saw where it was from: Agrabah.
         He sighed, forcing himself to tear away the gold sealing wax on the
envelope and unfolding the letter within.  His entire body felt cold as he
turned his eyes downward to read it.  It said exactly what he feared it would.

 Prince Yahika,
      I am writing this letter to request that you attend the wedding
of Princess Amaranth, and myself, Sultan Hamid.  My fiancee has
expressed the desire to see you witness us wed, as she tells me you are an
old friend of the family.  The celebrations shall begin on the day of May
30th.  I hope this reaches you in time and that we may see you at the
ceremony.
            Sincerely,
                 Sultan Hamid of Agrabah

         Yahika felt slightly nauseous, but even more overpowering was the
anger and sadness within him that made his heart burn.  He couldn't tear his
gaze away from the invitation, but each time he read it, the pain intensified.
        The thing he'd suspected and feared for months had finally happened,
shattering the hope he'd been clinging desperately to.  Amaranth was
marrying another.  She had never loved him.  He had lost her.  If it wasn't for
the despair growing within him, he would have felt completely empty.
         They don't really want me there! he thought angrily, and the words
before him blurred.  I know this sort of invitation well; It was written simply
to be polite, in hopes that this horror can be brushed aside.  But how can I
forget so easily?
         He crushed the paper in his fist with more force than was necessary,
closing his eyes tightly against tears.  Amaranth why . . .?  Why did you
betray me . . . ?
         Despite everything, he wasn't angry with Amaranth herself; He couldn't
bear to feel negative feelings toward her.  But he was angry with life, angry
with the cruel and unfair hand it had dealt him.
         Letting a low, guttural cry escape him, he hurled the invitation into a
fireplace.  It immediately ignited.
         Through his tears, he watched the fire mercilessly consume and destroy
the letter.  As the paper became no more than a curling black ball, Yahika
made a simple promise to himself, one he couldn't risk breaking, for his
heart's sake: Never again.
==================================================================

|Chapter Two|
 
         The trip from Astaseez to Agrabah took Hamid's caravan two nights
and one day, with no resting stops in-between.  But just after dawn of the
second day, they rode into the city.
         Amaranth had tears in her eyes, and she wasn't sure whether they were
tears of happiness or sadness.  It was just as Hamid had said in his letter: The
entire city was decorated for a celebration. Banners were strung, people were
dressed finely . . . and the flowers that littered the streets and buildings made
the entire marketplace look like one magnificent garden.  Beneath her veil,
Amaranth smiled.  Hamid must have told them something about her, and the
thought that they didn't see her as a complete stranger comforted her.
         Even though it was still early, the streets were bustling with people.
They stayed a respectable distance away from Hamid's caravan, but the
curiosity in their eyes was obvious.  Those who weren't brave enough to
come outside peeped cautiously out of windows and doors, but everyone
visible showed signs of interest in Amaranth.  She realized then that they
were seeing her as more than just Hamid's bride; They were seeing her as
Agrabah's new queen.  The impact of the responsibilities of being married to a
Sultan finally hit Amaranth.
         Apparently unaware of her insecurity, Sultan Hamid beamed proudly
and waved to his subjects as they rode past.  Amaranth followed his example
and did the same, although once again she was grateful nobody could see her
face.
         Finally they arrived at the palace, and Hamid gracefully helped her
dismount her mare while a servant appeared to take the horses back to the
stables and another came to unpack the luggage.
         Hamid held Amaranth's hand tightly as he led her up the gleaming
white steps to the palace's golden doors.  Smiling, he said, "No need to be
nervous, my dear.  By the way I've talked, everyone already knows and loves
you."
         At the door they were greeted by a tall, thin, harsh featured man.  He
wore fine robes and a stiff turban.  His hair was dark, long, and slightly curly.
The mustache on his upper lip was very thin and it looked almost oily.
Amaranth knew he was around Hamid's age, yet his stern appearance made
him seem much older.
         He bowed deeply to Hamid.  "My liege," he said, his voice deep yet
syrupy.  "It is my humble honor to welcome Agrabah's dear Sultan home."
         Hamid laughed and waved his hand.  "Oh, Jafar, none of that, please."
Turning to Amaranth, he explained, "This is my chief adviser."  His attention
returned to the vizier.  "And as you know, Jafar, this is Amaranth, who will
soon rule beside me."
         Jafar turned to look at Amaranth for the first time.  He bowed to her in
the same manner he had to Hamid, and gave her a forced smile.  He held one
of Amaranth's hands in his bony fingers and lightly kissed it.  Amaranth
suppressed the urge to cringe, for there was something about this man she
didn't like.  Seemingly unknowing of her dislike, Jafar said smoothly, "Our
Sultan has chosen a great beauty for his wife.  If ever you are in need of my
humble services, I would be honored to lend them."  Again he gave her that
sickening grin.
         "Thank you for the offer," said Amaranth politely, and was relieved to
find that Hamid was leading her away from the vizier.
         The rest of the day was extremely busy as Amaranth was introduced to
as much of the palace's staff as was currently available.  By the time she was
led to her room, she was exhausted.
         Yet, once she had been left alone in the large, dark chamber,
nervousness and fear settled over her once again.  She felt so alone . . .
although the members of Hamid's household had been welcoming, they all
knew each other and she felt strangely separated.  She found herself longing
to be in the familiarity of her own bed again . . . and realized that she may
never go back there.
         She took a deep breath, and the familiar scent of flowers filled her
nose.  Hamid had taken great care in preparing her room, and she appreciated
the effort.  Something new was beginning to awaken beneath her fear, and
she began to feel at peace.  Despite the awkwardness she'd been experiencing
all day, something within her knew that in time, this place would be home.
 

         Amaranth awoke early the next morning with the disorienting sense of
not knowing where she was.  She had been dreaming of Astaseez, which
seemed ironic to her when she realized she was in Agrabah, for she had been
dreaming of this place nearly every night while living at home.
         Hamid's servants soon entered to prepare Amaranth for the day, and
although she usually preferred to do such things herself, she allowed the
servants to do it this time.  She longed for companionship in this strange
kingdom.
         Hamid himself soon entered to meet her, and Amaranth rushed to greet
him at her door.  It felt so good to see his familiar face . . . felt so good, so
exciting, and yet so scary to know that he would never be parted from her.
         "I'd like to show you your new home, my dear," he said, taking her
hand and leading her into the hall.  "We'll start with the menagerie.  I think
you'll like it."
         Hamid had been right.  The moment they left the palace and stepped
into the bright desert sun, Amaranth gasped with delight.  The menagerie was
as large as her garden had been, and almost as beautiful.  There was an
elaborate fountain in the middle of the sand-stone pavement, and its cool,
clear water splashed playfully into a round pool.
         Amaranth approached the fountain until she stood before it, then
lowered her eyes to stare into the rippling water.  She smiled at her reflection
before shattering it by trailing her fingers through the water.  Frisky goldfish
fluttered throughout the pool, and tiny pink and white flowers floated on top.
Amaranth touched the silky petals and felt completely at home.
         She moved away from the fountain to explore the rest of the menagerie.
The central area was simply paved, like a sandy courtyard.  Amaranth was
bored with this and rushed to examine the green borders next to the
menagerie's high, surrounding walls.
         Frowning at the lack of flowers, her disappointment was soon quelled
when she saw how many exotic trees grew here.  This was her chance to try
her hand at something new!  And the area was not completely devoid of
blossoms, for small bright patches of flowers huddled near the tree trunks.
Amaranth was happy to find a few stray jasmines, and she bent to pick them
up, tucking them into her braided hair.
         She approached another wall of the menagerie and found elaborately
carved stone cages, housing species of birds she'd only seen in her books.
She liked the sound of their combined caws and chirps, and she tentatively
slipped her finger into the cage to stroke downy feathers.  The birds jumped
and fluttered around nervously, but seemed relatively tame.
         Hamid caught up with her and stood at her side, gazing at her while she
smiled at the antics of a tiny bird she'd drawn out of its cage.  Currently, it
rested on her finger.
        "Do you like it, my dear?" asked Hamid hopefully.
 Amaranth turned to him and smiled.  "Yes," she answered truthfully.
        "Of course, it needs many more flowers.  But I will attend to that as soon as
possible."
         Hamid nodded.  "I know you will.  I left many blank spaces in the
greenery for that very reason."
         Amaranth kissed his cheek in thanks for his thoughtfulness.  It felt
good to know he knew her so well after such little time.
 

         After Hamid and Amaranth returned to the palace from the menagerie,
the Princess was given a detailed tour of the entire building.  By the time they
had reached the final wing, she was feeling exhausted and overwhelmed.
         The entire place was very beautiful, but nothing within had held her
attention as much as one room: The wedding chamber.  Amaranth had felt an
exciting nervousness flutter in her stomach at the first glimpse.  It had been
decorated in golds, blues and purples.  Flower vases were everywhere, and
dining tables for innumerable guests had lined the walls.  Even growing up in
royalty, Amaranth was impressed with such splendor.... And to think within a
few days her wedding celebration would take place there!
         The palace contained many high windows and the coloring of the
walls, floors and ceilings gave it an almost heavenly brightness.  Amaranth
liked that; It made it hard for her to imagine anything sad or depressing
happening in her new home.  She told herself repeatedly throughout the day
that she would know nothing but happiness in her new life . . .
         Amaranth entered the final hall before Hamid and proceeded to the first
room, which was closed off with huge golden doors.  Placing her hands on
the latch, she asked, "What's in this one?"
         "Oh that's just--"
         By the time she realized the Sultan's voice held hesitation and that his
cheeks had turned slightly pink, Amaranth had already opened the door.
         She smiled as light from the windows caught various glimmering
trinkets and caused them to flash in the setting sun.  Turning to Hamid,
Amaranth smiled.  "Toys?" she said, somewhat surprised at how many rare
play-things the room housed.  "Are these yours?"
         Sheepishly, the Sultan nodded.
         "A collection?" questioned Amaranth, reaching out to touch the paper-
thin wings of a miniature griffin.
         "More than that," admitted Hamid.  He took Amaranth's hand, and she
prepared herself to hear her fiancé's story.
         "You see, when I was young, my parents were never around," began
Hamid.  "They always had something important to do, and they flocked
across the seven deserts on a weekly basis.  I think they must have felt guilty
for leaving me with the advisors and nurses all the time, because whenever
they returned, they'd bring me a new, rare toy to play with.  I guess they
thought it would make up for their absence and ease my loneliness."  Hamid
sighed before continuing.  "It did at first, when I was very young, but then I
began to grow up without them.  When I was at the age when a boy should be
thinking of his Sultan-making, choosing a wife, and running a kingdom, my
parents still saw me as a little boy and continued to bring me toys.  My
advisors all told me I was too old to play with them, but I was lonely without
my parents, and instead of play-things, the toys became my companions . . .
my only companions.  When my parents died, I realized how little I knew
them, and that all that remained of our relationship were these hundreds of
toys.  I know I should have given them up long ago, but to do so would be
like giving up my childhood, and giving up my parents."  He chuckled sadly
as he flicked the feathers of a tin bird.  "This must sound incredibly silly to
you, my dear."
         Amaranth shook her head, and her fingers fluttered up to her hair.  She
absently plucked out a jasmine flower from the menagerie and brought it to
her nose.  She closed her eyes as she breathed in the scent, once again in her
garden at home, as a little child.  And she realized, despite all her happiness
and excitement, her heart still hadn't completely left Astaseez and probably
never would.  She knew just as surely that the scent of flowers would always
take her back there . . . back to innocent and care-free times.  "No," she
whispered.  "It doesn't sound silly to me at all.  I understand exactly what
you're doing . . ."
 

         Amaranth's hands shook, and the quill she grasped quivered as she
signed her name.  There.  It was official.  Hamid held her hand and folded the
scroll she had just lent her signature to, passing it to the caliph who was
witness to the marriage contract.  The lavish crowd of guests exploded in
loud cheers and exclamations.
         The caliph extended his hands over the couple.  "May Great Allah
bless your union," he said.  "May he smile upon you and grant you many
happy years and an abundance of children."
         With that, the caliph and the newly married couple bowed to one
another, and the solemn part of the ceremony was over.  The remainder of the
week was given up completely to celebration.
         While the guests from various kingdoms congratulated Hamid and
Amaranth, she replayed the caliph's blessing over and over in her mind.
May Great Allah bless your union.  May He smile upon you and grant you
many happy years and an abundance of children.  And then the words of
her father repeated themselves again, for they had made a permanent imprint
in her thoughts so that she could never forget them.  Allah will frown upon
your marriage, Amaranth.  Mark my words . . . nothing but ill luck will
plague such an unholy union . . .
         The messages contradicted one another, and Amaranth fully wanted to
believe the caliph's words.  He is a leader of the Islam nation, she thought.
Surely his words hold some import . . . Yet, her father had once been the
most important man in her life.  And the Koran did say that a woman must
obey her father in all things . . .
         She shook her head.  The thoughts, along with the overwhelming
sensation of truly being married, made Amaranth dizzy.  But Hamid was at
her side, grasping her hand, smiling at her and at the crowd, and that made
everything so much easier to handle.
         Her eyes scanned the hundreds of unfamiliar faces, while her face
echoed Hamid's and she smiled at them.  She was relieved to find that her
smile didn't feel forced . . . that she was truly happy.  The realization made
her want to laugh, hug and kiss Hamid, shout . . . anything to express the
strange new way she was suddenly feeling.
         Throughout the day, a variety of both nobles and commoners
approached Amaranth.  They congratulated her, talked with her, admired her
appearance, treated her like family.  The feeling of warmth surrounding the
entire wedding hall was incredible.  Yet, something was missing . . .
         Amaranth found her eyes grazing the multitude of guests repeatedly
throughout the day, searching . . . searching.  She wanted her family to be
with her.  She wanted at least one of them to see and share her happiness.
She wanted her father to bless her union, wanted her mother to hug her and
call Hamid 'son', wanted Leila to give her advice that she may never use.  And
she wanted to know whether Yahika had or would ever forgive her.  That not
one of them was there left Amaranth feeling abandoned.  Before allowing
herself to dwell on this empty feeling, she would move closer to Hamid, make
him smile at her, squeeze his hand, and she allowed herself to be consumed
once again in pleasant warmth.
         Yet, even when Hamid led Amaranth away to their wedding chamber
that night, she still couldn't shake the feeling that the celebration had not been
complete.
 

