Fickle

Chapter 56

The sun beat down relentlessly on Daura’s royal palace courtyard as Abdullah strode toward the council chamber, his mind a storm of thoughts. The weeks since his return had been grueling. Though his calculated moves against Hanifah had yielded some success, her lingering influence continued to fester in unexpected ways. Allies who had once pledged loyalty to the crown now hesitated, caught in the crossfire of fear and allegiance.

Abdullah paused at the entrance of the chamber, straightening his robes. The council had convened again to deliberate on matters he had prioritized: rebuilding public trust, solidifying the military’s loyalty, and rooting out the remnants of Hanifah’s network. Yet, the whispers of dissent persisted, amplified by the uncertainty left in her wake.

As he stepped inside, the room fell silent. The faces of the council members were a blend of apprehension and expectation. Othman and Mustapha sat on either side of him, their presence a steadying force.

“Your Royal Highness,” one of the councilmen began cautiously, “there are concerns among the provinces about the economic instability following recent disruptions. Trade routes have been compromised, and several merchants have reported losses.”

Abdullah nodded, his gaze sharp. “Rest assured, measures are already underway to stabilize the economy. Our trade envoys are renegotiating terms with affected partners, and I have dispatched military escorts to secure vulnerable routes.”

Another councilman, one who had been a staunch supporter of Hanifah, spoke up. “But, Your Royal Highness, the people’s trust in the crown is waning. Public sentiment—”

“Public sentiment,” Abdullah interjected, his voice firm but calm, “will recover when they see that their leadership is unwavering. We do not have the luxury of indecision.”

His tone left no room for argument. The council members exchanged uneasy glances but fell silent, their dissent quelled for now.

After the meeting, Abdullah retreated to his private chambers, where Othman and Mustapha joined him. The door closed with a heavy thud, and the tension in the room shifted from political formality to the raw honesty of brothers-in-arms.

“The council grows more restless,” Othman said, his voice low. “They’re testing you.”

Abdullah poured himself a glass of water, the cool liquid a brief reprieve from the weight on his shoulders. “Let them test me. Every move they make reveals their loyalties—or lack thereof. But we cannot afford to let Hanifah’s shadow linger any longer.”

Mustapha leaned forward, his expression resolute. “We’ve identified two key figures still funneling information to her allies. If we act swiftly, we can dismantle their network before they regroup.”

Abdullah nodded, setting the glass down. “Then do it. Quietly. We cannot risk public upheaval.”

Othman hesitated before speaking. “And what of the people, brother? They need more than military action and economic stability. They need to see you—hear you. Your address before was effective, but they’re still uncertain.”

Abdullah sighed, rubbing a hand over his face. “I know. I’ll prepare another address, one that speaks directly to their fears. But first, we need tangible results. Without them, my words are just air.”

Later that evening, as the palace grew quiet, Abdullah found himself alone in the gardens. The night air was cool, a welcome contrast to the day’s heat. He gazed up at the stars, his thoughts drifting to Minnesota.

He wondered how Kulthum was managing in his absence. Had his letter eased her worries? Were the twins adjusting to the changes in their lives? The image of Hudayfah’s reserved smile and Jenna’s bright laughter lingered in his mind, grounding him amidst the chaos.