It sounded so easy. Deceiving their parents. And though Amira had never before told them a really big lie, she found she was ready to begin. “What about you? Are you coming with me?”

Malik shook his head. “Too suspicious. I’ll stay out for another hour or so. I can always say I was with my friends.” He smiled, though his face was still sad. “It’s different for me, you know that.”

Amira knew. Malik was supposed to be enjoying his summer holiday, and even if he stayed out all night, Father wouldn’t really mind. As she opened the car door, Malik reached over and took her hand. “I’ve made a promise, Little Sister. To myself and to Allah. Now, I make it to you: Never again will I be powerless. Never will I be too weak to save someone I love. Remember that.”

A short time later, Amira was in her own bed. Though the grime of the prison lingered on her skin—she didn’t dare risk a shower—her nightgown was clean and crisp, her sheets fragrant with lavender. I'll never be able to sleep, she thought. If I close my eyes, I’ll see Laila’s face—and that terrible prison cell.

Yet, Amira did sleep, deeply, dreamlessly, not to open her eyes till the Sudanese servant, Bahia, shook her awake. “I brought you a tray,” she said with a conspiratorial smile that glinted with gold. On the tray was a steaming pot of tea, some toasted bread, a dish of olives, and a round of white cheese.

“Thank you, Bahia. And thank you for—”

“Hush, child. The less you say, the less I’ll know, the less I’ll have to answer for.”

“And Malik—is he still asleep, too?”

“Oh, no, your brother was in the kitchen when I woke. From the look of him, he didn’t sleep at all. But what do I know?” Again the conspiratorial smile. “He’s with your father now, in the big study. With the door closed.”

Amira bolted up in bed. Something important was going on. It had to do with the baby, she was sure of that. But what on earth could Malik be discussing with Father? Ignoring her breakfast, she gave herself a perfunctory wash. After running a comb hastily through her thick raven hair, she dressed quickly and ran downstairs.

The study door was indeed closed. Amira put her ear to it, but all she could hear was the rumble of male voices. Did she dare? She did.

Holding her breath, she turned the knob, gently, gently, then pushed, just a little. There was a creak. Amira froze. But the conversation continued.