by Somaiya Daud
People disappeared or were taken under the shadow of the Vath regularly, among both the makhzen and the very poor. None of us were safe from random raids or abductions. But ‘Adil was ten—a boy with no power to make change and certainly no inclination. He’d been brought up in a cruel world, but he understood the rules. He would not have sold the horse to a rebel willingly—not after growing up in Al Hoceima, in the shadow of the Purge.
“Idris—” My voice caught in my throat. Whether or not ‘Adil knew they were rebels, that he had met them, spoken to one, sold him a horse. He was lost. There was no hope of getting him back.
He closed the space between us, despite Maram’s presence, and made an aborted move to take my hand. My hands pressed against my ribs, as if I might relieve the dual pressures of grief and fear. Maram stood off to the side, but for a moment, with Idris standing over me, I forgot her.
“I’m sorry,” I said, shaking my head. “I know that’s not enough—”
“It’s plenty,” he said softly.
“No one said anything.” We both turned to see Maram, her fingers wound in the fabric of her skirts so tightly that her knuckles gleamed white. Her eyes were wide and panicked. “This is my estate, Amani. I—you—would have been notified unless they specifically didn’t want me to know. No one will believe it wasn’t on my command—”
Her whole body shuddered. “What are we going to do?”
“Do?” I said blankly as Idris dropped down onto the divan. I had paid less attention to Maram in the last ten minutes than I ought; her mask had disintegrated. The half smirk that was her customary shield, the easy stance of her hands, were all gone. Her brown face was leeched of color, and her grip on her skirts had tightened.
She was afraid.
“They will turn against me,” she whispered. “They will start to plot.”
“They will rightly direct their anger at the Vath,” Idris said, and both of us turned to look at him in surprise. “Are you the Vath?”
“I am Vathek,” she snapped.
“Was it you who gave ‘Adil to the Imperial Garda, then?” he replied. There was a stillness in his voice that worried me—grief and a need to channel it. Maram flinched back as if struck and raised her hand to her throat.
“How dare you suggest such a thing.”
I laid a hand on Idris’s shoulder before he could reply. I had never seen him so close to losing control, and I worried whatever he said he would regret and have to live with for however long Maram wanted to hold a grudge.
“If you do not want them to suspect you and you are innocent—” Maram opened her mouth to interrupt me and I raised a hand to forestall her. “If you are innocent, then protect them. Are you not their future sovereign? Does not their protection fall to your hands?”
I could see her struggle. All her life she had hated her mother’s people for how they’d turned their backs on her. All her life she’d strived to be Mathis’s perfect daughter, and that perfection included deriding one half of her. But she did not live on Luna-Vaxor, she lived here, and she would continue to live here all her life.
Idris’s shoulder tensed beneath my hand. Even without looking at him, I could feel him struggle between his ever-present diplomacy and the desire to speak plainly.
“Amani is right,” he said at last. His head was bowed, and his hair shadowed his eyes. Perhaps he could not bear to look at either one of us. “If you wish everyone to know you would never do such a thing, prove it.”
“How … how would I even do that?”
“Demonstrate to them and the people that you are invested in their safety and care,” I said. “No one trusts you because they believe you see them as your father sees them: a resource to be mined and pillaged and left for dead. Make friends with them.”
If anything, Maram looked more distressed, not less. Her back had straightened, and if not for the divan between her and the wall, I think she might have backed up against it for strength.
“I don’t—Amani, I wouldn’t even know where to begin.”
I squeezed Idris’s shoulder. “Lucky for both of us, one of the makhzen is in this very room.”
* * *
A few hours later, Idris scrubbed his hand through his hair and sighed. He’d retrieved a map of the planet and spread it out over a low table. I, for my part, had retrieved a tray laden with a teapot, glasses, and a plate of briouat drizzled with honey. Maram’s eyes had widened just slightly when I’d appeared with it, and so I set the plate of pastries to my left, closer to her.
The tea was nearly done now. We’d spent the last hours discussing which makhzen families would make good allies—who would side with Maram, support her, trust her enough that she could build a network that would prevent what had happened to ‘Adil from happening again. What would cement her as a queen of the people that could be loved instead of assassinated.
“Alright,” Idris said. In his right hand were a handful of shatranj pieces. He didn’t look any less grieved, only determined to be distracted by this new goal. “The trick of the map is you don’t need everyone—if the larger houses fall in line, those allied with them will follow.”
Maram had a briouat in hand, but her eyes turned to the map, her face grave. “You say that so surely.”
“I am sure,” he replied. “The only time that ceases to be true is when the threat posed by the liege lord overrides any loyalty to the larger house.”
He said it matter-of-factly and without affect, but he might as well have thrown something at Maram. Her face drained of color and she set the pastry down.
“Like me,” she said softly.
“That is up to you, Maram.”
“It is not up to me. My reputation has already been cemented thanks to my lineage.”
“That is where Amani comes in,” he said, setting a shatranj piece on the map.
Maram’s eyes gleamed, as if she might shed a tear at any moment. “The implication being that I cannot be loved on my own.”