         The festival continued for five more days, and each day Amaranth
looked more critically for traces of her family.  Perhaps they couldn't make
it in time for the first day, she thought.  Perhaps they will still be here . . .
         But they never did come.  The remainder of the celebration flew by
Amaranth in a blur, and there were only two conversations out of the many
she had that she remembered.
         The first, was on the third day of the celebration.  A tall man dressed
finely approached Amaranth.  He had a trim black beard on his thin face.
Bowing to her, he said, "I am a messenger sent from Tirvaltan."
         Amaranth's heart stopped, but she forced herself to say, "Yes?"
         "I was asked to come here in Yahika's place," he continued, "and tell
you that the prince is quite sorry he was unable to attend.  He has been busy
with affairs of the kingdom.  He asks that you accept his sincere apologies."
         Amaranth eyed the messenger, wondering how much Yahika had really
told him.  "Thank you," she murmured.
         "We also wish you great happiness in your marriage," added the man
hastily, and Amaranth knew it had not been part of the planned message.
         "Thank you," she said again.  The messenger bowed and walked
quickly away.
         Busy with affairs of the kingdom, thought Amaranth.  She doubted
the excuse . . . After the war, Yahika had had to handle very little of the
kingdom's decisions.  Yet, if she were Yahika, she wouldn't want to come to
this celebration either . . . she wouldn't want to see the one she loved married
to another.
         Amaranth shook her head and asked herself the question again: Did
Yahika really love me?  She was partly glad he hadn't come; She wasn't sure
she could face him.  She knew his reasons for not being here were false, yet
she appreciated that he at least tried to be polite about it.  Even her family
hadn't bothered to do that . . .
         The second incident she remembered transpired on the fifth day of the
celebration.  A rather plump woman approached her, clothed in rich veils and
jewels.  Three children stood beside her, all male, and all elaborately dressed.
Amaranth knew they were royalty.
         The woman bowed to her, and Amaranth did the same.  "Allow me to
introduce myself, dear," she began.  "I am Sultana Amira of Pitosah.  And
these are my sons."  She gestured at the three boys.  The oldest looked rather
snooty, as if he felt he was too important to be attending this party.  Amaranth
thought him around her age.  The second was younger, perhaps ten, and he
seemed indifferent to the meeting.  The third was only a child, and he shyly
clutched his mother's robes and peeked at Amaranth from behind them.
         "I know you do not yet have any children," continued Amira.  "But it is
never too early to begin planning their future.  Pray that Allah will send you
sons, but in the case that you are given a daughter, I'd like to propose an
alliance between her and Casimir, my youngest boy."
         Amaranth shook her head, feeling rather dizzy.  "With all respect,
Sultana, I do not feel ready to give my unborn children away."
         Amira looked slightly offended by Amaranth's comment.  "Well,
Pitosah is a very prosperous kingdom, and the alliance would be a good one.
Now, I know my son may be a good deal older than your daughter, if you
have one, but my late husband and I were twenty years apart, and we got
along splendidly.  Why, he never even thought of taking another wife!" added
Amira proudly.
         "It is not the age that bothers me," said Amaranth.  It's the fact that
your husband, Sultan Abdullah, once planned to kill my father, she thought,
and the fact that I'm through with  promising daughters away before they
are born.  I would never put a child of my own through what I had to deal
with.
         "Then whatever is it?" asked Amira, sounding exasperated.  Amaranth
could tell she had been planning on immediate agreement.  "Casimir is only
six, but he is showing signs of becoming a remarkable young man."  The
Sultana nudged her son.  "Casimir, please, say your greetings to Queen
Amaranth."
         The boy timidly stepped forward, keeping his face lowered.  Shiny
black hair bobbed over his eyes.  In a small voice, he whispered, "I am very
pleased to meet you, Queen Amaranth.  You are very b-b-beautiful."  He
bowed quickly and scurried back to his mother's side.
         Amaranth smiled at Casimir, deciding she liked him better than his
mother.  "And I am pleased to meet you, young Prince Casimir."  She turned
back to Amira.  "He is a very remarkable child," she said appeasingly.  "But I
do not know that I will even bear a daughter, and when I do, I would like
adequate time to prepare her future.  I will make no decision now, Sultana
Amira."
         "Then promise me you'll think of it, dearie."
         "I promise," said Amaranth, but as soon as the woman and her sons
flounced off, she knew she'd made her decision.  No daughter of mine, she
thought, will have her husband chosen for her.

==================================================================

| Chapter Three |
 
         Amaranth couldn't believe it had happened so quickly.  When the
physician confirmed her suspicion, she hadn't really been surprised.  She had
known for a week or so that something within her was changing . . . that she
wasn't quite the same person anymore.  Yet hearing the physician agree with
her still had a major impact: Everything was suddenly so definite, without the
shadows of doubt that had been lurking in Amaranth's mind earlier.
         Only one month of marriage! marveled Amaranth.  My life is still
adjusting to the change, yet in nine months, it will take an even more
dramatic curve . . .
         She wasn't quite sure how she should feel.  One instant she was
thrilled--How exciting to become a mother!  Didn't every woman, deep
down, yearn for this?
         The next moment, gripping fear took over her.  It's so soon!  I'm only
fifteen . . . I've been married just a little over a month.  Am I ready for this?
What if I'm not a good mother?
         She even caught herself feeling sadness.  After this, I can never go
back to who I was.  I must truly give up being a child and embrace
adulthood . . .
         She glanced at her reflection in the menagerie's pool.  I don't look any
different, she thought, but I feel strange, as if I'm no longer the person I
was a week ago . . .
         She found herself wondering how she'd look in a few months, when the
baby began making its presence known to the world.  She wondered how she
would look cradling a newborn, and she wondered what it would be like to
introduce that little person as "My Child . . ."
         Her gaze left the pool to catch the sun setting behind the palace walls.
Soon, Hamid would be finished with his work, and his attention would be
given, undivided, to Amaranth.
         What would she say to him?  How would she tell him the news . . .?
Shivers of anticipation danced up and down her spine.  She would soon find
out what his reaction would be.
 

         The Sultan took the news well.  Very well.  "Oh, this is such splendid
news!  And so soon!  Allah is truly pleased with us, my dear," gushed Hamid,
flustered with excitement.
         Amaranth smiled, pleased by her husband's pride, as he continued.
"Why, this is cause for great celebration!  I shall make an announcement to the
entire city tonight, so that all my subjects can share in our joy!"  He embraced
Amaranth tightly, just as she heard the clicking of someone walking by in the
hall.
         Hamid rushed to the door to see who it was.  "Why, Jafar!" he
exclaimed.  He grasped the vizier by the wrist and yanked him into the
bedchamber.  Jafar's facial statement stayed the same through it all, and
when Hamid let go of his arm, he bowed and asked calmly, "What is it that
you wish of me, my lord?"
         "Oh Jafar, please, try to smile a bit," chuckled Hamid.  "For Agrabah
has great cause for celebration.  Amaranth is expecting a child;  We will soon
have an heir!"
         "Only if the child is a son," corrected Jafar dully.
         "Of course . . . but a child, daughter or son, is quite a blessing," said
Hamid, his excitement not dulled one bit by Jafar's indifference.
         "Indeed," agreed Jafar, suddenly syrupy.  "Well, my lord, it's good to
see the wife you took is good for something after all."
         Amaranth felt her cheeks burn with anger but forced herself to remain
quiet.  She didn't know whether Hamid would have fought back on her behalf
or not, for Jafar spoke before he even had a chance.
         "With any luck, you will not have to think of saddling yourself with
another wife," he said.
         Hamid waved his hand dismissively.  "Jafar, I have no desire to take
another wife, now or ever."  He slipped his arm around Amaranth's waist.
"My Queen has made me more happy with her presence than a harem of
those other half-wit girls could do.  In fact, Jafar, with you as my witness, I
swear never to take another wife."  He kissed Amaranth's cheek.  "I will have
only you, my dear, and be more than happy with it."
         Amaranth had forgotten Jafar's previous words for the happiness
Hamid's had brought her.  She knew it was a great honor to be the only wife
of a Sultan, especially a Sultan of such a kingdom as Agrabah.  But what was
even more special was the knowledge that Hamid truly loved her, for who she
was and no other reason.
         That was enough to quell Jafar's annoying suggestions any day.
 

         The announcement was made that evening, just as Hamid had said, to a
group of eager listeners.  They burst into cheers at the news, and as Hamid
had predicted, the entire city celebrated.
         Amaranth had never been given so much attention in her life.  Strange
and exotic gifts from across the seven deserts were sent to her by caravan
every day.  She had an entire room full of presents she wasn't sure what to do
with.  The seamstress came to the palace and measured her for an entirely
new wardrobe, speaking the whole time of the alterations she would make for
the later months of Amaranth's pregnancy.  A new set of portraits was drawn,
and Amaranth's women-servants prayed every night with her that Allah would
send her a son.  Although Amaranth took part in the prayers as was
customary, she didn't really put her heart into it.  It didn't seem to her that a
daughter would be such a curse.  Her only worry was that a daughter wouldn't
be given the opportunities a son would; She certainly knew what that was
like.  Yet, if she did mother a daughter, she promised that would change . . .
         The days rushed at Amaranth and flew by her so quickly that she felt as
if she was caught up in a whirl-wind.  Everything was happening so fast!  By
sun-set every day, she felt more exhausted than she ever had before in her
life.  But it was a good exhaustion, and she was content.
         One night, feeling especially emotional about her upcoming
motherhood, she found an empty book similar to the one she had had at
home.  She opened it up and began to write, and she was surprised at how
good it felt to do it again.  She wrote of her hopes for her child, of her
dreams, of her fears.  While she was writing, she realized that, if she was
calculating correctly, her baby would be born in February; the same month as
her sixteenth birthday.  How exciting!  She found a second blank book and
wrote 'February' on the cover, so that when the baby was born, she could
begin to record her thoughts toward her child right away.
         Her mind and heart had been so busy with all these things that she
forgot to write her family and tell them the news, until she realized, with a
guilty feeling, that they hadn't heard from her in two months.

==================================================================

| Chapter Four |
                                                                                July 6
 Dear Leila,
      Please forgive me for taking so long to write.  I don't know
what happened.  I have not forgotten you, although I know that's what it
must seem like.  It's just that, as you can imagine, so much has been
happening and changing that I just . . . I don't know.  I'm sorry.
     How is everything at home--In Astaseez, I mean.  I was disappointed
that you couldn't be at the wedding, but I understand that something must
have come up.

         Amaranth bit her fingernails in a very un-queenish fashion as she
thought of what she should write.  She realized that she wasn't telling the
complete truth; She didn't understand why her family hadn't come to witness
her wedding, and she didn't quite forgive them either.  But it was so easy to
lie on paper, when nobody could see her face or hear her voice.  She went on.
     I am very happy.  Agrabah is just as beautiful and prosperous as I'd
always imagined.  Don't you remember when Father used to talk of
kingdoms, and praise this one?  I think that fact should someday urge him
to forgive me for what I've done.  Don't you?
     The wedding celebration was marvelous.  It lasted for six days.  I
met many nobles from both neighboring and far off kingdoms, not to
mention hundreds of civilians.  It was an experience I shall never forget.
    Yahika sent a messenger from Tirvaltan to apologize for his inability to
attend.  He was busy . . . I also met Sultana Amira of Pitosah and her
sons.  She wanted to plan an alliance between our children already!  I told
her I would make no decision until after my child's birth.
     My child!  Leila, I can't believe I allowed myself to ramble so much
without telling you.  But it still seems a bit unbelievable to me.  I've been
writing a lot, in a journal, trying to make the whole thing seem real.  I'm
pregnant, Leila.  Can you believe it?  I had been married to Hamid only a
little over a month when the physician confirmed my condition.  I'm
having mixed feelings, but mainly, I have become rather proud.  I have the
honor of bearing Sultan Hamid's first child.  From me shall come
Agrabah's next monarch.  Isn't it exciting?
     I am treated well by everyone here, although they tend to be a bit
overprotective because of my condition.  At first, I enjoyed the attention,
but now it is beginning to annoy me.  When I want to get away from it all,
I escape to the menagerie, just as I did at home.  Agrabah has a fine
collection of exotic plants and birds, and the gardening has been handed
over to me.  I greatly enjoy it.
     As I write this, I can hear Hamid coming down the hall, so I believe
I will close for bed.  Give all my love to Mother and Father.
     Always,
        Queen Amaranth of Agrabah
P.S. How is Yahika?
 
