by Somaiya Daud
I remembered— There had been a time when I would have kissed him without worry.
His eyes met mine and I heard the sharp intake of breath, as if my thoughts were writ clear on my face. His eyes fell on the necklace I wore, and he stilled for half an instant before he raised his eyes to meet mine. I knew he thought of the pearls I’d worn on the wedding night, as I now did. My cheeks flushed with warmth, and though I knew I should have lowered my gaze, I could not.
His eyes met mine again, and for a moment I was sure that I wasn’t alone in my sleepless nights. But then he smiled and his genial mask slid into place.
“What is it?”
“Be careful,” I said, clearing my throat. “I should hate to be short one husband on account of your pride.”
He raised my hand to his mouth and pressed a kiss against it, a gesture he would make to Maram. “I promise.”
I struggled not to roll my eyes and released him. “Go,” I said, a smile teasing the corners of my mouth.
“You are a queen among women,” he said, then released my hand and nearly ran toward the stable yard. I watched him clap a hand on ‘Imad’s shoulder and shed his jacket.
Beside ‘Imad was I’timad, who never seemed far from her twin, and beside her were the Nasiris: Khulood and Tariq. Khulood was dressed in a purple-and-gold qaftan, wrapped in her house colors as scion of her tribe, and her hair was braided and wrapped in a crown around her head. I made my way to the collection of couches and cushions set up for spectators.
“Tala,” I began as I settled onto a low couch, “summon I’timad and Khulood. Tell them I wish to have tea.”
Tala inclined her head and made her way to the two women. The air was cool and the orange trees planted in the orchard at our backs filled it with a citrus scent. I forced my hands to lay easily in my lap as I watched Tala speak to I’timad, and I’timad in turn speak to Khulood. I had made some progress with her, less progress with Rabi’a, but I needed all three women to make the plan Idris, Maram, and I had come up with tenable.
More than that, though I only needed Rabi’a, I wanted to be able to present a complete alliance to Arinaas. Three of the strongest families on the planet, with deep ties to its history, would make an effective symbol to anyone hesitant about raising arms against the Vath.
I hadn’t been raised to this, not the way Maram had. I was not a queen’s heir. But I had been chosen for this, and I would do it well. Even as I told myself that, I couldn’t suppress the frisson of nerves that shivered up my spine. So much depended on my success.
I forgot my nerves when I’timad at last arrived beneath the awning, sank to her knees prettily, then crossed the space between us to press a kiss against my cheek. I froze, my mouth slightly ajar, heart racing. It was not bravery exactly to make such a show of friendship with Maram—but it was a show of friendship, a definitive one not required of her.
I let out a strangled, startled laugh.
“Greetings, Your Highness,” she said, pulling away.
“Hello,” I managed, and shook my head with a faint smile. “Is that the way of greeting here?”
She grinned. “I will say yes, and since you are only recently arrived here, you must believe me.”
Her grin was catching, but I was a practiced actress and managed to control my features. I raised an eyebrow as I scanned her mode of dress.
“Is it also the style here to dress like your brother?” I hadn’t noticed from far away, but she wore a riding habit identical to her brother’s, which was not particularly strange except among the makhzen, who cleaved more closely to gendered clothing.
“I dislike finery most days, Your Highness,” she said. “Dressing like my brother is more economical.”
I gave her a sidelong glance, then at last turned to Khulood, who had waited patiently at the edge of the awning.
“We have met before, though only briefly,” I said at last.
“Of course,” she said warmly. “I’timad monopolized all of your attention the last time.”
“Khulood, this is Her Royal Highness, Maram vak Mathis, High Princess and Protectress of Andala, of whom you know much,” I’timad said, grinning cheekily as she recited introductions according to Vathek protocol. “Your Highness, this is Khulood bint Nasir of the city of Azaghar.”
Khulood sank to her knees as prettily as I’timad had and inclined her head.
