Crystal Doors #3: Sky Realm (No. 3) by Kevin J. Anderson, Rebecca Moesta Page A

money the Grand Vizier earns goes toward housing and educating orphans in the poorer parts of the city and ensuring that no one starves to death or lacks for honest work to do.” Sharif’s expression reflected genuine admiration. “Jabir does not wish the Sultan of Irrakesh to spend one coin less on the people of our city in the mistaken belief that everyone is already looked after. He realizes, as I do, that there is still much to do for our people. As the wise ones say, ‘A caring heart sees needs to which the eyes are blind.’”
    As if speaking that phrase had been too much for him, Sharif’s composure crumbled and he leaned against Gwen for support. Gwen knew the Prince would normally have turned to Piri in such a time of great upheaval, but even that comfort had been taken from him. He pressed his face to her shoulder and mumbled, “I am a Prince, so everyone expects me to be mature, to know what to do, to be confident. But I am not ready to rule. My wisdom is no match for Jabir’s, and my father longs for comfort that only my brother could give him. For years I have lived with the knowledge that my father would rather I had died than Hashim, and it angered me, for my grief was as great as his — even if he did not realize it. His contempt for me made the situation all the harder. Now I do not know how I can endure the loss of my father.”
    His voice was so choked with pain that Gwen could not think of a single thing to say to comfort him. When her own parents had died, nothing anyone had said had eased the hurt. Her throat tightened at the memory. Each murmur of, “You’ll always have your memories of them,” or “Your parents will live on in your heart,” or “Time will heal the wounds,” had scraped at her already raw feelings.
    “Both of my parents died,” Gwen murmured. It sounded like a terrible thing to say, but she wanted Sharif to know that she understood the pain, the confusion. She would not insult her friend by offering him easy words of false comfort. But Gwen could be here for him, and she would listen. She put her arm around him.
    After a time, Jabir came into the antechamber and said, “His Majesty is exhausted, even after the antidote. He will sleep for several hours now.” The Vizier withdrew to his own rooms, leaving Sharif and Gwen alone again.
    “How will I bear it?” Sharif said in a muffled voice against her shoulder. “First Hashim, then Piri, and now my father. If I cannot face these losses, why would my people ever think me fit to rule Irrakesh?”
    “I don’t know.” Gwen ached for him. “Nothing really prepares you to lose a parent, Sharif. Nothing completely fills the lonely spot they leave in your heart when they die.” For years she had hidden her own heartache beneath a stoic veneer, not showing her emotions or truly sharing her grief with anyone, even Cap and Vic. But here in the antechamber of the Sultan’s apartments, she came face to face with those feelings again, and suddenly, as if a dam were breaking, tears flooded down her face and her body shook with great, wracking sobs of anguish that she had never fully released since the loss of her parents.
    Now, arms wrapped around each other, Gwen and Sharif both wept for the loss of loved ones and the loss of their childhoods. Gwen wept for the jokes her father would never tell her, for the holidays their family would never spend together, for the milestones of life her parents would never be with her to witness. And as she cried, the pain began to ease. Gradually, as sunlight seeped over the horizon, a calm stole over them, the child of the prophecy and the son of the Sultan. Their tears dried and they sat together on the silk cushions of the window seat, hand in hand, watching the sun rise.
    “You know,” Gwen said, breaking the silence, “your father isn’t dead yet. If I could have even one last day with my parents, I’d spend it doing everything I could to show them how much I love them.”
    He