         Amaranth had debated for a while before scribbling the P.S. on the
page.  She knew it would seem strange that she ask about him, and she felt
strange for doing so.  But not knowing how he was handling things was
making Amaranth crazy.
         Thinking about Yahika at all bothered her.  She felt guilty about her
thoughts drifting so often to another man, when Hamid was so good to her.
But I don't have to feel guilty for thinking of an old friend, she tried to
reassure herself.  It's not like I loved him or anything . . .
         She quickly folded and sealed the envelope, and crawled into bed to
wait for Hamid.
 

                                                                                            July 16

 Dear Amaranth,
      I was happy to receive your letter from the messenger.  It
sounds to me as if all is well in Agrabah.  I gave your letter to Mother and
Father, and they told me to let you know they regret being unable to attend
your wedding.
     But you know better, don't you, Amaranth?  I'm not going to lie to
you, because sometimes in this world we have to wake up and face the
truth.  I think your leaving has taught everyone that.  Father refused to
attend your wedding because of the anger he still feels at your rebellion.
He has been in a bad mood ever since you left, and I'm beginning to feel
that it will never lift.
     I have to admit, I'm feeling a little angry myself.  Amaranth, do you
realize what your leaving has done to this kingdom?  Did you think of us
at all?
     It sounds as if you are very happy in Agrabah; Things are not going
so well in Astaseez.  There is a huge gap in our lives that we're all trying
desperately to ignore, but it isn't working.  Even the servants talk about it.
I wish you had just followed Father's plans for you . . . We won't get into
that.  I have forgiven you and don't want to drag up that disagreement,
even though the result of it becomes clearer everyday.
     Mother is not doing well, Amaranth.  She will not admit that she is
ill, but I can see it in her eyes.  She eats at meals, but only because it is
expected.  She sleeps more and talks less.  I'm not completely sure whether
her affliction is emotional or physical, but I know it became worse when
you left.
     It's almost as if you've died or something.  Your room has been left
untouched, like a shrine.  And you're gone, leaving us all with this
horrible emptiness, knowing things can never be the same again.  Yet, in a
way, this feels worse than death, for you chose to leave us.
     I'm not trying to make you feel guilty, Amaranth.  I'm just being
honest, as you always wanted me to be.  And I find it is easier to be honest
on paper.  Not to mention, I have been feeling rather down lately, as has
everyone.  But I will carry on, despite whatever set-backs Allah sends me.
     Amaranth, your child . . . I, like you, have trouble believing it.  We
all have trouble believing it.  I'm going to be an aunt . . . Mother and
Father will be grandparents . . . you will be a mother!  I'm sorry, but I just
cannot imagine you with a child; I still see you as my baby sister, even
though you've left home to start a family of your own.
     The news came as a shock to me, and I can't say it was pleasant.  It
makes me sad to think of you with your own family . . . You just keep
drifting further away from us, Amaranth, even though you may not yet
realize it.  I know you well enough to see what is happening, and I don't
like it.
     In answer to your question, Yahika is . . . All right.  I guess he's
doing as well as can be expected, considering what he's going through.  A
broken heart does not heal quickly, Amaranth.  I can easily see that, even
if you couldn't.
     I am surprised that you even asked about him.  With your new
husband and new life, how did he manage to find his way into your
thoughts?
        From Astaseez (home) with love,
                                             Princess Leila

P.S.  I've just read over what I've written and must apologize to you for
such a depressing letter.  But I can't help the way I feel.

         There were tears in Amaranth's eyes as she read the letter, and she
fought against sobs.  However, she lost the battle; Her happiness in Agrabah
didn't seem as complete knowing that her leaving had caused misery in
Astaseez.
         Of course, she had known all along that it would.  But she had still
wanted Leila to lie to her . . . to tell her that they missed her but that
everything was going all right.  How ironic, she thought.  How ironic
after wanting to know the truth so badly, I end up in tears when it is given to
me . . .
         She felt almost as if she had betrayed her family, and she realized they
must have felt that way from the beginning.  But perhaps someday they would
still forgive her . . . Leila already had, even though from the letter, it was easy
to believe that she hadn't.  Could she blame her for being brave enough to tell
her true feelings?
         Amaranth began feeling slightly nauseous, and a new stream of tears
flowed from her eyes.  An unpleasant fever heated her body, and she wasn't
sure why.  All she knew was that somehow, something didn't feel so right
anymore . . . Was she feeling regret?  Was she homesick for the place she'd
been so anxious to leave?
         But that's foolishness, she thought.  It must be the changes taking
place within me that makes me think like this.  I love Hamid and within a
year I will have his child . . . And Agrabah is a beautiful kingdom; Yet, it
still wasn't home.
         She shook her head and swiped more hot tears from her eyes, half
hoping no one would find her in this state, and half hoping someone would
and give her comfort.
         Just then Hamid entered silently, so that Amaranth was not aware of
his presence until he was beside her, his arms wrapped tightly around her.
Although she felt childish, it was a relief to be with someone, and it made her
feel better.
         "My dear," he whispered, "whatever is the matter?"
         She sighed and shakily, for the first time, she told her husband the
entire story.
 
 
        "I never knew," murmured the Sultan when Amaranth had finished.  "It
is no wonder your father didn't like me . . . My dear, I truly did not mean to
spoil your family's plans for the future."
         Amaranth shook her head.  "It wasn't your fault," she said, her voice
still slightly cracking.  "I was the one who knew.  But by Allah, Hamid, why
couldn't they have let the decision of my future be my own in the first place?
What right did they have?  It's more my fault than yours, but most of all, I
think the blame is theirs."
         "Let us not talk of blame, Amaranth," said Hamid gently.  "I only wish
you had told me sooner.  Perhaps I could have negotiated something with
your father . . ."
         "No," Amaranth interrupted.  "I tried; My father is very stubborn,
Hamid.  The way I left with you was the only solution . . . at least, the only
one in which we could be together."
         "And you do not regret your decision, do you?" asked Hamid, sounding
a bit afraid of what her answer would be.
         "Oh, no!" exclaimed Amaranth.  "Not one bit; I love you.  You know
that . . . it's just that . . ."  Amaranth didn't know how to finish.  The strange
thoughts and emotions she was experiencing just couldn't fit into words.
         "Are you homesick?" guessed Hamid.  "If you are, we can make a trip
to visit Astaseez.  I see no reason to hide you within Agrabah's palace walls
forever."
         Amaranth shook her head.  She knew that she was homesick, but not
for the way things would be at home now.  She missed the way they used to
be, with her family close and Yahika her best friend.  And she knew a trip
home so soon would only make adjusting to her new life harder . . . Not to
mention how it would look to her family.  They would see her as weak;
They'd say she hadn't been ready to leave home, that the union she'd made to
Hamid was proving unwise, that she would have been happier with Yahika:
that they had been right all along.
         And Amaranth wasn't going to give them that kind-of satisfaction.
 
                                             | | |
 
         Things began to get better after that.  Now that Hamid knew
Amaranth's past, she felt that he knew her person more completely as well.
She found it easier to be herself, easier to show every emotion and thought to
him.  And this made her feel closer to him than the excitement of new love
ever had.
         Oftentimes, when Hamid's work-day had ended, he would find
Amaranth in the menagerie.  He'd sit beside her on the edge of the fountain,
or on the sun-baked stone of the walkways, and together, they'd talk of
everything, from their pasts to their futures.
         A strange yearning was growing within Amaranth like she'd never
known before.  Her fears and insecurities of before were disappearing, and
being replaced with a pleasant longing.  She wanted to see and hold her baby,
she wanted to feel it within her . . . she wanted to get to know it.
         Some of these thoughts she wrote down, some she kept to herself, and
some she shared with Hamid.  He was always around, always ready to listen
to her.
         She had been in Agrabah for three months.  And it was finally
beginning to feel like home.

==================================================================

| Chapter Five |

         Hamid leaned over his wife's sleeping form and kissed her cheek.  She
looked so peaceful, so content . . . He wished he could stay in the
bedchamber all day and simply watch her rest.
         He debated against waking her, but she had insisted the night before on
being informed of the time of his departure.  And at this moment, a restless
caravan waited outside the palace to take him on his way.
         "Amaranth, my dear," he whispered, gently shaking her.  She grumbled a
bit and pressed her face into her pillow, shattering her serene, troubleless
appearance of moments before.
          Hamid chuckled softly and touched her shoulder.  "My caravan is ready to
depart, Amaranth.  I'd like you to wake up just long enough to bid me
farewell."
         Amaranth rolled over on the bed.  Her eyes fluttered open, and she
smiled sleepily.  "Already?" she asked, reaching her hand up to touch Hamid's
face.
         "I don't like it any more than you do," Hamid assured her.
         His wife sat up, fully awake.  "How long will you be gone?" she asked
him again.
         "For as little time as possible," answered Hamid.  "The caravan will
take me first to my conferences in Pitosah, and from there we head to
Getsestan.  The amount of time needed will vary depending on conditions . . .
I've been preparing for two weeks."
         "A long time," murmured Amaranth.  "I wish I could go with you."
         "So do I," said Hamid.  "But not in your condition; Besides, you're the
only one I'd entrust my kingdom to while I'm away.  I don't know how I got
along without you."
         "I hate the thought of being here completely alone," admitted
Amaranth.
         Hamid knew she was trying to delay their good-bye, which was
something he wanted to do as well.  Unfortunately, he also knew that the
camels and horses waiting outside would be getting very impatient if they had
to wait much longer.  His fingers gently brushed Amaranth's stomach, which
was beginning to show subtle signs of the life within.  "You will not be
completely alone, my love."
         Amaranth smiled up at her husband.  "Of course not.  But you will be
missed."  She drew his face to hers and kissed him good-bye.
 

         Hamid glanced regretfully over his shoulder as his caravan left
Agrabah's city gates.  Two weeks did sound like a very long time to be
away from home; Oftentimes, Hamid wanted to just throw the responsibilities
of running a kingdom away and concentrate on the more important aspects of
life.  But he was Sultan, and his subjects depended on him to keep the peace
and uphold Agrabah's current state of prosperity.  Which was why he
attended these out-of-kingdom meetings in the first place.
         As they moved farther and farther away from his home, he found
himself hoping the weeks would go by quickly.  He wanted to return to
familiarity as soon as possible.
         Negotiations away from home had never bothered him before.  In fact,
he had enjoyed the chance to change his routine.  Never before had he so
ardently looked forward to going home.
         But he'd never had anyone as special as Amaranth waiting for him
either.

