Author's Preface
Hayat left her tent early that morning and, settling into her palanquin, set off for her late mother's tribe. She brought only a handful of guards with her — just enough to keep up appearances.
She knew this road. Knew raiders sometimes worked it. That knowledge was exactly what her plan rested on: if her watcher had refused to show himself all this time on his own, she'd have to create a situation where staying hidden was no longer an option. The risk was real, but she had no other choice. She needed to know who was tracking her every move.
She held her own in a fight — a rarity for a woman in their world, where daughters, valued like gold, were usually kept far from that kind of training. Her father had been the exception. Carrying out his secret errands, she'd learned early that if she couldn't defend herself one day, she'd simply be taken. So she'd learned.
The plan worked exactly as intended. Raiders hit the caravan the moment it pushed deep into the sand. Watching through a gap in the curtain, Hayat counted the attackers — far too many — against her own guards, who were painfully few.
She waited, tense. If her watcher had really been tailing her all these weeks, he needed her alive far more than dead. He'd show himself.
Darim, crouched behind a ridge of rock nearby, felt cold dread settle in his chest. Hayat's guard was too thin. Curse her stubbornness, he thought. Hadn't she considered the raiders on this road at all? And if she died — what then?
He remembered: these past weeks had worn down whatever suspicion he'd carried about her. Seyyida Amina and Seyyida Halima were genuinely close to her now, and beyond a handful of old, petty schemes, nothing truly dangerous had ever turned up.
The decision made itself. He had to save her.
Pulling cloth over his face, Darim broke from cover and threw himself into the fight.
Hayat, watching the battle unfold, felt a flicker of doubt — had her plan failed after all? Then she spotted him: a tall man, face covered, tearing through the attackers with a speed that bordered on frightening.
Clever, she thought, noting the care he'd taken to hide his identity. He fought with a skill that went well past anything a passerby would have — this was a man trained for combat since childhood.
Which of Father's enemies could fight like that? She ran through names in her head, watching the fight with sharp, hungry attention.
The raiders, beaten and disarmed, were bound soon after — with the very ropes they'd brought to take the caravan captive. A bitter kind of irony, Hayat thought, watching it happen.
Her guards, shaking off the shock, began climbing back to their feet.
When the stranger turned to slip away unnoticed, Hayat called out from the palanquin.
"Wait. Who are you?"
He froze.
"I'd like to thank you," she said, keeping her voice even despite the curiosity hammering in her chest. "You saved me."
Darim went still for only a moment — then vanished into the rocks as quietly as he'd appeared, without a single word.
Hayat watched him go, letting out a frustrated breath.
Blast it, she thought. Who was he? Her plan had failed. Again.
While Hayat pondered the mystery of her savior, excitement was already sweeping through the settlement. The announcement was made: the future Seyyida was pregnant.
The news was met with pure, unclouded joy. But what struck people most wasn't the pregnancy itself — it was how fast it had come.
Not even a year and a half since the wedding, and the Seyyida already carried a child. For their people, that was unheard of. Women here rarely conceived quickly — usually a century, sometimes two, passed after marriage before it happened. Even conceiving fifty years into a marriage would have counted as remarkable luck here, worthy of its own celebration.
And this — barely a year and a half.
Whispers moved through the settlement, thick with awe. Was it true, then — was the old blessing really returning? Would the future Seyyida finally be the one to heal the wound their people had carried for a thousand years — the endless shortage of daughters?
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