Court of Lions

by Somaiya Daud

  Rabi’a watched the stable hands walk some of the horses through their paces. I joined her and stood to her left, watching Idris’s stallion—which he’d named Al-Hays, the chase—eye his masters. I had the curious feeling he might bite one at any moment.

  “Buchra seems to be settling in much better,” I said.

  A part of me had worried that Rabi’a and her sister wouldn’t join us. Buchra was not so sullen anymore, but it was clear she was out of her element with the boisterous Mas’udi twins and rowdy Nasiris. The inroads I’d made with them so far, however, were not enough. The rebellion needed them and the resources their province would provide to the resistance, and if I didn’t secure that soon, I worried where we might stand.

  “She dislikes being shut up in an estate—the excursions do her good. Besides—she’d never been away from Qarmutta before,” Rabi’a replied. “I commend you, by the way.”

  “Oh?”

  “It is no easy thing to force a raptor like Nadine from her perch. Though I do wonder why you did it. She’s a scion of your father’s power, after all.”

  I looked out at the beach and tried to choose my words carefully. I’timad had won a race against her brother, and it sounded like he was accusing her of cheating. She remained astride her horse, her eyes narrowed at her brother as the horse beneath her pranced nervously.

  I didn’t look away from the race as I answered. “The position of high stewardess affords her access to power. It gives her access to me, whom she hopes to control.”

  Rabi’a frowned, thoughtful. “You don’t think she’ll throw you over for your half sister?”

  I barked out a laugh. “Galene is a full-blooded High Vath. She wouldn’t tolerate Nadine’s interference,” I said. But Maram, a child of two worlds who feared being rejected by both, would bend to Nadine’s wisdom, would listen to the doubts and paranoia she fed her. Through Maram she could one day control the empire.

  “And it seems neither will you.”

  “To Nadine—to everyone, it seems—I’m a compromise. The only way to legitimate rule of this planet is through Najat’s heir.” I shook my head. “I am not a compromise—I am the rightful heir to this planet, and I will not be undermined by those who believe me to be.”

  “Strong words,” Rabi’a said.

  “Too strong for a collaborator’s daughter?”

  A ghost of a smile passed over her face.

  “You have been talking to Idris,” she said.

  “Does that surprise you?”

  “I will remind your lord husband that while his parents resisted, they died and my mother lived—long enough to raise and protect us,” she said instead of answering. “As your mother hoped to do. I can bear the slight against her name, because I had her.”

  “Live to fight another day.”

  “Fight?” Another ghost of a smile. “Will there be a fight?”

  “There are many among the Vath who believe I am unworthy of the throne and who would support my half sister over me. So. Perhaps.”

  “It was your ancestor who formed the first etihad—confederation of tribes. Against an invasion from the north. But the invasion is past, and we lost.”

  “So you will give over our planet?” I said, trying to control the anger in my voice.

  She smiled, this time fully, and this time it did not pass. “I didn’t say that, Your Highness.”

  * * *

  Our return to the palatial estate did not go unmarked. I insisted that rather than go around the city we must go through it. And the city listened—they turned out, paused in their shopping, forgot that they were meant to be selling wares or going to the zaouia or temple for prayer. Rabi’a was more practiced at such things than I was and raised a hand at a small child with a smile. The little girl grinned and called out, and it only took seconds for others to call out with her. I rode between Idris and ‘Imad, and ahead and behind us were standard-bearers holding up flags with the various crests of the houses that had joined us in our outing.

  It was a dangerous thing I did, I knew. Tantamount to declaring allegiance with Andala over the empire of the Vath. But it was important that my face, Maram’s face, be allied with them. That people began to see Najat in her eyes and not Mathis. I could well imagine what we looked like, returning to an ancient palace, bearing ancient crests. Like the confederation Rabi’a had spoken of.

  But the city was not the only one that marked our passing. Nadine stood on the parapet over the estate’s gate as our horses climbed what little was left of the hill. She struck an imposing figure in her stark Vathek clothes and her silver hair, blinding in the sunlight. But she did not come down to greet us, though I felt her eyes on me as I dismounted and made small talk with the others.

  She would not suffer the limitations to her power, and if she ever found out the hand I’d played in it, I would pay dearly. But that, I told myself, was a problem for another time.

  16

  Several days passed as I turned my conversation with Rabi’a over and over in my mind. It had gone well and I knew Rabi’a was firmly a Maram loyalist, who understood the traps and pitfalls of Maram’s position, but had allied with her anyway. If Maram could commit to an act of trust, it would solidify the alliance permanently. It would demonstrate to Rabi’a that Maram not only needed her but valued her and trusted her enough with a secret only Idris knew.

  The afternoon belonged to me—to Maram—since Idris had gone off with the Mas’udi twins to look through the city market. Maram was sitting in the double’s suite’s tower, curled up beneath a blanket, with fire crackling cheerfully in front of her.

  “I didn’t expect you,” she said without looking up from her tablet.

  “Idris is in the city,” I replied, still standing.

  Something in my voice must have given me away, because she looked up with a raised eyebrow.

  “What is it?”

  “I think telling Rabi’a that there are two of us will secure her trust completely,” I said.