                                      | | |

         Hamid smiled happily as his prancing stallion neared Agrabah's city
gates.  The meetings had been much too lengthy for his taste, and he couldn't
recall a time when fifteen days had seemed so long, save for when he had
been waiting for the day he could bring Amaranth to Agrabah.
         The caravan entered the gates, and Hamid joyously reveled in the
familiarity.  How wonderful to be home, to be returning to his wife!  The very
thought made him kick his heels into his horse's sides, urging him on.
         But as Hamid neared the palace, a strange, sinking feeling overtook
him.  The city was too quiet . . . Why weren't they happily welcoming him
home?  Where were the banners he was usually met with on his arrival after a
long trip away?
         He glanced curiously at the civilians, who were backing away from
Agrabah's central street to make way for his entourage.  None of them were
waving or even smiling; Most of them looked as if they didn't know what they
should do.  A woman holding the hand of a little boy gazed up at Hamid atop
his horse, and he was sure he caught pity in her brown eyes.  Pity!  Pity for
the Sultan?  Was he mistaken?
         Hamid turned his head to look over his shoulder at the rest of his
companions.  A few of them acted as if they noticed nothing out of the
ordinary, but others were shifting nervously on their mounts, and Hamid knew
they too sensed a change.
         The final confirmation of a crisis were the black flags hung in a few of
the windows of shops and homes; A sign of public mourning.
         Fear and panic gripped Hamid's heart as he put the clues together.
Surely, the mourning had nothing to do with himself, he thought desperately.
But even as his mind tried to deny it, his heals jabbed again into his horse's
ribs, eager to get to the palace and see for himself what had happened.
         Hamid dismissed his traveling companions at the door, handed his
stallion over to a stable boy, and rushed into the palace.  There, he found that
the atmosphere was much as it had been in the city, only heavier . . .
         When he passed the hallway to the kitchen, he heard pitying murmurs
coming from the servants within.  A sick feeling settled into his stomach.
Never before had he really been pitied . . . whatever had happened while he
was away was serious.
         A young man-servant carrying a tray of water and a plate of barely-
nibbled crackers rushed by the Sultan, and he reached out his arm to stop
him.  "Sir," said Hamid, afraid to ask the question for fear of the answer,
"what has happened here?"
         The man looked nervously about, as if hoping someone else would
answer the question.  When he had reluctantly confirmed that the room was
empty, he murmured, head lowered, "Do not be angry with the messenger for
the news he bears."
         Hamid waved his hand dismissively.  "Of course not.  You must tell me
what has happened."
         "Our Lady, Queen Amaranth, has--"
         "My liege!" interrupted the voice of Jafar, echoing through the quiet
chamber.  He had just appeared in the high arched door-way, and was now
making his way toward the Sultan, his shoes clicking noisily on the polished
stone floor.
         The man-servant glanced behind him at the vizier, and relieved, took it
as his cue to go.  He rushed out of the room, nearly dropping his tray as he
did so.
         "Jafar!" exclaimed Hamid when the advisor was beside him, "I demand
to know exactly what is going on here!"
         Jafar slipped a bony arm around Hamid's shoulders as if they were
close brothers and began leading him to the stairs which would take them to
Hamid's bed chamber.  He shook his head sadly.  "It is my heart-breaking
duty to inform you of the tragedy which occurred in your absence," he said,
over-mournfully.  "The Queen has . . . lost your child."  Jafar turned his face
away from Hamid's as if to conceal his statement of grief.
         For a moment Hamid felt numb . . . Amaranth had lost their child . . . a
miscarriage . . . a death.  He was tempted to break into tears as it fully
registered, but his training as a Sultan wouldn't allow such a show of negative
emotion.  Instead he asked Jafar, "And . . . my wife?  Is she all right, Jafar?"
         "As well as can be expected in this case, my lord," Jafar assured him.
         "Thank Allah she was not hurt," murmured Hamid.
         "Perhaps not," said Jafar, "but the kingdom has been.  Think of what
luck you'd find yourself in if the child had been a son!"
         Hamid waved his hand, trying to ignore the despair that was trying to
overcome his heart.  He had to be strong . . . for Amaranth's sake.  "We can
have other children," Hamid said absently in reply to Jafar's remark.
         Jafar sighed heavily.  "Alas, my lord, I have more sad news to tell you.
The other advisers suggested that I keep it to myself when I overheard the
physician's statement, but as my liege and the husband of our Queen, I believe
it is your right to know."
         There was a pause, which was not very long, but long enough to fray
Hamid's patience.  "Out with it, Jafar," he commanded.  They were nearing
his bed-chamber, and for the first time, he was very annoyed with Jafar's
wordiness.
         "It is said that our Queen may not be suited to bear children, which is
why your baby did not survive within her."
         Hamid felt his heart sink even lower, and the despair he was battling
with suddenly seemed to have the upper hand.  Hamid couldn't allow himself
to dwell on these feelings, however, for he had arrived at the bed-chamber
door.  The time had come for him to do what he been looking forward to for
fifteen days: being reunited with his wife.  But the circumstances surrounding
their reunion weren't at all what he had anticipated.
         He dismissed Jafar and quietly knocked on the bed-chamber door.  He
had never thought it necessary to knock before, but he wasn't sure how
Amaranth would feel about seeing company, even her own husband.
         "Come in," came a faint, dull voice.  It didn't sound a thing like
Amaranth, but Hamid knew it was her.
         The door creaked noisily when Hamid leaned against it.  His eyes
scanned the large chamber, which appeared empty.  "Amaranth, my dear?" he
called softly.  "Where are you?"
         "Out here."  Her voice came from the balcony, and Hamid followed it.
She stood with her back to the palace, facing the sun-set.  She was wearing a
filmy pink night-dress, disregarding the impropriety of an honorable woman
clothed in such an item outside her bed-chamber.
         Hamid was beside her, and tentatively, he placed his arm around her
waist.  She was unresponsive to his touch, but Hamid was unoffended.  A
heavy silence hung between them such as they'd never dealt with before.
Hamid listened attentively to Amaranth's rhythmic breathing, and turned to
see her face.  She stared into the distance, and to the Sultan's surprise, there
were no tears in her eyes.  Instead, the brown orbs were distant and clouded
as they stared straight ahead.  Amaranth's posture was stiff.
         Finally, Hamid broke the silence. "Jafar . . . told me what happened."
         "I'd rather it had been someone else," said Amaranth, somewhat
bitterly.  Then her voice lowered, but did not break, when she murmured, "I'm
sorry."
         Hamid gasped in surprise.  "My dear," he whispered, "you have
nothing to apologize for.  It was all in Great Allah's hands.  If he did not see
fit for us to have children--"
         Amaranth's head snapped toward Hamid's, and he was surprised to
catch anger in her eyes.  Still, it was better than seeing her completely
removed from what had happened.  "We may still have children!" she cried.
"Don't think this first . . . " she faltered, and then finished softly with, "I am
not afraid to try again."
         "I do not want to ask for something that Allah may not see fit to give
us," said Hamid gently.  "It is not necessary that you bear a child, Amaranth.
Nor will I take another wife because of this.  I have young cousins and
nephews who could be raised to--"
         "Who told you I'd never bear an heir?" asked Amaranth angrily.
         "Jafar," answered Hamid, "but he heard it from the physicians
themselves.  I thought--"
         "I wish you wouldn't take so seriously what he says," interrupted
Amaranth scornfully.  "I don't trust him.  And as for the physicians . . . Who
are they to know whether I can carry children or not anyway?  I'm not ill; I've
always been healthy . . ."  Amaranth said desperately, as if trying to convince
herself.
         Deciding to steer away from that particular subject, Hamid asked,
hesitantly, "When did it happen?"
         Amaranth lowered her eyes and answered softly, "Three days ago.
Hamid, I tried everything they told me to to keep it from happening, but once
it . . . started . . . I'm so sorry.  I feel like this is all my fault;  That was our
child.  And I couldn't keep it . . ."
         Hamid could see that Amaranth's indifferent shield was beginning to
break down and took it as a good sign.  Denying feelings wasn't healthy . . .
Yet he was doing that very thing right now, trying to be strong, trying not to
show his own heartache over what had happened.  He kept it up, and drew
Amaranth more closely against him.  "Don't blame yourself, my dear.  It was
not within our hands to decide.  You know that."  He began leading her back
into the bed-chamber.  "You need rest after what has happened.  Things will
begin to look better in the morning."
         Amaranth shook her head, but began climbing into bed anyway.  "No
they won't," she whispered.  "Pain isn't something you can sleep off, like a
headache or even depression.  The feelings may change; Now it is sharp and
insistent.  With time it may become dull and aching, but it's still going to be
there.  It's always going to be there, Hamid."  She pulled the blankets up
around her shoulders and tightly closed her eyes.  It did not take long for her
to fall asleep, and when she did, there was still no sign of tears on her face.
 

         Amaranth awoke drenched in a cold sweat.  She sat abruptly up in bed,
glancing around her chamber.  It was dark, not yet morning.  One more night
she wouldn't sleep through.
         She arose from the bed silently, wanting more than anything to be
alone.  On shaking legs, she glided across the floor and out onto the balcony.
She closed her eyes as the night breeze drifted over her feverish body and
gratefully accepted its cooling touch.
         A nightmare was once again to blame for her inability to sleep; A
nightmare worse than any she'd ever had before.  A nightmare that was real.
A remembrance.
         She shuddered and tried to put its visions and feelings out of her mind,
but no matter what, they returned, haunting her.  How could she forget?  How
could she ignore the fact that, for the first time ever, she had lost someone she
loved?
         When Hamid had come home that day, Amaranth had tried to remain
indifferent to what happened, act as if it didn't matter to her.  She knew the
news would be hard enough on him, a Sultan who needed an heir.  He didn't
need a hysterical wife added to his burden.
         But she hadn't succeeded quite as well as she'd have liked.  She never
had been good at hiding her feelings.  It was the fact that Jafar had been the
one to speak to Hamid that had set her off.  She knew he was phony, didn't
mean a single word of consolation he had said.  And he had told Hamid the
secret she most wanted to keep to herself; The physician and midwife had
said she was not fit to bear children.
         Curse the physician! she thought angrily.  Curse the midwife!
What do either of them know about what I'm capable of?  I conceived once,
and I may well do it again.  Many women lose their first child, but are
granted with many more afterwards . . .

         . . ."Stay in bed, dear," the midwife had said softly after the incident.
"You need rest."
         "No," whispered Amaranth, her voice made soft with weeping.  "I need
my baby back . . ."
         "Hush, child," soothed the midwife.  "Allah made the choice, and you
should thank him for it."
         "Thank him for taking my baby?" cried Amaranth.  "How could you
even think such a thing?"
         The woman took Amaranth's young hand between her old, withered
ones.  "He knew what he was doing.  I wish I didn't have to tell you this, but I
believe it truly was necessary.  I don't think your body is strong enough to
support a child until birth; Had you not lost this one, perhaps it would have
been your life that was taken instead.  I advise against letting yourself get
pregnant again."
         At Amaranth's look of dismay, the midwife had continued hastily,
saying, "I'm not telling you to deny your husband.  I understand that he loves
you very much.  But I have an herb that will keep you from conceiving again.
I wish you would consider it.  The risk of bearing a child is one I don't want
to see you take."
         Amaranth had turned away from the midwife, denying every word she
had said as hot tears stung her eyes.  She would not tell Hamid of the
midwife's prediction.  There would be no need.  She would bear him an
heir yet, and prove everyone wrong . . .

         Remembering the scene, and the humiliation of knowing Hamid had
been told the thing she'd most wanted to keep from him, brought new tears
coursing down Amaranth's face.  And of all people, Jafar had told him!  Did
everyone in the kingdom know?
         Despite all Hamid's words of comfort, Amaranth couldn't keep from
feeling guilty about what had happened.  Again, her father's words returned to
her: Allah will frown upon your union . . .
         Was this the cruelest form of punishment? she wondered.  To give her
hope, wonderful expectations of a family, and then snatch it away from her?
Was the God she worshipped as unfeeling as that?  To punish her for loving
where her family deemed it unfit?
         She remembered the fear, the touch of regret and doubt, she'd
experienced when she'd discovered she was pregnant.  And when that had
disappeared to be replaced with eagerness and yearning, the object of her
growing excitement had been taken from her.
         Two days after Hamid had left, the mid-wife had talked to her, telling
her that any day she would be able to feel her baby move within her.  She had
been anxious and looked forward to that day . . . a day that would never
come.
         Amaranth broke into a series of sobs, shattering the silence of the still
desert night.
 

         Amaranth overslept the next morning, and no one had the nerve to
rouse her.  When she did awaken and discovered this, she took it as a sign of
pity, and was torn between annoyance and gratitude.
         In the end, both emotions were cast aside for a lingering depression.
Amaranth didn't want to get out of bed.  She wanted to lie there in its security
all day long and brood . . .
         Considering her situation and rank, she knew no one would begrudge
her if she did just that.  But at the same time as the idea was appealing, it was
also irritating.  Was she so weak, that for the rest of her life, she'd do nothing
but feel sorry for herself?  That thought pushed her out of bed and even urged
her to get dressed, although her garments were chosen carelessly and donned
with absolutely no enthusiasm.
         After that task had been cleared away, she wondered absently if the
cooks were still serving breakfast.  But she did not really care.  She had no
appetite.
         Neither did she like the idea of meeting up with other people.  She
knew they would offer her sympathetic smiles and words, remain indifferent,
or try to conceal awkwardness.  She knew their attempts at empathy should
be appreciated, but at the time, they got on her nerves.  So she decided to stay
in her own chamber.
         She walked over to her writing desk and slowly drew out a quill, ink,
and paper, deciding to write a letter to Leila.
         Since the first letter, she and Leila had corresponded a couple more
times, and Leila's original bitterness seemed to be slowly dissolving.
Amaranth was especially grateful for this as she dipped her quill in the ink
and began to write.

                                                                                September 30

 Dear Leila,
      I have horrifying news to tell you.  I don't even want to write it
on this paper, for then my eyes will have to read it over and over,
reminding me, taunting me, with what they will say.  But at the same time,
I need more than anything to share this with you.
     Leila . . . I lost my baby.  I don't know why . . . it happened so fast
that when I remember it, it seems like a blurred nightmare.  But I know all
too well that it is the truth.  I feel guilty, Leila.  Hamid tells me not to, but I
can't help it.  What if it was my fault?  What if I did something wrong?
And what if I never conceive again?  By Allah, Leila, sometimes I feel so
bad that I think it might have been better if it had been me instead.
     The mid-wife and physician have been filling my depressed mind
with even more horrid thoughts.  They say my body is not fit to bear
children, that if the child had not been lost, then my life would have been
taken instead.  The midwife even offered me an herb which will keep me
from conceiving.  Can you believe it?  Of course, I refused to accept it.
     I think they're wrong, Leila.  Allah wouldn't be so cruel, would He?
I am a Queen.  It's my duty to my husband and to the kingdom to give
birth to an heir.  And I will.   All I need is one child; With that small
blessing I will be content.  Then, if the mid-wife still insists I cannot risk
bearing another, perhaps I will consider her advice.  But not before I have
the chance to prove them all wrong . . .
 
        Amaranth's hands were shaking and tears were running relentlessly
down her cheeks as she wrote.  But despite her dire mood, she was beginning
to feel better.  It felt so good to really confide in Leila again, as if nothing had
ever or ever would come between them.
 

                                                                                        October 8

 Dear Amaranth,
      I've spent hours trying to compose just the right words to
express my deep sorrow and regret over the loss of your child.  As you will
see from this letter, little came of my efforts.
     Amaranth, I'm so sorry.  There's a part of me that feels guilty.  I
remember my initial reaction to the news of your pregnancy and hate
myself for it.  I didn't realize until this horrible incident what a fragile and
precious thing life is.
     But let's not try to dwell on these things.  What happened wasn't
your fault.  It truly was all in Allah's hands.  And if what the mid-wife says
is true, that you may have had to sacrifice your own life to give birth, I
dare say we can consider ourselves grateful.  No one knows better than the
Almighty what's best for you.
     Which is why I must address the subject of the herb you've been
offered--The one that will keep you from conceiving.  For Allah's sake,
Amaranth, take it!  I can't bear the thought of losing you, can't even bear
the thought of the slightest risk of it.  If your own life could be endangered
by having a child, think of those who love you and don't put that strain on
yourself or us.  I hope your emotions have calmed enough by now for you
to realize the logic of what the mid-wife is offering.  It may seem a bit . . .
unorthodox, but desperate times call for desperate measures.
     I've shown your letter to the family and Yahika has been informed.
Mother's weeping bordered on hysterics.  You know her health has been
waning, and this news did not sit well with her.  She's become even more
withdrawn and less concerned with hiding her condition.  I want to call in
physicians, but Mother insists that it isn't necessary.
     Father said nothing when he learned of what happened.  It was
almost as if he expected it;  He kept himself so removed that I have no idea
what he was thinking of.  I don't want to say it, but I'm afraid you still
haven't found forgiveness in his eyes.
     Yahika sent a messenger telling us to give you his deepest regrets.  I
believe that, despite his losing you, he truly means what he says.  You
know him well enough that you should be able to draw your own
conclusions.
     I believe I'll close now.  I hope this letter finds you well on your way
to recovery and happiness.