“Do you know what your weakness is, Maram?”
I nearly laid a hand over Idris’s—the flat affect of his voice receded and in its place was a kernel of grief. I expected Maram to rise to her feet and leave, and instead she lifted her chin angrily.
“I suspect you will tell me.”
“You are quick to anger, and quicker to act on that anger. Your world is large and your view of it very small—you do not think on consequences or the future, only your personal vengeance and its satisfaction.”
“You have no idea—” Maram began, her hands pressed against the table.
“You are not the only one,” Idris roared, and at that I did lay my hand over his. I did not think he’d ever raised his voice to Maram, for her face was colorless but for two angry red spots high on her cheeks.
“Idris—” I started, and he jerked his hand from under mine.
“You are not the only one,” he said again, still angry but quieter. “All of us have suffered one loss or another. All of us live in the shadow of that. And those losses do not absolve us of the choices we make.”
We sat in silence, Idris’s eyes now fixed on the map, Maram’s eyes fixed on a point over his shoulder. Her chest rose and fell as if she struggled for air, and her mouth, which had been firm with rage, now trembled as if she were afraid.
At last, she spoke. “Amani thinks—”
Idris’s eyes jerked up, first to her and then to me. “What does Amani think?” he said.
“I want to live up to what she thinks of me,” she said softly, as if I weren’t there. “But the people do not love me as she does.”
“The people think you are against them,” I interjected softly. “Prove to them that you are not.”
She drew in a trembling breath. “Do you know the cost of siding with them—it isn’t neutral. I am either with the Vath or against them.” She came to her feet and began to pace. “There are no half measures. I can’t have both … Can I?”
I didn’t know what went through
her mind, but she paused in her pacing and frowned.
“What about the Banu Ifran?” she said, looking at Idris.
He scoffed. “They collaborated with the Vath during the conquest, why would you want to…” he said, and then his expression cleared. “Oh.”
“They could be the line, couldn’t they?” she said, eager.
“Collaborators?” I said with a frown. “Truly?”
“They’re the closest Andalaan allies the Vath have on the planet,” Maram said, excited.
“The Ifrani matriarch was a Vathek loyalist, but she passed recently—the new one, Rabi’a, is a little older than us. If she can be made loyal to Maram—” Idris said.
“Instead of her father,” I continued, and looked over at Maram. She looked so hopeful, I couldn’t help but smile. My mind whirled with possibilities.
“Amani,” Maram snapped and I looked up. “You will do it, won’t you?”
I stared at her blankly. “Do what?”
“Cajole her into friendship.”
I was so startled by the idea that I laughed. “You can’t be serious,” I said. “Dihya, you’re serious. I am not a magician, Your Highness. I—”
“You have done well with the Vathek aristocrats,” Idris said quietly. “The makhzen should be easy.”
“I cannot use any of my knowledge to help you, because Maram doesn’t have that knowledge. I would be harming you in the long run,” I protested.
“It’s not your knowledge I need,” Maram said, coming to sit beside me. “You are … you have a clarity of sight that I lack. Please.”
“Is this your plan?” I asked her. “For the rest of your life?”
The idea felt like a yoke round my neck.
“I had not thought—”
“Of the rest of your life?” I interrupted. “Or the rest of mine?”
At that, she seemed to feel some shame and lowered her eyes.
“Not forever,” she said at last. “I promise.”
I drew in a breath. This was what I’d wanted, wasn’t it? For Maram to take an active interest in not simply being a Vathek scion, but a good queen. One who cared. If I could help—and I knew that I could; I had done well the last few days—wasn’t it my duty to try? I’d seen the beginnings of greatness in her. I’d told her so myself.
“She is right,” Idris added. “You would do well. You have done well.”
I gave Maram a weary smile. “Of course,” I said, and squeezed her hand. “Sisters support each other, don’t they?”
Her face blossomed into a bright smile. “Thank you.”
We spent a few more hours discussing the landscape, the families. In the end we decided on the Banu Ifran, who as reward for their collaboration with the regime were gifted Furat’s family’s ancestral seat, Tayfur province. In addition, we picked two families I’d already met: the Banu Nasir, who ruled from Khenitra and were one of the largest families in Greater Walili, second only to the Ziyadis; and the Banu Mas’ud, who ruled from Azaghar within Ghazlan province, second only to the Salihis.
The pastries and tea were both gone by the time our discussion wound down. ‘Adil’s disappearance worried at my mind like a thorn caught beneath my skin. I knew that the best I could hope for him was a quick death. The Vath did not return those they took. But I felt some hope, too—Maram had come awake. Something had shaken her enough to push her into action. And I could see a world under her rule where children were not taken from their parents. Where law and justice were ordinary, instead of a luxury meted out to invaders.
Maram had not set me an easy task: persuading the makhzen that she was on their side, that she was worthy of their trust, was a crucible I hadn’t anticipated. But I had an unexpected ally this time: Maram herself. And that in itself was remarkable enough that I could look toward the task with some optimism, even if it was peppered with fear.
