The sultan hissed in anger. “You told me you would answer my question, but instead you speak in riddles! Continue like this and you will pay for your deceit with your life.”
It was just as the wazir had said. The sultan had found some bizarre fault with her and intended to kill her for it. But Shafia did not wilt against the unexpected threat. “My apologies, Your Majesty. As a storyteller, I draw most of my truths from allegory.” She looked out the window to the sinking sun. “If you find it permissible, I would tell you the full tale before you take my life.” The sultan hesitated but, in the end, bade Shafia to continue.
So it was that the storyteller told him the tale of the proud merchant and the shrewd king. In the story, a king overheard a merchant ridiculing his decrees and decided to play a trick on him. He commanded his servants to bring the merchant to his palace in the dead of night and to address him as king when he woke. At first the merchant believed he was living a dream, but he soon realized how difficult it was to rule. Eventually, the true king revealed himself to the merchant, and though he had originally meant to punish him for his gall, he instead decided to reward him for his mettle by making him his advisor.
“The merchant did not understand the king’s true burden until he was given the opportunity to walk in his shoes,” Shafia explained. “That is why I came when called—so that I might know the full story. But I must confess: I am nowhere near as wise as the merchant, who advised the king on various issues. There was, for instance, the matter of the conniving jinn who infiltrated the king’s army…”
Shafia was clever, weaving one story into the next until the sun rose, at which point she paused. The sultan demanded she continue, for he wanted to know how the king would handle the jinn. But Shafia feigned fatigue and humbly asked if he would delay his judgment by one night so that she could refresh herself before concluding the tale. The great ruler thought to himself, What is one more night? and he agreed to her request. He had soldiers watch her the whole day until she returned that night. Again, she wove one story into another. In the next adventure, the king agreed to pardon the jinn for its scheming if it traveled with the merchant to find a relic—a wish-granting ring said to belong to a jinn king.
“And how did they unearth this ring from beneath the Sandsea?” the sultan asked.
Shafia gazed wistfully out the window. “Might I have one more night to finish the story, Your Majesty?”
And so it went. Every night the storyteller answered one question, provoked another, and asked for more time. Days passed into weeks and weeks into months, until the stories became conversations. The sultan asked Shafia for advice about policies and jinn, and she shared her wisdom in the form of fables. Soon everyone in the desert kingdom knew she had avoided death. It was only then, upon hearing the rumors, that the sultan realized he had fallen into the storyteller’s trap. Worse, he realized he had fallen in love with her. Fearing he had doomed himself to another betrayal, he told himself he would gauge Shafia’s loyalty by allowing her to speak on his behalf during his audiences.
But Shafia was as humble as she was wise. When bickering merchants, sobbing mothers, and aggrieved soldiers came asking for advice, she would say, “I am but a storyteller who draws my truths from allegory, whereas the sultan speaks from experience. I would never be so presumptuous as to offer counsel in his distinguished presence.”
The deflection was as effective as it was flattering, for the sultan still deferred to Shafia’s judgment when it came time to offer his verdicts. A year passed, and everyone rejoiced at the miracle of Shafia’s stories. Everyone except for the sultan, who still harbored the lingering suspicion he had been played for a fool. He devised one final plan to save his heart. One night, as Shafia was about to drift off to sleep in his arms, he stole a knife off his bedside table and held it to her throat. “I have a question for you,” he said. “Will you answer it truthfully?”
Shafia looked at him without flinching. “You have my word.”
“Then tell me: Do you have a final wish before you face death?”
And Shafia responded, with tears in her eyes, “Do you remember the story about the merchant who woke to become king for three days? Once, I likened my situation to his. But I knew we were not the same. You see, I knew this was a dream all along, and that someday it would have to end.” She set her hands atop his trembling ones and said, “Though I could never understand your burden, I beg you to remember my advice. I came to you because I wanted what is best for this kingdom. And I believe you do too. May you prosper, Your Majesty.”