“It is a pleasure to make your acquaintance again, Your Highness,” she said, looking up at me.
I allowed a corner of my mouth to quirk up in a smirk. “Is it?”
Many courtiers would have been put off by such a question, but Khulood was not. She came to her feet and smiled.
“It is,” she said.
“You are a rare commodity, then,” I replied. The makhzen avoided Maram at all costs, and little had changed in the recent weeks except for my tentative friendship with I’timad, and Maram’s marriage to Idris.
Her smile softened, and I felt a bit of Maram’s own defensiveness rise up in me. It was not pity exactly, but close enough to it that I did not like it.
“I have known the prince a long time, Your Highness,” she said. “And I have not seen him smile so well as the past few days.”
I flushed and looked down at the stable yard, where Idris had rolled up his shirtsleeves and was now in the ring with the stallion. I’d known he wouldn’t be able to resist the challenge of it, and though I’d cautioned him, most of me had not wanted to talk him out of it. This was a new facet of him I was learning: he was competitive and stubborn. The Idris I’d known in stolen moments and in shadow was sweet and generous and kind. And he remained all those things. But he was also a proud man, a prince of princes. And like most princes, he didn’t just like winning; he liked to prove he could win.
“Nor,” Khulood said softly, “if I may be so bold, have I seen you ever look so in all my time in the Ziyaana.”
My gaze jerked away from him and back to her. Unease churned in my belly. Maram did not love Idris; at least, certainly she did not love him in the way I did. And if the ease and warmth with which both I’timad and Khulood greeted me was predicated on our love for each other—what would happen if they ever found out the truth?
“I hope Khulood hasn’t given offense?” I’timad said.
I felt as if I’d tripped over a crack in the ground and could not regain my footing.
“No,” I said at last, looking away from them both. I wanted to say something else—that they were wrong, that they had misread the situation. But a new bride protesting love of her husband would not only have seemed strange; they would have marked it an insult. And I had done what I wanted to do, however accidentally—here were the heirs to two of the most ancient houses on the planet beside me, less suspicious than they’d ever been.
“No,” I repeated, a little softer. For a moment I wondered what it would be like if I weren’t pretending. If I were Idris’s bride, if I weren’t making alliances on Maram’s behalf. But I was not his wife, though the love they’d discerned was real, and it was not me they would make friends with, but Maram.
I’timad must have sensed some of my turmoil, for she touched my hand and came to her feet. “I should like to observe your husband trying to keep his seat a little closer. Khulood?”
“Of course. It was a pleasure meeting you, Your Highness.”
* * *
And so the day went. It felt strange: because it was a Salihi celebration, there were only Andalaans present. And though Idris and I had focused our efforts on cultivating relationships with three families, many had been invited. I heard cries in Kushaila, Zidane, and Tashfin chiding Idris to keep his seat, watch that step, take firmer hold of the reins. I wondered if this was what M’Gaadir was like before the occupation, if such things had taken place when Houwa reigned as queen. I had never felt so at home, and yet so apart from the whole world.
If I were myself I would be down near the paddock, cheering Idris on. But I was not myself, I was Maram, and she se
ldom deigned to mingle among courtiers at all. She was practiced at remaining aloof and apart, and it was what had landed her in this situation.
Idris maneuvered the horse over a jumping post, then reined him in and turned him so that he could look at me. He’d shed all his formal outerwear and was now clad in his trousers and a tunic that stuck to his back with sweat. His hair had come loose and clung to the sides of his face. He grinned at me, triumphant, and I felt an answering, irrepressible grin spread over my features.
“Your Highness?”
I pulled my gaze away from Idris and to Rabi’a and Buchra. They stood just outside the limits of my awning. Buchra’s eyes were fixed to the ground, her cheeks flushed. Rabi’a, on the other hand, smiled just a little, enough to seem friendly. They sank to their knees together, then rose a moment later.
“We have come to apologize,” Rabi’a said.