    All my love,

            Princess Leila of Astaseez
 
         Amaranth cried when she read Leila's letter, but she wasn't sure what
emotion was causing her to do so.  But it seemed she'd been weeping too
much lately, and she constantly reprimanded herself for it.  She just had an
impenetrable gloomy feeling lingering over her all the time, and although she
lived in the hot desert, it felt as if the sun would never shine again.
==================================================================

| Chapter Six |

         "I want to cheer Amaranth up," said Hamid.  "No, I need to cheer
her up.  The poor thing has been trapped in a state of melancholy ever since .
. . Eleeza, do you have any suggestions?"
         "Me, my lord?" asked the plump head cook, flustered at being asked
for advice by the Sultan.  She abandoned the vegetables she was chopping
and turned toward Hamid.  His roly-poly form was perched atop one of the
counters, where he absently snacked on small honey cakes.  "Don't you
usually go to Jafar for such matters?"
         Hamid chuckled.  "Jafar gives excellent advice in affairs of state, but
he's not so keen in affairs of the heart.  Besides, Amaranth has made it clear
to me that she doesn't hold him in high regard.  Oh, don't tell him I said that,
Eleeza."
         Eleeza smiled.  "Your secret is safe with me, my Sultan."
         "Thank you.  Anyway, I just don't know what to do.  And you're a
woman; Perhaps you better understand what she's going through and how to
draw her out of it," said the Sultan hopefully.
         "Well," began Eleeza, turning back to her vegetables, "anybody can
see why she's upset.  The poor girl was filled with anticipation and love, only
to find that the object she waited to shower it on left her.  There is no cure,
but . . . perhaps she needs something new to care about."
         The Sultan gave her a curious look.
         "Now, I won't be so bold to suggest another child.  I'm sure you've
thought of that, and besides, it's in Allah's hands, not ours.  But . . . my cat did
just give birth to a litter of kittens last month.  Perhaps you could offer her
one?"  Eleeza's round face immediately turned pink as she blushed with
embarrassment.  Here she was, called upon to give advice to the Sultan, and
all she could come up with was kittens!
         The Sultan smiled as he stroked his mustache.  "Perhaps I could give
it a try.  Why, I'm willing to try anything right now!  How soon could you
bring me one of those kittens?"
         Eleeza, beaming with pride, said, "Tomorrow."
 

         Hamid found Amaranth exactly where he knew he would: in the
menagerie.  He had taken it as a good sign when she had begun taking an
interest in her flowers again, rather than locking herself in her bed-chamber
day after day, as she had done for the first couple weeks after the miscarriage.
         But other than that, her condition had improved very little.  Hamid
prayed desperately that that would soon change.
         "My dear," he said softly.  Amaranth had been staring absently at her
reflection in the central fountain's pool, and she jumped at the sound of
Hamid's voice.  She turned toward him and tried to smile a greeting, but her
eyes were filled with sadness.
         "I have something for you," he continued, sitting beside her on the
fountain's rim.  He had been holding the kitten behind his back, and he drew
the squirming animal forward now, presenting it to Amaranth.
         She looked down at the struggling orange and black fluff ball.  It lifted
its large green eyes pleadingly to Amaranth's face, as if to say, "I want you to
comfort me."
         Hamid watched Amaranth very carefully and caught the softness in her
eyes as she whispered, "For me?"
         "Of course!" exclaimed Hamid, passing the kitten into Amaranth's
hands.
         She drew the tiny animal against her body, hesitantly running her
fingers over its soft fur.  "He's very tiny," said said.  "And very frail . . ."
         Her voice grew distant, and Hamid wasn't quite sure what emotion had
caused it to do so.  He felt a silence begin to drop over them and quickly
scared it off by saying, "Is that a complaint?  Would you have preferred that I
got you a big, strong tiger?"
         Amaranth smiled, drawn out of the depression that was constantly
trying to swallow her.  "No," she answered.  "This little guy is fine."
         As if the cat understood her remark, he hooked his claws into
Amaranth's gown and scampered up her torso until he'd nestled himself
against her shoulders.  Purring, he rubbed his face against hers, his whiskers
and fur tickling her skin until she couldn't keep a giggle from escaping her
throat.
         Hamid's heart soared, and he said a silent prayer of thanks to Allah
above.  It was the first time his wife had laughed in nearly three awkward
months.  He had nearly forgotten how much he loved the sound.

                                    | | |

         Amaranth listened absently to the conversation of the diplomats seated
around Agrabah's large dinner table.  She had been to enough banquets to
naturally know when to smile, when to laugh, when to nod, and when to keep
quiet.  But she was beginning to feel uncomfortable surrounded by these
strangers, and she leaned toward Hamid, quietly requesting permission to
retire to her bed-chamber.
         "Of course, my dear," he answered, dismissing her and returning to the
dinner conversation.
         Once Amaranth was out of the dining hall, she walked as quickly as
she could to her own rooms.  She had felt more uncomfortable in the large
group of delegates than she had in months.  Every second she worried that
one of them would ask her about her baby, or if she had conceived again, or if
she was doing all right.  Although she thought she was on the road to
emotional recovery, she knew she was not ready to discuss the matter with
complete strangers.
         She had arrived at her bed-chamber door, and she silently slipped
inside.  She headed straight for her bed and gently scooped Tiger into her
arms.  He rubbed against her and purred, and her agitation began to calm.
         Despite her cat's overused name, Amaranth could not help giving it to
him.  She had kept thinking about the way Hamid had asked her, "Would you
prefer I had gotten you a tiger instead?"  That along with the cat's coloring
had seemed to leave her no other choice for his name.
         She opened her arms and let Tiger bounce to the floor.  Then she lifted
herself from the bed and approached her writing desk, even though she had
no intention of writing.  She just felt she needed something to occupy her
thoughts.
         She slid open the drawer and rummaged through it, looking for
something she could read to keep her mind entertained.  But her searching
halted abruptly when she came across a small, empty book.  On the cover,
she had written 'February'.
         A hand seemed to grasp her heart and still its beating.  She
remembered vividly why she had wanted to start that journal . . . And now the
month of February had just begun.
         Despite the protestations of her mind, she couldn't keep tears from her
eyes.  If "it" had never happened, she would be a mother this month.  All her
waiting would have come to and end; She would have given birth to
Agrabah's first heir . . .
         But it had happened, and here she was, in this much anticipated month,
completely without the child that could have brought her and Hamid such joy.
         She shoved the journal back into the drawer, pushing it under piles of
letters and documents, and slammed the drawer shut.  Then she ran back to
her bed, curled up into a tight ball beneath the silk sheets, and silently wept.
 

         Hamid was alone in his study, silently contemplating the sudden
change in his wife.  She had been doing so well until just a week before,
when she'd suddenly become withdrawn and quiet again.  He knew something
was bothering her.  In fact, he knew exactly what was bothering her, but
knowing how to solve the problem was a different matter entirely.
         His thoughts drifted to Amaranth's sixteenth birthday, which was
approaching this month.  No doubt she would be lavished with countless
expensive gifts, but Hamid knew from experiences in the past that she would
not be interested in them.  Perhaps if he was able to find her something
special . . . unique, it would lift her spirits again.
         He began absently thumbing through the piles of books and documents
scattered atop his desk and came across one volume he'd never seen before.
He drew it out from beneath the papers covering it and began to curiously
page through it.
         A vibrant painting on one of the pages caused him to abruptly halt in
his skimming, and he stared intently at it.  The detailed scene was one of a
glorious garden, even better than the one Amaranth had kept in Astaseez.  In
fact, the picture was so breath-taking, that Hamid hardly believed such a
place was possible outside of paradise.  He read the caption.  Arbitras's
garden: Illustrator: Unknown.
         He turned the page and read about the scene depicted, and it sounded
much like a children's story to him, all about a garden keeper named Arbitras
who loved his plants as a father loves his wife and children.  Hamid chuckled
softly to himself, wondering what creative mind had come up with such a
fairy tale.  He was about to leave it at that and put the book aside as nothing
but children's tales, when a small, folded piece of aged paper fluttered to the
floor.
         After Hamid had retrieved and carefully unfolded the sheet, he was
surprised to find that it was a meticulously charted map . . . A map to
Arbitras's garden.  Did that mean this place truly existed?
         Hamid slipped the map into his pocket and returned to the book.  He
found that the rest of it was filled with what should be regarded as fairy tales
as well, most of them very exotic and yet strangely real.  What sort of book
was this?
         Just then, Hamid heard foot-steps click into the room and turned to find
Jafar walking toward him.  "Why, Jafar!" exclaimed Hamid.  "Just who I need
to see.  Do you, by any chance, know where this peculiar volume came from,
and whose it is?  I know it is most certainly not mine, although I do find the
stories in it rather charming."
         Jafar looked mildly surprised at the word 'stories', but he soon
concealed this emotion and said, "The book is mine, my liege.  Forgive me for
leaving it in your study."
         "Jafar!" said Hamid, surprised.  "This book is yours?  But it is nothing
but silly little stories about magic and fanciful places!  Why does an educated
and mature man like you have such an item?"
         Jafar smiled smoothly, reaching around Hamid to gently pluck the book
from the desk-top and nestle it in the crook of his bony arm.  "My lord," he
said, "a man such as myself can never know 'too much', and every book holds
knowledge.  But you need not trouble yourself with these silly stories."
With that, Jafar left the room, carrying the book with him.
         Hamid smiled and drew the map out of his pocket.  If such a place was
real, he was going to find it.  And from this magnificent garden, he would find
Amaranth a desert bloom such as she had never even imagined.
 

         Jafar slinked into his own private chambers, leaned against the wall,
and gave a sigh of relief.  He silently cursed himself for leaving that book in
Hamid's study, but how was he to know the fool was going to be in there?
Most of the time, he spent more time in his toy room in a day than he spent in
the study in a month.
         Well, at least he had gotten the book away from him before Hamid
looked into it too much.  For instead of fairy tales, the volume was a carefully
compiled encyclopedia of magic places and people, written by the greatest
wizards that had ever lived.  If Hamid knew that, then he might get suspicious,
and Jafar wasn't sure how he would react to knowing his vizier was secretly
studying the black arts.
         But, he didn't.  Jafar chuckled softly to himself; Hamid thought the
book was nothing but children's stories.
 

         Hamid urged his horse on, breathing heavy with fear.  His stallion had
been running for miles, but it continued to speed toward home with no
restraints, for it was as terrified as the Sultan was.
         He breathed a huge sigh of relief when he saw Agrabah's inviting lights
shimmering on the horizon.  The horse recognized home as well, and reduced
his pace to a relaxed canter.  As Hamid began to regain his composure, he ran
the scene of the evening over in his mind . . .
 
        He had left the palace in the middle of the night, to avoid questions,
and with the map to Arbitras's garden tucked securely in his belt, began his
search for the mystic place.
         After only two hours, he had come upon it, resting majestically in the
middle of a perfectly ordinary desert.  Hamid rubbed his eyes a few times to
assure himself that it wasn't a mirage or a dream as his horse approached it.
When he was convinced that the garden truly was real, he'd spurred his
horse up the steep hill leading to it.
         The garden was an intricate palace made completely of vines, flowers,
trees, and any other plant form that had ever existed.  It took Hamid's
breath away, and he suddenly wished he had brought Amaranth along,
rather than just picking a few flowers from it.
         He tied his horse to a sturdy tree and approached the palace.  Doors
opened magically for him, and lush curtains of greenery were drawn away
by unseen hands.  A golden harp was placed on a vine covered pillar, and
tentatively, Hamid approached it and stroked its strings, laughing in silent
delight at the sounds it produced.
         Hamid turned away, and as if it had been put there just for him, a
blooming pink flower grew alone, bathed in white light from an unseen
force.  Behind it, a shimmering waterfall splashed.  It was like an exquisite
painting.
         The Sultan drew toward the flower, immediately deciding it would be
the one he chose for Amaranth.  He reached out his hands, grasped the
flower, and yanked it out of its bed.  A strange shrieking sound followed, the
white light dimmed, and the ground seemed to vibrate.  Hamid turned in
alarm, to find the garden keeper stalking toward him.  He was extremely
tall, and in the darkness, he appeared malformed.  His tread clearly showed
his anger at Hamid's intrusion.
         "Who trespasses in my garden, my masterpiece?" bellowed the
garden keeper, his long form towering over Hamid, cloaking the Sultan in
its shadow.
         "I . . . I . . . I" stammered Hamid, drawing his sword and waving it in
front of his face.
         It was immediately whipped out of his grasp by an unseen force.  "You
are a fool!" boomed the voice.  "Your sword may severe every limb, but my
power will always bloom!"
         "I just wanted to bring a flower to my young bride!" explained Hamid
in hopeless defense.
         "No one defiles the art of Arbitras and lives!"
         "Please!" begged Hamid.  "If you let me go, you will be greatly
rewarded!"
         "Your reward means nothing to me," scoffed Arbitras.
         "You have my word!" insisted Hamid.  "My most precious treasure
will be yours!"
         Arbitras thoughtfully stroked his beard.  "Yes," he said slowly.
"Perhaps one day your kingdom could enhance mine . . . an addition to my
garden's beauty . . ."
         "Indeed!" cried Hamid, relieved.  "Agrabah is rich with wonderful
treasure!"
         "Hear this!" warned Arbitras.  "In twenty summers I will come, for
your most precious treasure!"
         "Yes, of course!" stammered Hamid.  He bowed quickly to Arbitras
and rushed out of the garden, still clutching Amaranth's flower tightly in his
sweating palm . . .

