“Hush, Amira. Shame on you!” Turning to the old woman, Malik apologized. “I beg your pardon, Um Salih. Sometimes my little sister forgets her manners.”

The midwife inclined her head slightly, a gesture worthy of a royal princess. “As I was saying, sir, my niece gave birth only yesterday, but alas, her child—the baby boy we left at the prison—did not survive. A sadness of long standing … she and her husband have tried for many years to have a child. But let me assure you my niece is otherwise strong and healthy. This baby will have the best of milk and the best of care, I assure you.”

“I’ll come for her as soon as I can. It may be a few months, it may be a year. But don’t worry, you’ll be taken care of, you and your family, for as long as I live.” “Everything will be as you wish, sir. You have nothing to fear from your poor servant.”

Amira knew that was true. Malik would keep his word, she was sure of that. But even if something happened, if his gold stopped coming, Um Salih could never tell the story of what had just taken place in al-Masagin prison. If she did, the first word would be worth her life.

It was time to leave, but Malik’s gaze lingered lovingly on his sleeping daughter.

“Would you care to hold her, sir?” The midwife reached into the basket, picked up the baby, and placed her in the crook of Malik’s arm.

He held her in silence, his dark eyes glistening.

Amira and the midwife were quiet, too, as if by mutual agreement, while father and daughter shared their first communion under a sheltering desert sky.

Later, as Malik and Amira drove away, he said, “I mean it, you know. She’ll be my sun and moon and stars.” Amira studied her brother’s face. It seemed older, more rugged, than it had a few short months ago. The tears in his eyes had spilled onto his cheeks. But Malik never cried, she thought, not even when they were little.

After another silence, he said, “It can’t be in al-Remal, of course. I’ll be in exile, an expatriate. I don’t know if I’ll ever come back.” He looked at her penetratingly. “Someday you may have to make the same decision.”

As they approached the gate to their home, Malik cut the motor. “Go around to the back. The door will be open. I’ve arranged it with Bahia. She loves you, Amira … she wouldn’t even take the money I offered. Go to her room down- stairs. That way no one will hear you. She’ll have a nightgown waiting. Change there and then go to your room. If someone wakes up, say you couldn’t sleep. Bahia will back your story.”