“Wasim—”
“This conversation is over, Imani,” he said in a harder tone, all softness disappearing from his face. “I want you to rest and let me worry about what has to be done next. I’ve already contacted your family in Zamibia to let them know that you are back safely. The communication secretary will issue a statement about everything that happened, including those involved. There is nothing more for you to do.”
He stood and walked out the door.
28
Wasim sat on a raised dais in The Great Hall of Appeals with male scribes and secretaries on either side of him capturing the decisions made after each applicant came to plead their case.
A few weeks had passed since Imani had been found, and there were times when he still couldn’t sleep through the night. He sometimes woke multiple times, gathering her closer during each instance, no matter how close she already was. He’d increased her security and her social secretary was now required to send a copy of her daily itinerary to his assistant and any changes, no matter how minor, had to be updated immediately. He could tell that his insistence on keeping track of her every move was endearing at first but now wore on Imani’s nerves. He didn’t care. She’d have to deal with his paranoia until he got back to normal.
The next person to enter The Great Hall of Appeals was unexpected.
Wasim tensed at the sight of his sister, barefoot, holding her newborn son in her arms. She wore a white shayla on her head and walked meekly toward him instead of with the proud stride of the princess she was. She’d chosen to come to him this way because he hadn’t accepted any of her correspondence and had refused to meet with her about Farouk. He didn’t want to listen to her plead the case of the man who’d jeopardized the life of his family and almost thrown the entire kingdom into chaos.
The past few weeks had taken a toll on them all, but her in particular. Her husband had been involved in the kidnapping and now sat in a prison cell, awaiting final justice.
She stopped in front of him and lowered to her knees on the cushioned bench below him. “Good morning Wasim, Your Excellency, King of Barrakesch.”
His lips tightened in anger. Not at her, but at the position Farouk had forced them all into. Akmal had been devastated. Their younger siblings had been disappointed and disillusioned because they admired him and looked up to him as an older brother. Malak was confused about why he couldn’t play with his father and hadn’t seen him in a long time because Yasmin didn’t want him to see his father behind bars. And Wasim himself grieved the loss of their friendship.
“Please state your name for the record,” Wasim said. Yasmin did and then he asked, “Why have you come here today?”
“I’ve come to plead for leniency for my husband.”
She gave his full name, the nature of the crime, and the expected judgment. She swallowed and then reminded Wasim of how long he’d known Farouk and knew his true heart. She pointed out that he was a member of the family and had simply gotten in over his head. At his core, he was a good man, generous and loved by many. She gave examples of his kindness and presented letters of thanks he’d received over the years from people to whom he’d given money, paid off bills, or given a job.
Finally, with tears in her eyes, Yasmin said, “Spare his life, please. If not for him, then for me and our children. We will carry the shame of his actions forever, but don’t take him away from us—from them. We both know what it’s like to lose a parent at a young age.”
That last sentence sank deep into his heart. The sudden loss of their mother had devastated them both. Though they eventually recovered, he remembered the confusion he felt when his father explained that their mother was gone. That she would never sing to him again, stroke his hair, or shower him with affectionate kisses.
Then he remembered Imani’s words to him the morning she was found. Her willingness to forgive and concern for his sister and her children while she should be concerned about herself after being the victim of a major crime.
Wasim’s hand balled into a fist on his thigh. “I will spare his life.”
Yasmin’s shoulders collapsed and she closed her eyes.
“But he must leave Barrakesch for good.”
Her eyes flew open. “Wasim, please…”
“That is non-negotiable.” He hated the thought of depriving his nephews of their father, but he hated what Farouk had done even more. “He took the most important people in my life. Because of greed.”
“Not greed. He—” She shut down immediately when his eyes narrowed in anger. They were siblings, but she owed him the respect of his position in The Great Hall of Appeals.
He continued. “They could have been hurt. Anything could have happened. Those were the longest hours of my life. I aged fifty years with worry and I still worry. He must be punished, and I am being very generous. This is my ruling.”
That last sentence indicated the scribes should start recording.
“Within forty-eight hours, he must turn over all business property and holdings to the kingdom and leave the country, never to return. If he sets foot on Barrakeschi soil again for any reason, he will be executed. He should also keep track ofmymovements, because if I see him anywhere, in any country in the world—I will kill him. For the rest of his life, he should carry the knowledge that his life is worthless to me, and if I ever set eyes on him, he is a dead man. Is that ruling to your satisfaction?”
The question was rhetorical. No one had ever argued with a king on his ruling. Once you’d pleaded your case and the king gave an answer, that answer was final.
“Yes, Your Excellency,” Yasmin said.
“Good. He should thank Allah that my heart has softened enough to spare his life. But I will never. Ever. Forgive him.”
“I understand. Thank you.”