         He shuddered as he remembered the scene, but he was entering the
palace gates, and the sun was beginning to rise.  It was a new day, and as for
Arbitras's threat, he didn't have to worry about that for twenty years.
 

         Amaranth was just rising as her husband walked in the door of their
chamber.  "Hamid," she said, surprise in her voice.  "Where were you?"
         "Happy birthday, my dear," he answered, giving her an affectionate
good morning kiss.  "My gift for you is small, but I still hope you enjoy it."
He presented the fiery blossom to her.
         Amaranth gasped.  Where did he get such a flower? she wondered,
awe-struck.  With all the experience she'd had with gardening, she had never
seen anything even remotely close to what she now saw.  Tentatively, she
reached out to stroke its soft petals and whispered, "Where did you get this?"
         "I did go a bit out of my way," admitted Hamid, "but it was all worth it
to see your face.  As for the exact location of where I got it, I believe it would
be best to not mention the gardener's name.  He's a rather grouchy old
fellow."  Hamid chuckled nervously, but Amaranth was too taken by the
flower's beauty to notice the remaining fear in her husband's eyes.

==================================================================
| Chapter Seven |

         "I do not want to hear it!" exclaimed Hamid, frustrated.  He was
standing at the head of a large council table at a special meeting called by
four of his viziers: Jafar, Jamal, Zarim, and Levi.
         "But Sire!" exclaimed Jamal, the adviser second to Jafar and his
younger brother.  "Don't think just of yourself, but of the kingdom.  It's
necessary that you have an heir!"
         "My family's blood-line is strong in kingdoms other than Agrabah,"
Hamid reminded them.  "If we are not blessed with a child of our own,
Amaranth and I will adopt one of my nephews and raise him to rule
Agrabah."
         "But that should only be used as a last resort!" objected Levi, the
youngest of Hamid's advisers.  "We have not yet run out of options.  Why are
you deliberately overlooking the most obvious solution to your problem?
Take another wife."
         Hamid shook his head and sat down wearily.  "No, no," he sighed.  "I
made a promise to Amaranth that she would be my only wife forever, and I
intend on keeping that promise until the day I die!"
         "But we weren't prepared for this situation!  You didn't think of it when
you made that promise!" cried Levi, leaning across the council table toward
Hamid.
         "Desperate times call for desperate measures, my lord," interjected
Jafar.
         "I agree!" stated Levi.  "Who knew that the wife you finally chose
would be unsuited to bearing children?"
         "Amaranth is not completely convinced of that," said Hamid firmly.
"And by Allah, I'm not sure I am either.  We may be blessed with children
yet, and if we aren't, I will carry through my earlier mentioned solution of
fostering."
         Zarim, the oldest of Hamid's advisors, spoke up.  "It was June last time
Amaranth conceived," he began, solemnly stroking his long gray beard.  "And
it was September when she miscarried.  It is now April.  That leaves a good
seven months with no results."
         "You need not remind me of the exact months, Zarim," said Hamid
impatiently.  "I can tell time."
         "I still don't see why you object to the idea of taking another wife,"
said Levi, completely ignoring Hamid's irritated mood.  "It is perfectly
acceptable for a man in your position even without these circumstances.  And
it would move Amaranth up to the position much coveted among women of
'first wife'.  She would enjoy the female companionship.  Well, she might be a
bit jealous at first, but as soon as she gets used to it, she'll warm to the idea
. . ."
         "I don't believe any of you realize the depth of my love for Amaranth,"
said Hamid.  "A promise made to her holds value in both our eyes, and I will
never break it."
         "Taking another wife doesn't mean you have to love Amaranth any
less!" insisted Levi.
         "It will be strictly a business marriage!" added Jamal.  "Once you
explain this to Amaranth, she will understand.  There need not be any love
between you and your new wife!"
         "Indeed!" agreed Levi ardently.  "The Koran says a man may have
multiple wives if he treats them all equally.  It does not say he has to
love them equally."
         "You twist Allah's word!" accused Hamid.  He rose from his seat and
left the room, fed up and angry with the entire conversation.  He refused to
listen to any more, and for the first time in his life, he didn't heed one shred of
his advisors' advice.
 

         Hamid was too considerate to tell Amaranth of the meetings he'd been
having with his viziers, but that didn't keep her from knowing.  It was obvious
to her by the looks and whispers his board of advisers exchanged.  Even the
servants and ambassadors from other kingdoms knew, and Amaranth hated
being scrutinized so closely.  It was exactly as it had been in Astaseez, when
everyone was expecting her to fall in love with Yahika.  Except now she'd do
nearly anything to give them what they wanted.
         She tried to remain hopeful and cheerful, because she now realized
what an impact her depression had on Hamid by his repeated attempts at
drawing her out of it.  But it was hard keeping her composure when she
overheard whispered conversation, words such as: "It has been much too long
. . ."  "Why hasn't Hamid began looking for another wife?"  "Does she really
believe she'll have children when the physicians and mid-wives themselves
have told her differently?"
         Times like these she wanted to whirl on the conversants, and scream,
Shut up!  You don't know anything about me, or what I am capable of.  Stop
talking about me as if I'm a character in a drama.  I have feelings too!  I can
hear you, and there's nothing I can do about it.  I am trying, so stop talking
as if I've already given up!
         She remembered times in Astaseez when she had done things just like
that, and found herself wishing she still could.  But she was in a different
kingdom, she was the "outsider", and she was a "dignified" Queen.  She was
expected to act as a mature adult, and mature adults did not lose their tempers
over the gossip of servants.
         Even when Amaranth was in the company of other women, and they
offered words of sympathy and occasionally even hope, she was irritated at
the same time she was grateful.  They said they understood, but yet, even
they had children at home, and had had no difficulty creating them . . .
         But what hurt the most was that Amaranth often found herself listening
to every word said about her by anyone and believing it.  What if there was
something wrong with her?  What if she couldn't give Hamid an heir?  What if
by losing their first child, she had lost her only chance at ever conceiving?
One night, in an effort to reassure herself that seven months was not an
overly long amount of time to go without conception, she wrote a letter to
Leila.  She asked her how many months their mother had been married when
she found out she was pregnant.
         The answer that returned made Amaranth's heart sink.  It had been only
three months.  Leila also added that her birth had been especially difficult for
the Sultana, and she had been expected never to bear another child, which
was why Amaranth wasn't born until three whole years later.  Her birth had
been the last her mother was capable of, and even that had held high risk.
         After reading the letter a few times, however, Amaranth found herself
gaining hope from it.  Her mother had been told she'd never bear another child
after Leila, but she had beaten the odds and proved them wrong when
Amaranth was born.  If my mother beat the odds and put herself at risk for
me, thought Amaranth with renewed determination, I can definitely do the
same for my child . . .

                                | | |

         Amaranth flipped morosely through the pages of her journal and let out
a sad sigh.  It had now been over a year since she'd last conceived, and eleven
months since she'd miscarried.  Her hope dwindled with each passing day, as
the gap from her last pregnancy to now continued to stretch.
         Perhaps it was time to back down . . . She remembered a snatch of
conversation she had overheard that day . . .
         "Well, it really is a shame about our Sultan's wife.  I feel pity for the
poor dear and all, but it is really selfish the way she holds him back from
taking another wife.  In this world, a woman has to learn, that whether she is
royalty or not, she must think of the needs of her husband . . ."
         Amaranth shook her head as if to chase the remembrance out of her
mind.  But perhaps it was true . . . perhaps she should put aside her own
desires for the good of the kingdom . . . Perhaps she should resign herself to
what Allah had chosen for her . . .
         Just then she heard foot-steps, and she turned to find Hamid entering
the chamber.  She beckoned for him to come near and smiled sadly.  "I've
been thinking," she began softly, "about the promise you made me when you
found out I was with child last time . . . the promise not to take another wife."
She took a deep breath before continuing.  "I know what everyone is saying,
that I'm being selfish, that I'm not thinking of the good of the kingdom . . . and
perhaps they're right.  Hamid, our situation is getting desperate.  As much as I
want to give you an heir . . . I . . . I give you my permission to relinquish your
promise.  If you feel it's necessary, you may . . . take another wife."
Amaranth quickly turned her face away to keep Hamid from seeing her
statement.
         She felt his arms quickly close around her body and draw her against
him, but she still couldn't look at him.  "My dear," he whispered into her hair,
"I made that promise for myself as much as for you.  I do not want to take
another wife . . . The very idea is abhorrent to me.  It was very noble of you,
Amaranth, but I could never go through with it."  He reached his hand out to
turn Amaranth's face toward his.  Her eyes were shining with held back tears.
"Whatever Allah may send our way," he said, "we will face it together.
Just the two of us."
         "Oh Hamid," whispered Amaranth.  "Sometimes I feel full of hope, but
other times, like now, I'm afraid my determination has been useless . . . I
would give anything to have a child."
         "Shhh," murmured Hamid.  "Do not worry yourself so; It is in Allah's
hands, my dear.  All in His hands."
 

         Amaranth kept Hamid's words with her and prayed fiercely to her God
that night.  Please, she pleaded, please give me a child.  Only one; that is
all I ask.  I will sacrifice anything for it . . . Anything . . .
         "Anything?" asked an unfamiliar voice, and Amaranth spun to find the
speaker.  She was surprised to find that the voice came from nowhere, and
that she was in a place she'd never seen before.  In fact, it seemed to be
Noplace . . . nothing but a large, empty chamber full of mists and shadows.
         "Anything," answered Amaranth, searching for a place to direct her
words.
         "Amaranth!" This voice she recognized . . . it was Leila.  Amaranth
spun to find her sister, and was immensely relieved to see her familiar face,
even though it was disapproving.  "Do you know what you're saying?" she
continued.  "Amaranth, think about what you're doing for once . . ."
         Her mother and father stood beside Leila.  The Sultana had her
unusually pale face buried in her hands as she silently sobbed.  Her father
had his hands folded over his chest.  He said nothing, but shook his head
sternly, and Amaranth heard his unsaid words.  "Allah will curse your
marriage . . ."
         "Try to understand," she whispered.  "For once, please try to
understand . . ."
         "Anything?" interrupted the unfamiliar voice again.
         "Yes," agreed Amaranth.  "Anything . . ."

         The dream had seemed so real to Amaranth that when she awoke, she
had trouble convincing herself that reality was where she was suppose to be.
She was left afraid when she thought about it, yet eerily hopeful as well.
         By the end of the month, she had discovered that she had conceived
again.
 
 =================================================================
 | Chapter Eight  |

         The news of Amaranth's pregnancy spread more quickly than a
wildfire, and by the time that Hamid made the "official" announcement, half
the kingdom already knew.  Great celebrations were held, and Amaranth went
through a dizzying sense of deja-vu as all the trivialities of her last pregnancy
were repeated.  It left her with feelings of mingled sadness and happiness;
Sadness for what she had lost, and happiness for what she would soon gain.
         But behind the festivities on the surface, Amaranth could sense hidden
doubts and reservations.  Even at banquets celebrating the occasion,
Amaranth caught whispers of, "Do you really think she'll be able to carry it
full term?"  or "I still think we would have been better off if Hamid had taken
another wife.  I sure know I would rest more easily.  This uncertainty is
unbearable!"
         Now, Amaranth found it much easier to shrug off or ignore their
comments than she had before.  Because no matter what they said, she was
positive she would carry her child to birth.  She liked to call it "mother's
instinct", but whatever it was, she knew it wasn't wrong.
         She wrote to Leila immediately in a letter of gushing happiness and
was answered with less enthusiasm, as was expected, on her sister's part.

                                                                        September 21

 Dear Amaranth,
       Well!  I don't know what to say.  You will defy the authorities
no matter where you are or what the subject, won't you, Amaranth?  Of
course, I really didn't expect you to do any differently . . . although a part
of me hoped that for once you would, for your own safety.
     I want to say that I am as happy as you are.  I can tell you the truth
and say that a part of me is.  But there's also a part of me that is scared to
death.  The physicians and midwives warned you.  I do not take their advice
as lightly as you did.  I understand that it's important that you give
Agrabah an heir, but it's also important that you remain strong and well,
Amaranth.  It's important to me . . .
         But what can I do about it now?  I will try to be happy for you.  I
AM trying.  But I have this terrible sick feeling inside me, Amaranth.  I
don't want to scare you, but I'm scaring myself.  It's the same sick feeling
that I had when you left for Agrabah, and I knew I'd never see you in the
same way again . . . I'm really sorry . . . I never should have told you about
that.  I DO want you to be happy.  Please forgive me, Amaranth.  I'm so
sorry . . .

         Amaranth shook her head in confusion at Leila's letter.  Why did she so
profusely apologize for remarks that were only part of her nature?  She
shivered, but didn't allow the feeling to linger.  She was too busy, and too
happy, for that.