  Her face went very still even as she gestured for me to take a seat.

  “You trust her so much?” she asked quietly.

  “Yes,” I replied.

  Her nails tapped rhythmically against the tablet she still held in her lap.

  “It’s not fair to you, is it?” she asked. “That you keep shouldering it alone.”

  “I—”

  She smiled. “Don’t deny it, Amani. Martyrdom doesn’t suit you. And I promised to be a better friend.”

  “If you think it will endanger you—” I began.

  “I fear everything,” she said, and her smile turned bitter. “One cannot lead with fear.”

  “No,” I said softly, my eyes wide. “You can’t.”

  Her eyes met mine. “Have I surprised you, Amani?”

  I let out a breathless laugh. “Yes,” I said. “You have. I thought I would have to convince you.”

  “Some things are self-evident,” she replied. “Have Tala call her in.”

  “Now?” I said, alarmed.

  “Why put it off?” she said.

  When at last the suite was clear, I dispatched Tala to Rabi’a with a message to meet Maram in her private garden. Maram was resplendent in seafoam green, her dark hair threaded with pearls, and a chiffon and organza cape of forest green trailing on the ground behind her. She stared down at her reflection in the pool, its surface covered here and there with lily pads, her brows drawn into a small frown.

  “Your Highness?” I prompted, and came to stand beside her. Our reflections, side by side, seemed to draw more attention to our differences than our similarities. There was no mistaking who was the princess between us. Even without her pearls and finery, Maram was raised royal and everything about her exuded that. Between the two of us I could admit to myself that I looked vulnerable. Perhaps it was only standing next to Maram that made this apparent. I felt in that moment like the country girl I had been, brought guileless from a backwater moon and suddenly thrust into the center of a
dozen royal plots.

  It was strange to suddenly feel as if I didn’t recognize myself. I was not that girl anymore. I was a royal double and a rebel conspirator. Would Maram guess that more than just our comfort and trust rode on this meeting?

  “You’re certain this is a good idea?” Maram said at last, looking away from the water.

  I smiled. “I have more to worry about than you. You are royal—I am the one who might suffer the consequence of my rank.”

  Hidden in my rooms, my rebel communicator seemed to burn like a beacon in my mind. Truth be told, if I were ever unmasked, the makhzen who loved me now would turn against me. That I had dared to forge a confederation between rebels and makhzen would seem a betrayal. I would be marked an outsider who didn’t understand the stakes or risks of what I’d done. Idris’s love or not, his camaraderie or not, they would feel lied to, and that feeling would transform into anger for having been duped by one such as me. One as common as I was. Wrapped in velvet and gold, I was one of them. More importantly, I was a daring and hopeful leader. But I was not Maram, and I wondered what would happen to me when I was revealed for what I was: a commoner and a rebel.

  Maram stared at me wonderingly. “You truly believe that, don’t you? You have no—you don’t think that perhaps I might suffer as a matter of who I am. How I am?” She shook her head before I could answer. “If the risk is so large for you, why bother at all? I would have happily continued as we were.”

  “I should take disdain about my rank,” I said ruefully, “if it meant it was about me and not someone else at this point. Do you not want to be known, Your Highness?”

  She startled and her gaze turned distant for a moment. “I am known.”

  “By reputation—but I think few know you well. Myself. Idris. Aghraas. Who else?”

  She looked back at our reflection, contemplative.

  “We picked Rabi’a for a reason, Your Highness. She has more in common with you than the rest of the makhzen. She’s both smart and powerful, a combination in short supply these days.” Maram startled out of her contemplation with a laugh. “Friendship is risk. This secret will engender closeness.”

  “How shrewd you are,” she said with a smile. Our conversation was cut short by the click of heeled slippers against marble floor. Maram gestured to me and I lifted the hood of my mantle over my hair and veiled my face.

  Friendship is risk. And so, apparently, were alliances. Rabi’a cared—she cared about Maram, her sister, her province. It was a gamble to approach her once she knew who I was with a rebellious proposition, but I trusted my instinct.

  Rabi’a dressed with the staid elegance of a woman secure in her power. She wore a copper-red qaftan, with the military flourishes favored by Vathek aristocrats at her shoulders and throat. The skirt was slashed with printed brocade, and she wore a single ring—her house sigil imprinted on its surface, to mark official documentation. She frowned when she saw me, and her gaze moved from Tala to myself but she said nothing and sank to her knees.

  “I confess … I am surprised to be summoned so early and alone, Your Highness.”

  Maram, I thought as she came closer to Rabi’a, did herself little credit. She retained her regal air, but the Vathek frost she’d worn like armor when I met her had thawed a little.

  “I wished to introduce you to someone,” she said, and motioned for me to come forward.

  The veil and hood I’d only just donned were shed, and Rabia’s face went carefully blank as she gazed at me.

  “I don’t understand,” she said at last.

  “This is Amani,” Maram said, her voice sweet and gentle. “My body double. My shield. My … friend.”

  I came forward then and stood beside Maram. I could have knelt; indeed, etiquette dictated that I should have, for Rabi’a was of a higher rank than I. But I was loath to begin our first true meeting as a servant in relation to her superior.