I waited. Maram would not have let the offense pass unremarked on, and she would make them work for her forgiveness. So I waited, my face empty of the smile I’d shared so freely with Idris, Khulood, and I’timad. I needed them and the rebels needed them, but I could not jeopardize my position in the court as Maram. Rabi’a understood and touched her sister’s arm. Buchra looked up at me and if anything her flush deepened, but to her credit she didn’t look away. Instead she sank back to her knees.
“I was unforgivably rude to you on our arrival,” she said, voice soft. “I have no excuse and I beg your pardon.”
“If you are not fit to present yourself at court, then do not come to court,” I said, my voice even. “It is a simple lesson to learn, though the price is often high.”
Buchra was still on her knees. After a beat I waved a hand, bidding her stand, and gestured to empty spaces among the cushions. They took seats and turned their eyes to the ongoing spectacle. The paddock had been extended for, of all things, a race. I’timad and Khulood made their way back up the hillside just as a series of serving girls appeared with trays of tea and food. Introductions were made and then the five of us sat together and waited while Tala poured tea for us.
The other girls chatted lightly, about the weather and the horses, but Buchra kept her eyes focused on her lap, where her hands clasped each other tightly.
“You have not been at court,” Khulood said lightly, tilting her head just a little. “I would have remembered you.”
Buchra hunched her shoulders, and her face flushed bright enough that I could see it past the strands of hair she allowed to obscure her features.
“She was not presented,” Rabi’a said coolly.
I’timad raised an eyebrow. “Why ever not?”
I hid my expression behind a tea glass. I’timad knew why neither Buchra nor Rabi’a would have been in the Ziyaana in their childhood. Their mother had been a full collaborator with the Vathek government and was richly rewarded for it. There was no need to charge her children with the cost of other people’s rebellion. But I was curious how Rabi’a would respond, faced with two girls who had paid that price, along with their parents and their siblings.
“I did not want to go.” Four pairs of eyes, including mine, turned to look at Buchra in surprise. She’d tucked her hair behind her ears and lifted her chin despite the persistent flush of embarrassment.
“We’ve all heard the stories,” she continued.
“Buchra,” her sister said in warning.
“The stories?” Khulood repeated, voice flat.
“That children of the makhzen go missing without rhyme or reason,” Buchra said softly. “That no one is safe. Even the prince’s cousin wasn’t safe.”
“Oh, ‘Adil will turn up—” I’timad started, tone jovial.
“The Imperial Garda took him,” I interrupted before she could finish. The girls went silent.
I opened my mouth then closed it again. What could Maram say to these girls? What could I? Promises were empty if they weren’t kept, but I thought Maram wanted to keep this promise. I knew she did—had we not spoken of it long into the night?
“They took him?” I’timad repeated, voice hoarse. I forced myself to meet her eyes, which were wide, though dry.
“I don’t know why—”
“You don’t know?” I’timad echoed me a second time.
“No, I do not,” I said, sharpening my voice. I took a deep breath and softened my voice. “But I don’t mean to allow such things to continue.”
“You don’t?”
“Are you a parrot?” I asked, losing my patience. “No, I don’t. We can’t rule this world if we don’t trust one another. That has to start somewhere, regardless of what our parents have done.”
For a moment, no one at the table said anything. We were the children of rebels, collaborators, and a dictator and queen. I’timad and Khulood shared a glance.
“You’re right,” Khulood said at last. “We couldn’t stand together as children—but we aren’t children anymore.”
No one disagreed with her. In fact, no one spoke as the serving girls returned and laid sweets on the table and refilled our tea glasses.
“He’s quite the rider,” Rabi’a said when they left. “Do you ride, Your Highness?”
“Not so well as my lord husband, to be sure, nor so recklessly,” I replied dryly. I had forgotten he was even riding his horse below amid the tension.
“You don’t approve of the theatrics?” she asked with a smile.
I heard a shout from below and stiffened, but it was only a cry of triumph. Idris had won his race.