                                | | |

         "I had a meeting today with representatives from Pitosah," said Hamid
one evening as he slipped into bed beside his wife.  She opened her eyes and
watched him sleepily as he continued to speak.
         "The Sultana advises an alliance between our children if you bear a
daughter; She'll only have to wait about a month to find out, after all.  Her son
Prince Casimir is eight years old and very impressive.  I thought the idea was
a good one."
         Amaranth bolted to a sitting position and gripped her husband's arm.
"You didn't agree to it, did you?" she asked, over-come with panic similar to
when she'd discovered she was promised to Yahika.
         "No, my dear," said Hamid, surprised by his wife's vehement question.
"I told them that I had to discuss it with you first."
         Amaranth let out a relieved sigh and fell back onto the pillows.  "Tell
them no," she said.
         "Are you sure?  Have you thought of the benefits of--"
         "Have you thought of our child's feelings?" demanded Amaranth.
"Have you thought of the fact that she deserves to marry for love . . . as we
did?  Hamid, I don't want her to have to do what I did.  I don't want her to
betray us the way I betrayed my family, and I don't want her to betray herself
by following wishes she doesn't agree with.  Most of all, I don't want the
wedge driven between us as it has been with me and my family.  Promise me
that you will let her marry whichever prince or sultan she chooses."
         The Sultan was a bit surprised by Amaranth's minor outburst,
especially since she had been unusually mellow for the last few months, so
much so that it worried him at times.  But he smiled at the return of her
spunk, and said, "I'm sorry, my dear.  I should have remembered what you
told me."  He took her hands in his and softly kissed them.  "I thank Allah
that I was blessed with such a wise wife.  Don't worry; I promise that if we
should have a daughter, she will be allowed to choose from among royalty the
husband she wants."
         "Thank you," murmured Amaranth, and with Hamid's vow made, she
could rest easily.
 
 

         Amaranth leisurely strolled through the menagerie which was draped in
all the glorious colors of gold, purple and pink of the sun-set.
         She sighed contentedly as she crouched near her fountain, letting her
fingers brush through the water and distort its glass-like appearance.
         The presence of her baby within her had been felt for months, and
Amaranth surprised herself with the intensity of her feelings of love for it
before it was even born.  She did not feel uncomfortable in her swelling body,
but rather proud, hopeful, and excited.  Each passing hour brought her closer
to that much awaited moment when, for the first time, she would hold her
child in her arms.  She knew the time was near; It would be any day now.
The thought gave her shivers of anticipation mingled with an almost pleasant
fear.
         She was feeling comfortably sentimental tonight, and needed a bit of
time to herself, with no demands, no questions, no conversation.  Just her, her
garden, her thoughts, and her baby.
         A breeze blew, making strands of hair that had come loose from
Amaranth's braid dance in the wind.  The breeze also brought the perfumy
scent of jasmine to Amaranth's nose, and she eagerly breathed in the aroma.
         She followed the scent until she was kneeling beside the patch where it
grew.  She pressed her cheek against the soft petals and let them caress her
face like an old friend.
         The jasmine flower is like a representation of love, she thought to
herself.  It's delicate, and sweet, and best when left to grow free . . . free from
plucking hands and critical eyes.  Free from those who think it useless and
really can't see the beauty hidden within it.  Just as so many people, just as
Jafar and all the advisors, just as my entire family, couldn't see the beauty in
true love.
         Regret and loneliness managed to steal into Amaranth's heart at the
thought of her family.  They were still the only thing missing from her
happiness.  Letters didn't tell enough and made her family seem distant.  A
family should be together . . . a family shouldn't have to communicate through
letters.  When I have a family of my own, thought Amaranth, I will be sure
we never drift apart in that way.  I will learn from my parents' mistake and
accept the fact that my child will have a mind of her own . . .
         Still, she wanted to see her family again soon, but not until after the
baby was born.  She wanted it to be born in the place where it would grow
up.  Amaranth just hoped that that wouldn't be too long to wait.
         A sharp pain jabbed her heart at the remembrance of the letter she'd
received that day from Leila.  It had said that their mother was becoming
increasingly weak, and that she didn't even try to hide her condition any
longer.  Leila's exact words were: I am resigning myself to the fact that her
days are numbered, and I am preparing to say good-bye . . .
         Before Amaranth could dwell on sadness, her thoughts were interrupted
by Hamid's foot-steps.  "Oh, my dear!" he exclaimed. "I should have known
you'd be out here!  Don't you think you ought to come in?  It's getting dark."
         Amaranth stood up.  "Yes," she murmured.  She moved toward Hamid
silently and let her head fall onto his shoulder.  She could feel her heart
beating in time with his.  And she was sure the tiny baby's heart was joined
into the chorus.
         She closed her eyes and realized how awfully exhausted she was.  She
had been terribly fatigued for months, going to bed earlier and still being tired
in the morning and throughout the day.  And it seemed to be getting worse.
        "Let's go inside," she whispered.  "I am tired."
         "Of course," the Sultan murmured, leading her into the palace and up to
their room.  Once there, Amaranth bent to the vase on her night-stand and
inhaled her favorite fragrance one more time before crawling into bed.  As her
eyes began to close involuntarily, she whispered dreamily, "Hamid, if the
baby is a girl, we must name it Jasmine."
 

         Amaranth awoke an hour before dawn with the first pains of her labor.
Mixed fear and happiness flooded through her as she sat up in bed, bent over
Hamid, and shook him until he was awake.
         He rubbed his eyes groggily and blinked up at his wife.  "My dear?" he
asked anxiously, suddenly aware of her reason for waking.  "Tonight?"
         She nodded, a smile on her face, too overwhelmed to say anything.
         Hamid began getting out bed.  "I'll send for the mid-wives
immediately."
         Amaranth touched her husband's arm lightly to keep him from leaving.
"No," she whispered.  "It won't be for a while yet.  Let's spend a few hours
alone in each other's company before we become parents."
         And they did spend the next two hours talking quietly to one another,
but they could speak of nothing save the imminent birth of their child.  They
planned all the things they would do together as a family.  Just the three of
them.

         It was well into morning by the time that two of Agrabah's finest mid-
wives arrived, and Hamid was asked to leave the room as was customary
until the baby was delivered.
         However, after eleven hours of anxious pacing, worrying and waiting,
the young mid-wife's apprentice scurried up to him.  Dropping in a low, hasty
bow that betrayed her anxiety, she rushed, "Your Majesty, your Queen is
asking for you."  She stood from her bow and added quickly, "But it is a
request and not an order.  If you would find yourself uncomfortable in--"
         Hamid didn't hear the rest of her sentence as he rushed by her and
down the hall to his bed-chamber.  There was a female standing watch at the
door.  She dipped her head in respectful acknowledgment to her Sultan and
stepped aside for him to enter the room.
         "Is she all right?" demanded Hamid, just as he was about to open the
door.
         The female glanced away nervously and then looked back at the
Sultan.  "It does not look good," she finally admitted.
         His heartbeat racing with fear, Hamid broke through the large golden
doors and into his bed-chamber.
         Amaranth was laying on the bed, loose strands of hair clinging to her
damp and pale face.  A mid-wife was posted on either side of her.  One held
her hand, and the other stayed at the foot of the bed, supposedly keeping
track of the baby's progress.  A dark blanket covered Amaranth from the
waist down in an effort to conceal the unusually large amount of blood that
was being lost.
         Hamid rushed to her side, and a mid-wife stepped away, allowing him
to grip his wife's clammy hand.  Her eyes looked larger than usual, and her
breathing was unnatural, as if she was still learning to do it.  Although she
said nothing as she looked up at him, Hamid knew by everything about her
that she was in more pain than either of them had anticipated.  He vowed then
that whether the baby was a boy or a girl, it would be their only child.  He
didn't want to see Amaranth go through this again.
         "My dear," he whispered, his voice full of pained concern.  "Is
everything all right?  Is it suppose to take this long?"
         Amaranth managed to smile up at him, and it didn't even look forced.
"I don't know," she admitted, her voice raspy with attempted laughter mixed
with pain.  "This is my first time too."
         Hamid caught tears trembling in her brown eyes and asked, "Are you in
so much pain, Amaranth?"
         "It will be all right," she assured him.  "The sacrifice is worth it for our
child . . ."
         The mid-wives, who were now both at the foot of the bed, exchanged
pained, doubtful expressions.  Hamid tried his hardest to pretend he hadn't
seen them.
         Hamid felt Amaranth grip his hand convulsively, and she squeezed her
eyes shut in silent agony.  "Take it easy, child," murmured the older mid-wife
soothingly.  "Please, don't strain yourself . . ."  She glanced at her companion
and again Hamid caught the look exchanged between them.  Fear gripped his
heart.  By Allah, something was wrong.  Something was terribly wrong . . .
         His gaze swung back to his wife.  She was letting out a long, shaky
breath, and he was sure her face was draining just as quickly as her lungs.
"God, I'm tired," she whispered.  "I'm so tired . . . How close is the baby to
being born?"
         "Soon child," said the older mid-wife quickly . . . too quickly.  "It will
all be over very soon."
         The younger mid-wife looked away as if afraid to meet her patient's
gaze.  "Would you like me to light the lamps?" she asked, beating the silence
that was bound to swallow them.
         "No," answered Amaranth.  "The glow from the sun-set is enough."
 Again her hand gripped Hamid's, the mid-wife fed her soothing words,
and her eyes closed.  But the energy she was using this time wasn't even close
to what she had used the time before . . .
         "Just a little harder, child," whispered the mid-wife, trying to cover the
anxiety in her voice with encouragement.  "Push just a little harder."
         Hamid saw Amaranth put her entire soul into it, saw the pain it caused,
and then saw Amaranth's face flood with profound relief.  She even smiled
weakly and asked, "The child?  Is it all right?"
         Hamid gave the mid-wives a look of surprise.  Had the child been
born?  He saw the younger sadly draw a tiny, wet person from beneath the
blanket.  Even for a new-born, the baby was too small; her skin was too pale,
and instead of healthy wails, the only sound that escaped her throat were half-
hearted, shivery whimpers.
         "A girl," whispered the mid-wife, but there was not happiness in her
voice.  After the life cord had been cut, she quickly wrapped the baby tightly
in blankets and looked ready to leave.
         Amaranth, as if she hadn't noticed the room's heavy atmosphere, smiled
at her husband.  "Jasmine," she whispered.
         "Yes."  Hamid could barely get his voice out as he watched his wife.
She looked too worn out . . . He couldn't bring himself to say a word about
his doubts for the baby's life.  Just as he thought it, he saw Amaranth's eyes
slowly close.  His heart stopped as he realized, for the first time, that it wasn't
suppose to be like this; his wife's life was dangling by a thread.  And at the
moment, she was more important to him than the shivering, sickly child.
"Amaranth," he whispered.
         To his immense relief her moist eyes opened.  "I want to hold her," she
whispered.  "Don't let the mid-wife take her from the room before I get to
hold her."
         Hamid looked to the mid-wife who was clutching his daughter to her
chest.  She shook her head.  "The child is not healthy," she whispered, as if
afraid of being over-heard.  "If she isn't attended to immediately . . . And even
if she is, I'm afraid we will . . ."
         "Let Amaranth hold her!" commanded Hamid, surprised at the force of
his own voice.  Yet something inside him knew that this was important, too
important to think about.  He had to go completely by his feelings.
         Reluctantly, the mid-wife obeyed her Sultan and slowly approached the
Queen.  She extended her arms and the new-born baby was placed within.
Immediately, Amaranth pulled the child against her and lowered her eyes to
look into its tiny face.  She glanced up at Hamid.  "She's beautiful, isn't she?"
she murmured.  "And she will be very strong."
         Hamid forced himself to smile, even though his focus was blurred with
tears.  He couldn't bring himself to disagree with Amaranth's words, couldn't
bring himself to say that he doubted the child would still be alive the next
morning . . . "Yes," he finally managed to croak.  "She will be perfect,
Amaranth."
         "My Queen," said the young mid-wife timidly.  "I must wash the child."
         Hesitantly, almost fearfully, Amaranth let the mid-wife take the child
from her.  Her tear-filled eyes stayed focused on the woman until she had
closed the large bedroom door behind her.  "Always let Jasmine know," she
said, her voice hardly audible, "that I loved her.  Let her know that I loved her
more than I've loved anyone.  And Hamid, let her know that I was never
sorry."
         "Amaranth, my dear, please . . ." His voice cracked, but he forced
himself to continue, "Please don't talk that way.  Child-birth has left you
weary, but once you have rested--"
         "No," interrupted Amaranth quietly.  "It's all right, Hamid.  A part of me
always knew . . ."  Her eyes suddenly seemed to change, become deeper and
distant, as if she was looking at something that no one had ever before seen.
"I've always thought," she whispered, her voice as distant as her eyes, as if
the words weren't even coming from her mouth, "that the worst thing about
flowers, was that even the most beautiful ones have to fade and die . . ."
         "No . . . Amaranth . . ." Hamid's voice broke, and he felt Amaranth's
hand go completely limp in his own.
         The desert sun had finally set behind the horizon.  The room was
enveloped in darkness.
 

