by Somaiya Daud
“You look well,” I said, pulling back.
“As do you,” she replied. “I worried when I heard we’d lost contact with you.”
I gave her a wan smile. “After the confirmation ceremony … Nadine punished my family. It seemed prudent to cut ties—to destroy any evidence that I was linked to the rebels—lest I be caught in a worse act.”
Her face twisted with horror. “I’m so sorry,” she said, and squeezed my hand. “They are alive?”
I nodded. “How is the dowager?” I asked.
“In good health,” she said. “Asking for you. I told her it was unlikely, now that Maram has married Idris—but I see not?”
“A longer and more complicated story than I wish to tell tonight,” I said.
She laughed. “Alright. Then what did you come for tonight?”
“Maybe I came to see you,” I protested.
“Come now. We don’t live in that world. At least not yet.”
I gestured to the bench. “I have a proposition for you and Arinaas.”
Her eyebrows rose. “Oh?”
“Idris and I—really, Idris, Maram, and I … are trying to build an alliance between the houses of the makhzen to secure Maram’s rule as queen.”
Her eyes widened.
“I think it will work … but I don’t think either wants to admit that her rule may also need to be secured by force.” I looked at Furat. “She needs an army.”
“You can’t be suggesting—”
“I have done my research. Maram is the only legal heir to this planet—the only one who can request galactic aid. The only one the galactic senate will back if we need to push the Vath out by force. If she sides with her father, any galactic alliances will be made in their favor.”
“I know that,” she said quietly.
“And the rebellion would take that risk, that assassinating her alienates us from outside help?”
She frowned. “There has never been any other option.”
“And if she sided with us instead of her father?”
“Has she?”
I resisted the urge to squirm. Therein lay the problem of my request. I couldn’t tell Maram that I was requesting an army on her behalf from rebels. Any ground I’d gained with her would be lost; despite saving her life, my connection with them had upset our delicate friendship and pushed her back into Nadine’s shadow. But the truth was if she was to have any hope of unifying the planet, she needed them as much as they needed her.
What I’d always believed about Maram remained true—that she would see, given time, that the path of least resistance was also the least just. That removing her father was the only way forward for the planet.
“I’m working on that part,” I said at last.
“Arinaas will not pledge the rebellion in support of her without either Maram herself or a powerful enough ally in her stead, Amani,” she said. “What about Idris?”
I shook my head. Maram might have feared the rebellion because it endangered her Vathek standing, but Idris’s fear was more acute. He’d lost his family to a doomed resistance. Even with ‘Adil’s abduction he was paralyzed by his fear.
“Perhaps before the wedding,” I said. “But since ‘Adil’s disappearance … he is more afraid of the regime than ever, though he will not say it.”
“You don’t trust him?” she said, dismayed.
“I don’t trust his fear,” I corrected. “I don’t think he would ever … report on any of us. But he would refuse to help.”
“That’s two-thirds of the main continent out—Maram is the last Ziyadi with any pull, and at this point she will not ally. And we cannot ally with you, Amani—it is not enough.”
“What about the Banu Ifran?” I said suddenly, my thoughts whirling. Wouldn’t it make sense to join Maram’s great alliance to the rebels—to pull the strongest of them into a confederation that would support her?
Furat scoffed. “The collaborators? They wouldn’t.”
“Rabi’a is new, and by all accounts has great love for her province and its prosperity,” I pointed out.
“Prosperity bought because of her mother’s collusion.”
“She cares, and she has been successful in caring for her province. No easy feat. Allow to me to try,” I said. “If I can secure her alliance—”
“If Rabi’a will ally with the rebels—if her house will ally with the rebels, then yes. She will have our fursa.” Knights. Dihya.
“I … I will need something too.”
“I see this was not done altruistically,” Furat said, laughing.
“I would not ask if my need was not dire,” I said.
“Peace, Amani. I do not judge. We live in difficult times.”
“My family … they are still on Cadiz. They are still surveilled. If I set a foot out of line—”
“They are always in danger.”
I nodded. “It’s no easy thing I ask, but if Nadine even suspects that I have risen above my station— If you can—”
“I will make the request and tell Arinaas what you do in the meantime.”
I breathed a sigh of relief. By brokering this alliance, by trying to secure my family’s safety, I was taking on Nadine, and she had punished me for less. But if I could secure the Banu Ifran for both Maram and the rebels, their combined forces might be enough to save us. To save our world.
“Thank you, Furat.”
“No thanks for what should be done,” she replied, and squeezed my hand. “How long do you think you’ll need?”
I frowned. “I’d plan on the length of our stay here,” I replied. “I haven’t even met Rabi’a. I’ll be able to tell you how likely it is that she’ll turn rebel soon.”
“Amani,” she said, a warning in her voice. “Don’t trust her—whatever love she has for the province, it was bought in blood.”
“Her mother—” I protested.
“Her mother raised her,” Furat said. “Trained her.”