“I dislike recklessness,” I replied at last.
Her smile turned to a grin. “You must ride with us when we go hunting, then. You might see the point in recklessness then.”
“You hunt?”
“You don’t?” Buchra interrupted, eyes wide.
“I’m a practiced falconer,” I replied. “But Walili is surrounded by desert—I rarely have the chance.”
“Then you must come to Qarmutta,” Rabi’a said, then turned to the rest of the table. “All of you. There is plenty of hunting ground there. We will take you. And the prince, though I think his prize stallion would not be suited to it.”
I tried to control the surprise on my face. I had not imagined it would be so easy as that. But Buchra’s fear was evidence enough that though her mother had been loyal, they still feared the Vath. An alliance with other Andalaans would do them good, and would protect them in turn. And it might mean that when the time came, they would be willing to extend that alliance to the rebellion.
“I will hold you to that invitation,” I said at last, letting out a small smile.
13
The morning dawned early and clear. I’d become used to the quiet bustle of the estate, the murmur of girls as they moved through one room and then another. And they, in turn, had gotten used to me. I didn’t have to wait for a hot bath to be drawn, or for breakfast and tea. By the time the sun rose I had broken fast, bathed, and dressed. I stood on the tower balcony, facing the ocean, a heavy mantle about my shoulders.
Idris mounted the stairs to the tower balcony with a heavy gait, and when his head cleared the landing my eyes widened. There were dark circles under his eyes, and his hair was mussed. He looked as if he had stumbled directly out of bed and walked to me. He sank into the chair directly behind me and when I turned laid his head against my ribs and circled his arms around my waist.
“Idris?” I said softly. My hands hovered a breadth above his hair, unsure if I should touch him or not. My heart hammered behind my ribs. “Are you alright?”
“Nightmares,” he said hoarsely. His forehead pressed against my ribs as if he might find solace in whatever lay behind them, and for a moment his fingers tightened their grip. My hands settled on his hair and shoulder of their own volition.
“I’m sorry,” I said. I should have pushed him away—he was not mine to comfort anymore. But I was not cruel and I loved him and even now he turned his face away and shuddered, as if the nightmares haunted him still.
; “It was different, this time,” he said, his voice rough. “Normally it’s just flashes, but this time—”
One hand tightened around my waist, the other pressed against my back.
“They hid me away—my mother knew what was coming. She could see the desert sand rising on the horizon. Mathis had sent an entire army to subdue the city. You know when I was eight—I was sickly. War does that—you can’t keep anything down because you’re worried about air raids or— She could pick me up. And that evening she picked me up and fled across the estate and hid me away.
“I promised her I wouldn’t leave the hidden room—and I just … waited there for hours. But I heard her.” I looked down at him but he hadn’t looked up. His shoulders were hunched, his back stiff. “She didn’t scream when they took her away. Or when they lined everyone up.”
“Idris—”
At my voice he looked up. There was no one else in the tower room but us—only us, and his grief, and what we felt for one another. I smoothed a hand over his cheek and tucked a lock of hair behind his ear. His eyes slid closed as if I’d given him solace or benediction.
“You remind me of them,” he said, covering my hand with his.
“Them?”
“The freedom fighters,” he said. Some of his tension eased as he smiled. “You’re fearless and have a sense of justice.”
He didn’t know what I did in secret, that I had allied with the makhzen and rebels both. Perhaps he sensed it, or perhaps it was simply as he said: that I reminded him of women in that time, and that alone stoked his fear.
“Everyone has a sense of justice—” I protested.
“Don’t die as they did,” he interrupted me.
“Idris—”
“Please, don’t die as they did. As ‘Adil did.”
My breath caught. “‘Adil is dead?” I whispered.
“They sent his body to his parents’ estate—it arrived last night.”
“Idris—”
I combed my fingers through his hair. “I am not a soothsayer,” I said at last. “But I will endeavor to remain alive.”