         Hamid couldn't sleep in his own room that night.  In fact, he couldn't
sleep at all.  He spent hours alone in a luxurious council chamber, trying to
find a reason to go on living.
         "Only two years ago," he murmured to himself, "you were no more
than a Princess from a kingdom that would make a good alliance with
Agrabah.  You were a name with no face, no personality . . . Until I saw you .
. . I fell in love with you right away, Amaranth.  I'm not sure I ever told you
that . . ."  His voice broke and he raised tear-filled eyes to the large portrait of
his recently deceased wife hanging over a fire-place mantel.  Hamid had
always thought she smiled so sweetly in that painting . . . but now the smile
was not her own at all.  The painted eyes that had once seemed to sparkle
were simply dull brown coloring.  Her perfect composure added to the
portrait's lifelessness.
         The portrait was nothing but a pathetic imitation, a futile effort to
capture something that could never be caught, a fruitless attempt at making a
piece of canvas come alive.  But it hadn't come alive at all.  The Amaranth of
the painting continued to smile, while the Amaranth that Hamid loved so
dearly had left his world forever.  It was as if the painting was mocking him,
taunting him, reminding him of what he would never have again.
         "You didn't have to do that, Amaranth!" he angrily cried at the portrait.
"You didn't have to give your own life to give Agrabah an heir.  I already
loved you enough . . . You'd already given me all I ever wanted . . . I wish
you had listened.  I wish you hadn't been so noble . . . I wish I hadn't loved
you so much, because then I wouldn't hurt so terribly inside . . ."  He fell to
the floor, consumed in violent sobs.  He couldn't remember ever crying like
this before, couldn't remember ever hurting so badly.
         The worst part was that Amaranth's sacrifice had been completely in
vain.  It had been hours since his daughter's birth, and he hadn't heard a word
from anyone.  He remembered too well her pale skin, her weak voice, her
unhealthy scrawniness . . . He wouldn't even allow himself to hope she was
still alive.
         At least Amaranth will have company in paradise, he thought sadly.
But what does that leave me?
         He felt a gentle hand on his shoulder.  "My Lord."  It was the voice of
Levi, and Hamid looked up to see his youngest advisor's concerned face.
"Are you going to be all right?  Is there anything I can do?"
         Hamid turned his face away from the youth.  Although Levi was the
same age as the Sultan, Hamid suddenly felt so much older.  He felt as if
there was nothing left in his life worth doing, as if the best part of who he was
had died with Amaranth and . . . Jasmine.
         "Yes," he finally answered, reminding himself that despite everything,
he was still the Sultan, and his subjects would still look to him to lead them as
they had before.  "I want the portraits of Amaranth removed from all the walls
in the palace."
         Levi gave him a questioning look but did not ask for an explanation.
He moved forward to take the large painting over the fire-place down.
         "And I want my bed-chambers moved to the east wing," he continued.
"But . . . I want the portraits left in there.  Leave the other bed-chamber
exactly the way it is . . . and hire the best gardeners to look after the
menagerie . . ."  His voice trailed off and he added wearily, "And do whatever
else you see fitting, Levi."
         "Yes, my Lord," the young vizier murmured, silently leaving Hamid
alone.
         Hamid forced himself to stand up and walked slowly over to where
pillows were scattered on the floor.  He sat down on them and placed his
head in his hands.  How was he ever going to go on living?  How could he
face thousands more days just like this one . . . completely alone?
         A quiet knock on the door jerked him abruptly out of his dismal
thoughts.  Running his hand over his haggard face, he murmured, "Come in."
         The young mid-wife entered timidly, holding a tiny, almost shapeless
bundle in her arms.  "Excuse me," she said softly.  "I do not mean to interrupt
you at this sensitive time, but I thought perhaps . . . you would like to see . . .
your daughter."
         Hamid tried to quell the hope that had begun to flutter within his heart.
Surely, that couldn't mean what he wished it did . . . But even as he thought
this, the warm bundle was passed into his outstretched arms.  He held the
baby against his chest, and through her blanket and his own robes, he could
feel the tiny rhythm of her breathing.
         Hesitantly, he touched the silky black fuzz of hair on her head and
brushed soft strands away from her fore-head.  She made tiny squeaking
sounds, almost like a kitten, and shifted her position in Hamid's arms.
         "I have already hired a nurse for her," said the mid-wife, breaking the
silence.  "The little thing really is a fighter.  We were ready to give up on her,
but she definitely had different ideas . . . She pulled through the hours of dark
uncertainty as if she knew how much we needed her.  I've never believed that
babies this young could have determination, but your daughter has proved me
wrong.  She was going to live no matter how much we doubted her."
         Hamid smiled sadly at the mid-wife.  "Well," he said, "she is
Amaranth's daughter.  How could we expect her to give up without a fight?
Amaranth never would . . ."
         "I'll leave the two of you alone for a while," she said, and then she
inconspicuously backed out of the room.
         Hamid's gaze rested on his daughter's delicate face.  A strange pride
and nostalgic happiness joined his sorrow, so that he felt his heart was too full
of emotion.  Tears gathered in his eyes once again, and he whispered, "I
should have known better than to doubt you, Amaranth.  I should have known
you would never leave me completely."

==================================================================

| Chapter Nine |

         Leila brushed furiously at the tears in her eyes as she dipped her quill
into the ink bottle on her desk.  She hated crying!  But there was something
terrible that had to be expelled from her heart, and she didn't know how else
she could do it.  With a shaking hand, she began to write.

                                                                                                     March 20
 Dear Amaranth,
      I hate to write these words to you and know that I will be the
one to deliver sorrow.  Yet, even more, I hate the idea of some
inconsiderate messenger giving you the note without sensitivity to the
matter.
     Last evening, when the sun was about to set, our mother breathed
her last breaths.  I know I should not mourn her, for she is in Paradise
now, and her life was getting so painful and difficult to live.  But it's so
hard to accept the fact that she's truly gone, Amaranth.

         A soft knock on the door stilled Leila's hand, and she tried her best to
erase any sign of mourning from her face and composure.  "Come in," she
invited coolly.
         The door opened, allowing a messenger to enter.  His face was pale
and etched with lines of worry and sorrow.  Trying to conceal his anxiety, he
passed a sealed envelope to Leila and murmured, "A message from Agrabah,
Your Majesty."
         "Thank you," said Leila.  She bid the messenger to leave and began to
fumble with the sealing wax on the envelope.  She read the letter once, and
then once again, and again, feeling as if she was in some sort of horrible
nightmare.

 Dear Princess Leila, beloved sister of Queen Amaranth:
      It is with the heaviest of hearts that I inform you of our
kingdom's greatest sorrow.  On the evening of March 17, our Queen
entered Paradise.  Child-birth was too much for her young body, and she
bled to death on the child-bed moments after delivering a beautiful
daughter: Princess Jasmine.
     However, let us not dwell on this sorrow, but instead rejoice in the
blessing of a healthy and beautiful child.  Allah in His infinite mercy has
left this precious reminder of our young Queen.
                             Sincerely,
                                     Jamal, advisor to Sultan Hamid

         Feelings boiled inside of Leila that she had never experienced and
hoped she never would again.  She wanted to scream so loudly that her voice
lost all its power, she wanted to hate Allah for taking Amaranth, she wanted
to attack Jamal for calling Jasmine's birth a blessing.
         A blessing!  That child had caused the death of her sister!  Suddenly a
rage was burning inside of Leila, a rage and hatred that was more intense than
anything she'd ever felt.  She quickly allowed herself to be swallowed by this
feeling, for it was so much easier to blame someone else than to fall into the
clutches of despair.
         She tore the message into tiny pieces, wishing she had a million more
just so she could destroy them.  Her sister was gone!  Her sister was gone
because an unworthy suitor had stolen her away from her home and let her go
through with child-bearing when she knew she wasn't strong enough.
         "Jasmine," murmured Leila contemptuously, and the name tasted like
acid in her mouth.  "A curse disguised as a blessing.  But I won't overlook the
truth.  I won't forget the fact that you killed my sister . . . and by Allah, I wish
there was some way I could make you pay!  I want you to know what you
did, and I want you to hurt for it!  And if I have any say in it, you will . . . you
heartless murderer . . ."
 

         Amaranian's face, usually sternly composed, was, for the first time in
years, twisted in unbearable sorrow.  His wife and his youngest daughter had
left him within the same week . . . Why had fate so cruelly planned against
him?
         Slowly, he approached a portrait of Amaranth hanging beside his bed.
It was beside a portrait of Leila, and another of Lily.  The three people he had
loved most in his life . . . and only one remained.
         "Oh Amaranth," he whispered, hoping that wherever she was, she
could hear him.  "I was so wrong . . . I was so wrong that I hate myself.
Allah did not curse you; It was I He bestowed His curse upon, for I am the
one in so much sorrow.  And I deserved it . . . I tried to take your freedom,
made you feel guilty for loving, tried to force your young heart to give up its
Spirit.  Thank Allah I didn't succeed . . . I pray that your last years were
happy ones.  Oh, Amaranth . . . my daughter . . ."
         He lowered his head, suddenly feeling so much older than he was, and
his shoulders shook in sobs.  "Allah forgive me . . ."
         Forgiveness.  For the first time Amaranian realized how important it
was.  He had never stopped loving Amaranth; If that had happened, he
wouldn't be feeling so much pain now.  But he hadn't forgiven her, and if he
had done that, his heart wouldn't be so heavy with guilt and self-loathing.
         She had loved Hamid!  She had really loved him . . . Why hadn't he
ever acknowledged it?  Why couldn't he accept that he couldn't control his
daughter's emotions?
         He raised his eyes again to his daughter's ever-smiling portrait.  "I
forgive you," he whispered.  "I know my forgiveness came too late, but I
mean it more now than I ever would have before . . ."
         Tears began to course down his cheeks, and he brushed them away
with his faintly wrinkled hand.  "Someday," he murmured, "I will know
Amaranth's daughter.  And I will never make the same mistakes again . . ."
 

         Yahika felt his brother's strong hand on his shoulder.  "I'm sorry,"
Jameen murmured.  "I know how much she meant to you."
         Nodding, Yahika ran over all the years he and Amaranth had spent
together, everything they'd done, laughed at, cried over.  Even though she was
gone, even though she hadn't loved him the way he'd wanted her to, nothing
could ever take those precious memories from him.  And thank Allah for that.
They were all he had left.
         Tears were gathering in Yahika's eyes, but he didn't try to resist them.
He raised his face to that of his older brother.  "I never told her . . ." he
whispered, his voice filled with pained regret. "I know it wouldn't have made
a difference.  She loved Hamid, Jameen.  I knew her well enough to see that
immediately . . . But if I could do it all over again, even knowing I couldn't
change the outcome, I would have told her that I . . . how I felt.  Just to make
sure she knew.  Because I know I'll never feel that way again . . ."

==================================================================
| Chapter Ten |

         Jasmine let out a high squeal of giggles as she scampered after Tiger,
chasing him around the large courtyard of the menagerie.
         "Careful with the kitty, Dearest!" warned the Sultan, but there was no
reproach in his voice.  Tiger may have been a bit annoyed, but he was
otherwise safe.  The sound of his daughter's laughter outweighed the cat's
irritation in Hamid's eyes, so he allowed her to continue her game.
         She had become the center of Hamid's life, had given him a reason to
go on living after Amaranth was gone.  She didn't replace the spot in his heart
that had once been her mother's, but it didn't feel like such a gaping hole
anymore either.
         In only a few months, Jasmine would have her second birthday . . . and
it would be the second anniversary of Amaranth's death.  The coinciding dates
forever reminded Hamid of the price paid for his happiness.  But he didn't
resent this; In fact, it kept Amaranth from drifting too far from his memory,
and he liked that.  He certainly wasn't ready to give her up, despite the painful
emptiness he still occasionally felt when he thought too long upon things he
could never change.
         Several months earlier, when Jasmine had just begun toddling around
the palace, she had stumbled into her father's bed-chamber.  There, her young
eyes had been captivated by the brightly colored portrait of her mother, one of
the only remaining paintings of Amaranth still on the walls.  She had smiled
and pointed, looking at Hamid with a look that said both, "Look what I
found!" and "What is it?"
         It was then that Hamid had realized that one day, Jasmine would
realize there was a part of her life missing . . . a part that he didn't want her to
be denied.  So after she had been distracted from the room, he had his own
portrait of Amaranth removed as well.  He didn't want her to come upon it
when she was older and demand an explanation; He wasn't sure he could ever
tell his daughter the cause of his wife's death.
         Jasmine's laughter continued to dance in the air, halting Hamid's
wandering thoughts. She was bobbing toward her father on chubby and
dimpled brown legs.  Tiger was held, squirming miserably, in her small arms.
"Kit-ty!" she pronounced triumphantly, holding the cat out toward Hamid.
         "That's right, my Dear," said Hamid.  He carefully rescued Tiger from
Jasmine's childish embrace and plunked him down on the stone floor.  "Let's
pet the kitty, Jasmine.  Like this."  He began running his hands over Tiger's
fur, and a deep rumble issued from his throat.
         Jasmine's tiny hands mimicked her father's, and she raised her smiling
face to Hamid's.  Neither of them said anything, but it felt as if they had some
wonderful, unspoken secret.
         The moment was broken by the sound of approaching footsteps, and
Hamid turned his head to see Levi walking toward him.  Jasmine had
scampered off again, and the young vizier, carefully watching her,
commented, "She's going to by quite a beauty some day, Your Majesty."
         Hamid smiled.  "She already is, Levi."
         Jasmine was now bending daintily over a pink flower, brushing the tip
of her nose carefully over the petals, and smiling at the scent that greeted her.
She ran playfully to another flower, and another, like a busy little butterfly,
exploring everything within her reach.
         With a feeling of nostalgic happiness, Hamid remembered, once again,
Amaranth's last words; I've always thought that the worst thing about
flowers, is that even the most beautiful have to fade and die . . .
         The line had once brought Hamid to tears every time he thought of it,
but it didn't anymore.  For Hamid now realized that when a flower faded it
didn't just leave barren dirt behind.  Instead, it left seeds; seeds that ensured
that another beautiful creation could bloom in its place.

{The End{
 
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