“What dark times,” I murmured, “that we have been turned against each other thus.”
“And what a rosy memory of our past you have,” she laughed. “Don’t forget—civil war made us a ripe target. And before that, before we were Andalaan, we were tribes warring against each other. You should know this—half the poems out of antiquity are about war parties.”
I smiled sadly. “You’re right. It doesn’t make it any easier, though.”
She hummed in agreement. “I’ll secure a communicator for you. In the meantime, be careful. You are one of the few good people on this estate. Don’t let the makhzen manipulate you for it.”
“Siha, Furat,” I said, kissing her on the cheek.
“Baraka,” she replied, and was gone.
11
The Banu Ifran sisters were not Kushaila like many of the makhzen who had come to the walima, but Zidane like Furat: a tribal confederation as old as the Kushaila, and close to us historically. The elder sister, Rabi’a, was in her early twenties, and had recently inherited leadership of the family from her mother. The younger, Buchra, had never set foot outside Qarmutta or been presented at court. They were a prosperous family, and their province had not suffered the indignities that Idris’s province, Ghazlan, had suffered. Their mother had collaborated with the Vath after Najat’s marriage to Mathis, and they had been richly rewarded.
Their arrival was heralded by a soft chime ringing throughout the courtyard, and the doors at its north end groaning open.
Idris and I had taken up a game of shatranj in the later hours of the afternoon. The courtyard looked like a scene out of antiquity—Andalaan nobility reclined beneath trees and gazebos. And it might have been, but for the droids that stood attention at the entrances and the probes that waited attendance on all of us.
I’d improved—or at least, I’d thought I improved. But Idris was still a master, and I found myself locked on my side of the board. I laid a finger on a piece and Idris made a soft sound in the back of his throat.
“That,” I said
, raising an eyebrow, “is unfair.”
The expression on his face could only be termed a smirk. “If you’re unsure of your move…”
“I hate you,” I said with feeling, and moved the piece. A moment later it was captured and Idris had advanced further onto my side of the board.
“You’ll get better,” he promised.
The Banu Ifran sisters swept in a moment later flanked by estate guards. They wore the colors of their house—green and black. Zidane wear was not so different from Kushaila dress, though the lines often seemed softer. There was just a hint of Vathek gloss in their design, but not enough to obscure where they were from.
The two sisters at last reached our dais and sank to their knees gracefully.
“Your Highness,” the elder said. “Thank you for welcoming us into your home. And felicitations on your marriage.”
“You are welcome to our hospitality,” I said without rising from my seat.
Rabi’a, for she was the elder, lifted her head at last. When her eyes set on the shatranj board between us, they lit up.
“Your Highness plays?”
I could feel the eyes of the court on us, waiting to see how our interaction would unfold.
“I dabble,” I said lightly. “My lord husband is the master player.”
Rabi’a, I knew, would be the more dangerous of the sisters. Until now, Buchra had said nothing and kept her eyes fixed on the ground. A small idea grew in my mind.
“Why not take my place and see how you fare? Your sister can tell me of your journey.”
At that, Buchra looked up, eyes wide in surprise. I didn’t bother smiling. Maram would not give the girl assurance that she meant no harm; she would allow her to twist in the wind. Rabi’a eyed me sharply but did not refuse, and when I’d risen from my seat, she took it. I laid a hand on Idris’s shoulder for a moment.
“Play nice,” he said mildly.
I gave him one of Maram’s frosty half smiles. “I’m always nice.”
* * *
Buchra’s hair was brown and curly and she had not bound it up in the court fashion. Instead she used it as a veil and allowed it to fall across her face so that when we walked side by side I could not discern her emotion.
“Do all the girls wear their hair thus in Qarmutta?” I asked.
She nearly flinched; I could see it in the way her body tensed up and the momentary hitch in her step.
“No, Your Highness,” she said at last, and tucked some hair behind her ear. “I can’t sit still enough for someone to braid it up is all.”
“How was your journey?”
She shrugged.
I stopped on the path and held my hands in front of me, waiting for her to realize her mistake. She was fifteen or thereabouts, certainly old enough to know court protocol. Old enough to understand how to communicate with her future queen. She understood her mistake a moment later and sank to her knees.
“Apologies, Your Highness,” she said. I waved a hand and she came to her feet once more. “I don’t travel often, and I dislike being away from home.”
I raised an eyebrow, skeptical. “You are a scion of your house,” I said as we began to walk again. “Surely you were prepared to leave it eventually.”
“Rabi’a does the traveling and the … court things.”
“Court things?”
I saw her almost lift a shoulder again, then catch herself. “Making appearances and that sort of thing.”
“I see. You hate it that much? You seem quite sullen.”
Buchra flushed a deep red and looked away. “Traveling does not agree with me. If you would excuse me, Your Highness?”
I was tempted to keep her, but I needed her on my side. Forcing her to suffer under my eye any longer was counter to that mission.
“Send your sister to me,” I said at last, releasing her.