9
I was getting used to the bustle of dressing in the royal suite as a new bride. Prior to her marriage, Maram had only ever had a single serving girl with her. As a married woman she had a true household, and that included a cluster of serving girls who moved around the large dressing chamber, laying out clothes, jewelry, and perfume. Most mornings, I internally reviewed names and politics, preoccupied with preparing myself to face the world as Maram, but today, I examined the face of each servant. I didn’t recognize any of the girls excepting Tala, and as Maram had not occupied her marriage suite for very long I doubt she would recognize them either. I wondered, suddenly, who had brought them on.
My last encounter with Nadine rose up in my mind. She was so meticulous in all she did; she would do no less in ensuring Maram remained under her sway. It was not out of the realm of possibility that she had hired these girls herself and ensured their loyalty to her in any way possible.
I’d chosen a simple blue qaftan made of velvet, with gold trim along the hem and sleeves. Pinned to my right shoulder was a fall of white chiffon that spilled down my back and trailed to the floor. My hair was slicked back, the excess braided and pinned to the back of my head, and in lieu of a coronet or crown I wore a gold filigree cap, shaped like a tesleet, its wings wrapped around either side of my head. The effect was simple, but striking.
Thus dressed, I was escorted by the serving girls from the dressing room to the main parlor, where Idris waited. The serving girls continued to the breakfast salon without me. He looked both better and worse—he hadn’t shaved this morning, which might have made another man look unkempt. But Idris simply looked more Kushaila, as if he belonged in a djellaba more than a Vathek military suit. There were shadows beneath his eyes, and when he looked at me he seemed tired, his shoulders stooped.
I reached for his hand when the last serving girl disappeared.
“I’m sorry,” I said, and wished I had something better. “How did you sleep?”
“Not well,” he admitted. “But better with you there. Thank you. With Maram especially.”
I raised my eyebrows, surprised. “I did nothing.”
“You do not give yourself due credit,” he said. “I was not inclined to be diplomatic or kind.”
“You are grieving—”
“There is no place for grief here,” he said softly. “I know that. We both do.”
I shook my head. “There is no thanks necessary for what is freely given.”
He did not smile, not exactly, but there was a sense of relief in him.
“Do you think it will work? The alliance—that it will protect us?”
“You are the master shatranj player,” I replied.
“We’ve tried before … it never works.”
“You’ve never had a queen on your side,” I said softly. Children could not plot together, could not stand together, without a protector. And though the hostages of the Vath were children no more, they were still distinctly at a disadvantage.
Idris watched my face closely, as though he could divine some secret without my knowing.
“Maram is too clever to entertain opposing the empire, even for a moment,” he said at last.
“She need not oppose an empire—just her father.”
I knew that neither Idris nor Maram would ever entertain rebellion, but the truth of the matter was that even if Maram took hold of the government prior to her father’s death, the presence of the Vathek imperial machine would make real change impossible. It was erected to mine our resources and steal our wealth—it had to be eradicated. We couldn’t wait for Mathis to die—the planet would not outlast him.
“Her father is the empire,” he replied.
I looked away. Anything I said would be too close to rebellion, and I dared not even breathe it. Idris had no idea I’d ever spoken with the rebels, let alone worked alongside them, and I knew how he felt about dissidence entirely. It had cost him his family.
“Amani,” he said, softly, dangerously. “Those more powerful than you have suffered for thinking less.”
“I only want to protect us.”
�
��Who is us?”
The world, I wanted to say, but refrained.
“I have lost enough loved ones to the Vath, Amani,” he said instead of leaving. “I cannot bear to lose any more.”
“Your Highness?”
Tala stood in the doorway, a small smile on her face.
“I apologize for intruding, but breakfast is ready.”
Idris placed my hand in the crook of his elbow and together we entered the salon. The serving girls lined up against the wall as the two of us sat, and Tala poured tea and uncovered dishes. Idris was quiet as he tucked into his food, and as he ate I thought and watched. One of the girls watched the two of us closely, and I felt a shiver run down my spine. Did Maram always feel thus—as if someone in her house had, or would in the future, turn against her? If I lived under such suspicions all the time, Dihya only knew what sort of person I might have become. There were so many sides to the problem of Maram’s rule. Securing the government was one thing, but she would not be able to do it without securing her own house. ‘Adil had been taken without her knowing.
I wondered again if Nadine had hired these girls. How much control over her own house had Maram passed off to Mathis’s loyal servant without realizing? I’d not thought much of it, but now it seemed the easiest way for Nadine to watch and control Maram. I waved the serving girls out of the room but held back Tala.
Maram needed allies, and she needed a household that served her. She had no friends, no supporters. The women who did her hair and changed her clothes and laid out her jewelry—these were the core of a household. On Cadiz I would not have such luxuries, but I would have my mother and my friends—when I got married, when I bore my first child, in hardship and in doubt. These women would buoy me up through it all. And so, I had to make sure that such a network existed for Maram, even if I had to forge it from nothing.
“Who among the servants here do you like best, Tala?” I asked, picking up my tea glass.
She raised an eyebrow at me.
“That bad?”
“They all gossip,” she said. “Nonstop. None of them take the work seriously.”
