Chapter 22: A Difficult Decision

By midday, the reception hall is prepared. The Bey sits on his cushioned dais, with his attendants arranged around him and guards posted at the doors. The French envoy enters with a small retinue, dressed in dark wool and carrying documents sealed with wax. Madeleine recalls once seeing him among the French king’s courtiers.

Madeleine watches from the screened balcony above; a place where women can observe without being seen. Her breath trembles. She recognizes the envoy’s accent and his mannerisms. The way he speaks her language reminds her of her old world. Her lost world.

The envoy presents the Bey with a list of names of French captives taken by corsairs over the past decade. The Bey listens with polite detachment, while the envoy negotiates ransom values, and discusses political alliances. The Bey listens politely, weighing profit against diplomacy.

Madeleine’s listens while the the envoy reads the list of names. Her name isn’t on the list. Of course it isn’t. She was taken quietly, sold quickly, and absorbed into the kasbah without any attempt at ransom, as Jeannia had deduced. Madeleine’s fanciful thoughts that a ransom had been demanded, but her family was unable or unwilling to pay it, were simply a dream.

But the envoy’s presence alone cracks open a door she thought was sealed forever. Freedom, or at least the possibility and the danger of it. Madeleine clutches Yasmin closer, her heart pounding. She listens to the negotiations for a short while before retiring to the women’s quarters.

Later, when the envoy is escorted through the kasbah, he passes near the courtyard. Madeleine sits in the shade of an orange tree, Yasmin asleep in her arms. Had Madeleine been aware that the envoy was still here, she would have avoided the courtyard. Perhaps it’s the bracelet’s subtle influence on her mind that has nudged Madeleine into this encounter.

The envoy sees her and he stops suddenly. His eyes widen in recognition.

“Madeleine ... de Brissac?”

Her breath stops. She freezes, unable to speak, or move.

He steps closer, stunned. “It is you. Dieu ... we were told that you were dead.”

Madeleine’s knees weaken and her world tilts. She feels Yasmin’s warm weight against her chest, anchoring her, and pulling her back from the edge of collapse. The envoy looks at her with disbelief, then with pity when he sees her swollen belly, and finally with determination.

“I can negotiate your release,” he says softly. “I can take you home.”

Home. The word hits her like a blow. She swallows hard, her voice barely a whisper. “I ... I don’t...”

She cannot finish. She cannot imagine leaving Yasmin. Leaving Khalid and Amina. Leaving the life she has built from the ashes of her trauma. But she also cannot imagine remaining as a slave in the kasbah.

The envoy bows his head. “I will be here for a few days. Think carefully.”

He leaves. Madeleine sits alone in the courtyard, trembling as she clutches Yasmin as though the child were the only solid thing left in the world. She summons me.

I appear beside her, invisible to others, visible only to her.

“Madeleine,” I whisper. “Breathe.”

She does with difficulty. Her voice breaks and she repeats her earlier question.