  “It is a pleasure, Lady Rabi’a,” I said. “My apologies for the deception.”

  Rabi’a was still looking back and forth between us. “You are unrelated?” she asked.

  “A twist of cosmic fate,” I replied, dropping my voice to Maram’s register.

  She startled visibly, clearly unprepared to see me draw Maram’s personality about myself like a second skin.

  “Dihya,” she marveled, and looked between the two of us again.

  “She seems quite taken with you, Amani,” Maram said, laughing.

  “I am an oddity, Your Highness,” I replied with good cheer. “She is likely no more taken with me than she would be by a snake charmer in the souk.”

  “How long?” Rabi’a asked. Her voice was admirably controlled but for a thread of curiosity.

  “Long enough,” Maram said. “I trust few people. But Amani made a case for you. She believed revealing myself—that there are two of me—to you would be worth the cost.”

  “I hope that I have not misled Her Highness,” I added.

  Rabi’a sank back to her knees. “I am honored by your trust, Your Highness. I will endeavor to be worthy of it.”

  * * *

  Eventually Rabi’a did leave, and Maram cried off from her duties for the day. It began to rain in the early afternoon, so I lay in the tower, surrounded by books, interrupted only by serving girls who wished to bring me tea or sweets. It was early in the evening when I sent Tala with a missive to Rabi’a—I was coming to dinner. I knew her curiosity would get the better of her and if not, she couldn’t turn down Maram. With Tala’s help I dressed in an ivory and white qaftan, with feather printing spilling from my left shoulder and across my chest. Tala found a heavy black mantle with the same design, and pinned a corner to my right shoulder, allowing the rest of it to spill down my back and over the skirt of the gown.

  I appeared thus to Rabi’a with an escort in tow, whom I dismissed once she’d greeted me. Dinner was set out in a private room with a balcony, and rain beat against the shield, filling the quiet places between our small talk and the movement of serving girls as they laid out the table.

  At last, the room was empty but for the two of us, and I turned to face her.

  “I wasn’t sure if you expected myself or Maram,” I said.

  Instead of clarifying, she smiled. “Do you take her place often?”

  “Often enough that I know the makhzen quite well.”

  She took a seat and leaned back. “You didn’t grow up in the Ziyaana.”

  “Neither did you,” I countered.

  She eyed me and I fought the urge to twist in my seat like a child. I knew what she thought: that I’d taken her ability to offer me a seat was a gross breach of etiquette, but I would not allow her to take any ground I’d gained. I had survived, and I would not be condescended to by one who was above me simply through an accident of birth. I hadn’t come to where I was by accident either—a confidante to a princess and a rebel besides.

  “Does Her Highness know you’re a dissident?”

  A frisson of fear shot up my spine, but I stilled myself. “I am a royalist,” I said firmly.

  She smiled and tilted her head just so. “I take it you mean that in the traditional sense, from before the conquest. I would not have guessed but for the conversation on the beach. Coming from Maram it meant one thing. Coming from you, however…”

  “I am loyal to Maram and Maram alone.”

  “Ah,” she replied. I disliked her tone. “Loyalty to Maram does not require loyalty to the Vath.”

  It was a show of weakness, I was sure, but I came to my feet and walked to the balcony. Much of the city was obscured by rainfall, but even through it I could see the many lights winding their way around the hill atop which the estate sat. It appeared as a bejeweled skirt, spread just so around us.

  “I looked into your province,” I said without turning away from the view. “It is quite wealthy, but it wasn’t always. At the start of the war the average household was starving. Your family fixed that.”

  Rabi’a’s voice was hard. “T
hat is the social contract we enter into as rulers.”

  I laughed. “The Vath believe the powerful rule over the weak, and that is the social contract we enter into by not being born in the right places. But Maram—she is like you. She wants the planet and its people to prosper.”

  Rabi’a’s jewelry chimed and sang as she came to her feet and stood beside me.

  “And that is where a queenmaker comes in,” she said. It sounded almost like a question. I eyed her sidelong.

  “Is that what you think I am?” I asked, my mouth twisting. “Her Highness has no need of a queenmaker. The throne is her birthright. What she needs are allies who—”

  “What she needs,” Rabi’a interrupted coldly, “is an army. A war. Maram is no different than the rest of the hostages—a means to control the state before the galactic senate. I will not be party to—”

  “To what?” I dared her.

  “A rebellion,” she said. “I will certainly not be party to a rebellion spearheaded by a rankless girl who has never been to war.”

  “There is none better than a rankless girl,” I replied, “to see the injustice on the ground. Maram can fix much, but she cannot do it from within the machine of empire. And the cost of complacency is too high. Surely you can see that.”

  Rabi’a walked back to her seat. “There is no hope, Amani,” she said quietly. “Any rebellion will fail. You will be wiser when you accept that.”

  “When I was eight,” I said, looking back at the city, “my parents took me and my brothers and marched us through the mountains on Cadiz to a new home. It took six weeks. Six weeks of bitter cold and little food and nonstop walking. I was half my weight when we arrived at the village.”

  “Why would your parents put you through such an ordeal?”