* * *
I found a private alcove overlooking the sea and waited. My instructions from the rebellion were clear: find a way to turn the Banu Ifran to our cause. That would be difficult if the younger sister was terrified of Maram, of even being alone with her. Rabi’a presented a different challenge. From the little Idris told me, she was skilled in the games at court. I would have to learn and adapt to the field—my life and the lives of many others depended on my success. I tried to slow my mind and focus on what I had to do today: only make contact. Nothing more.
Rabi’a’s quick footsteps heralded her arrival.
“You have frightened my sister,” she said by way of greeting.
I turned around slowly but said nothing. Rabi’a was beautiful, I noted. Every inch the Zidane girl as Furat was, with her glistening hair, her heavy earrings, and beautiful dress. But I was the Imperial Heir in this moment, and whether or not she was the scion to a powerful house, Maram would not tolerate being addressed in such a way.
“Your sister seems remarkably ill prepared for court,” I said, and raised an eyebrow.
A small muscle twitch in her jaw was the only tell that she might be angry, but she sank to her knees prettily.
“My apologies, Your Highness,” she said. “Buchra is the only family I have left. I worry for her.”
I flicked my hand lazily, giving her leave to rise.
“It is my understanding that the Banu Ifran clan is large and sprawling in the way most Andalaan clans are.”
“She is my mother’s only other child,” she clarified.
The Vathek conception of family, then. Parents and children, instead of the enormous web of cousins, close friends, and tribal affiliations that an Andalaan would consider family.
“You and your family fascinate me,” I said, sitting down. She joined me across the table. “The children of a willing collaborator whose willing defection some say won the war.”
“You give us too much credit, Your Highness,” she said. I couldn’t tell if she seemed pleased or annoyed at the assertion.
“I don’t think I do. Your native prefecture is small, to be sure, but it was the crack in the foundation that helped win the war.”
“Perhaps.”
“But … since the crystallizing of power you haven’t been seen at court. Your mother rarely made appearances, and you were presented only once. Why?”
“I and my mother before me have had our hands full with the running of our province,” she replied. There was a small curl of amusement in her voice. “We have always been and continue to be loyal to our king and his heir.”
“You cannot run your province from the capital?” So many of the nobles did, it struck me as a poor reason for her absence.
“My place,” she said, inclining her head, “is with my people.”
“I would have,” I said in Maram’s quiet way, “enjoyed having you at court, I think.”
The Vath who governed us were concerned with policing and surveillance, not growth and prosperity. I had looked through the history of the province briefly. The Ifranis were diligent about keeping up with technological advances in agriculture, strengthened city infrastructure, and built schools. The Vath, however, did none of these things on our planet. Their collaboration had saved them from the worst of the occupation’s effects.
“The empire has its king and has little need of me in the capital, Your Highness. I remain with those who need me most,” she said quietly.
“You are a devoted servant of the people,” I replied. “It has been noted. And it is a thing to be admired. I only wish you were in the capital more—others might learn from your success.”
She smiled in a way that made me feel young, and I bristled. “They wouldn’t,” she said. “There is little to learn from a Zidane upstart with no Vathek blood, Your Highness.”
“As much as there is to learn from a half breed, I’m sure,” I said lightly. I felt uncomfortable using Maram’s heritage, but I was building this bridge for her.
She let out a soft laugh. “Indeed. I do apologize for Buchra. She will be better behaved in the future.”
I inclin
ed my head. “As you say. You are free to go.”
She rose to her feet, bowed again, and left. I heard the shuffle of feet and whisper of her skirts as she left and let out a breath. That had gone better than I could have dreamed. I’d made contact and a positive impression. I hoped that I could secure her, both for Maram and for the rebellion.
Our futures depended on it.
12
The day was bright and clear as Idris and I, followed by a cadre of guards and handmaidens, made our way to the south end of the estate, beyond the orchard backing our normal meeting place. Beyond it lay the stables, and a large arena where the estate staff trained and broke horses. Idris was nearly bursting with energy, for the day had come when at last he could put the wedding gift the Mas’udi twins had given him to the test.
The estate staff had been hard at work all morning, setting up awnings around the stable yard, and preparing food for the afternoon events. The horse—the prince of stallions—was barely broken and in need of a firm hand. And though the Mas’udi twins loved and respected their prince, what they believed was clear: Idris wasn’t capable of keeping his seat, much less training him.
A royal awning had been set up closer to the trees, and so Idris escorted me there. He was eager to be away and among the horses, but I gripped his arm for a moment until he turned to look at me. We were in public and here I was Maram, though all I wanted to do was reach up and kiss his cheek. I could feel the handmaidens pointedly not looking at us, but I couldn’t make myself let him go.
There were nights when sleeping in the same room with Idris was impossible, when all I could think of was what it would have been like—what he would have done—if we were married. It was a madness that possessed me, that took hold of my soul, that made it impossible to detach my heart from his.
