“It was absolutely necessary, Highness, I’m sorry to say.” “Not your fault. God’s will.”

Konyali inclined his head to acknowledge the profound truth in her remark. “Your husband is waiting to see you, Highness. I’ve told him that we can allow him only a few minutes.”

Did her fear show? Philippe was studying her intently. Yes, he knew. “I hope you won’t mind if I look in on your patient now and then, Dr. Konyali,” he said. “By all means, doctor. After all, she’s your patient as much as mine.” Philippe winked at her. “I’ll be nearby, Highness. Nurse Rabia can find me any time.”

He was gone before she could say good-bye. Konyali followed after giving brief instructions to Rabia. Then, suddenly, Ali was there. Rabia stood and moved toward the door.

“No, stay, Rabia, it’s all right.”

The nurse looked at her oddly. “I’ll be just down the hall, Highness. Please, Highness sir, only a few minutes. The doctor requests it.” “Of course.”

As the door closed behind Rabia, Ali stepped forward. Amira fought an impulse to scream. Then her husband did the most astonishing thing: he fell to his knees beside the bed and kissed her fingertips.

“Thank God! Thank God for delivering you! It’s my fault. I would never have forgiven myself. If I’d been a proper husband, you’d never have done such a crazy thing.”

“What are you talking about?”

“Why, the accident, of course. You should see the car.” Had he gone mad? Had she?

“No car.”

“What?”

“I wasn’t in a car.”

He patted her hand. “I shouldn’t have come so soon. Rest, my dear. I’ll be back tomorrow. I promise you, things will be different from now on. Very different.”

Was it some kind of extreme guilt reaction? Had he blanked out the truth? Did he simply lack courage to admit what he had done? Or was it something else?

He smiled at her from the door. And there—just there, behind his dark eyes—something flickered, glinting like other eyes entirely, the eyes of an animal in the night. Then it was gone. But she had seen it—and it had seen her.

She was too weak for more fear. None of it made sense, anyway. She was asleep within seconds of Rabia’s return.

O

For two days, Amira hardly moved. She was too weak and in too much pain. On the third morning, Rabia helped her sit up on the edge of the bed, and late that afternoon, she took a few steps, feeling like a very old woman or a very young child. That same day, Dr. Konyali removed most of the bandages from her face, and after considerable foot-dragging, Rabia finally produced a mirror.

Amira gasped when she saw her reflection. Her face, still swollen, was virtually a single bruise, which had turned a sickly yellowish purple. Adhesive tape still hid her nose. A black ladder of stitches crawled down her forehead from the hairline. Her left eye was almost fully open but grotesquely bloodshot.