Chapter Sixty-Nine

Beyla had nothing to wear other than the clothes provided for her by the woman she viewed as her jailer. Day after day she was locked in her room with nothing to read and a lack of anything to occupy her hands. There wasn’t even a view other than miles of empty sand stretching to the far horizon.

The city was the gateway to Araby. Known as Damask it had its fair share of roses, cultivated with care by a figure down below. Because of the all-covering hooded garment it was difficult to tell if the person were male or female. She sniffed the aroma of the latest vased flowers. They were replenished each day, but failed to lift her spirits if that had been the intention of the provider.

She suspected it was Kaan, though she hadn’t seen him since the day before yesterday.

That had been an enlightening encounter. King Harald was dead, she had learned, while she herself was now a widow. It scarcely seemed real.

“Have you changed your mind about the importance of a treaty?” she dared to ask.

H