by Somaiya Daud
“You have been silent most of today,” he said. He set a small plate of her favorite pastries in front of her. “What’s wrong?”
Since her mother’s death, she had held all things close to her chest. Weakness was always exploited. By her sister. By her father. By her cousins.
What do you want?
Help. She wanted help.
“When…” She looked away from him and for a moment thought she wouldn’t be able to continue. “When you fell in love with Amani … how did you know?”
Idris huffed out a laugh. “Has someone displaced me in your affections?”
This time, she forced herself to look at him. “We have known each other long enough, I think, that I am owed the courtesy of not being mocked.”
His eyes widened in surprise and for a moment he only stared as she stared back.
“Maram—”
“Answer the question,” she cut in. “Or don’t.”
His throat worked as if he were struggling to pin down his thoughts.
“Dihya,” he muttered at last and scrubbed a hand over his face.
“Idris.”
He looked around the room as if the vases or the trellis might give him an answer. For the first time she recognized a strange and horrible grief on his face. A part of her felt that she should look away. Idris was not in the habit of sharing his weaknesses, even with her. And to see him so wracked by it twisted in her gut uneasily. They were all fallible to such emotions, but she liked to hope she could protect herself.
Look at yourself now, a voice whispered. Are you protected?
“I don’t know,” he said at last, staring into the middle distance. “I liked her and we became friends and then I wanted her and I told myself no.”
“No?”
His eyes flicked to her. “We are both hostages, you and I. And we grew up understanding that loving anyone was a luxury neither of us could afford.”
“What changed?”
“It felt like a madness,” he said softly. “I dreamed of her. And at Ouzdad we were never far from each other. And then I couldn’t … justify … being apart from her.”
“It feels like I’m being strangled,” she found herself whispering. “Every moment of every day. Sometimes I look at her and—”
“You don’t want it to end,” he finished for her. “What you must decide—what all of us who live in the Vath’s shadow must decide, Maram, is whose hands you would prefer around your throat.”
* * *
Maram returned to the double’s suite in a daze, Idris’s words echoing in her mind. The sun had set and Amani was back at Idris’s side yet again. It seemed all her meetings with Aghraas were destined to be dreamlike. She sat in the central tower, haloed by the silver light of the moon, a single brass lantern at her knee. It cast stars and moons as shadows across her face—she looked like a woman out of legend and myth.
Aghraas sat cross-legged on a floor cushion, her cloak draped over the low couch. An unpainted clay bowl sat on the low table at her right elbow, and every few seconds a soft ping would sound as a gold ring was pulled from one of her braids and deposited into it. Maram stood perfectly still on the last stair, watching her from the shadows. It was so rare that she was allowed to look her fill—it seemed Aghraas was always aware of her, always knew where she was. Always caught her when she tried to observe her quietly. Privately.
You can remain in the shadows, a voice said to her. Remain beneath the cloud of doubt and fear and loneliness.
She struggled, her hand pressed against her ribcage, her breath caught in her throat.
Remain shackled to the empire.
Another ring dropped into the clay bowl, and Maram stepped forward. Aghraas did not notice her until she stood over her.
“Maram—”
Maram said nothing, only sat behind her on the couch, and pulled the braid out of her hand. Aghraas went perfectly still under her touch. She did not move as the pile of gold rings in the bowl grew larger.
“Do you do this every night?” Maram asked.
“Yes.”
“Alone?”
“At home my mother or a cousin will do it for me,” Aghraas said.
“They are so inclined to help you?” Maram was on the last braid, the ring held between her first finger and thumb still on the braid.
“They are,” Aghraas replied. “Maram.”
When Maram didn’t move, Aghraas pulled the braid from her grasp, slipped the ring down its length, and deposited it in the bowl.
“Maram,” she said again, and turned around on the cushion to face her. Maram might have looked away, but she didn’t. Instead she watched the way moonlight made Aghraas’s eyes seem to burn with fire, at the way the lamplight struck her cheeks. She wanted to reach for her again, to sweep a thumb over her cheek. She wanted to be able to lean close as she’d seen Amani and Idris do over a sheaf of poetry.
She didn’t.
“Are you afraid of anything, Aghraas?” she asked, her fingers tightening around the fabric of her skirt.
Aghraas’s eyes widened.
“I think I’m afraid of you,” Maram continued softly, not waiting for an answer. Her eyes had lowered almost of their own volition, and so it was that she saw Aghraas reach for her hands. Aghraas turned Maram’s hand over and traced over the love line cutting through its center.
“Afraid of me?” she whispered. “Or afraid of us?”
22
The days passed. That was the most I could say of them—one began and then ended and then another and so on. It was difficult to take joy in the successes I’d enjoyed. I’d done the impossible, a thing not done since prior to the civil war that had wracked our planet: united houses against a common enemy, created a confederation. I’d saved my family, a thing that had seemed unimaginable to me only a few months ago. And I wanted to believe that my view of the world was not so small that the end—the true end—of Idris and me had so upended it in my mind completely and yet—
The sound of someone clearing their throat roused me out of my melancholy. Tala hovered in the doorway, wringing her hands.
“Her Highness has arrived and awaits you in the tower,” she said softly. “She is … temperamental.”
“Thank you, Tala,” I said, and rose to my feet. “I’ll handle it.”
We had a small kitchen here, and I found and loaded a tray with sweet pastries and a pot of tea, along with two glasses. Maram had gone straight to the tower room, and stood facing the ocean, the pins gone from her hair, her slippers tossed off somewhere to the side. She looked like a young girl, which in theory I knew to be true. But always she seemed to me—or rather, nearly always—to be an unassailable fortress, made of ice and stone. I had only ever seen the walls come down in her worst moments, and this was not one of them.
And yet and still, it seemed she was comfortable enough here and with me to let down her guard.
I set the tray down on the table and Maram did not turn away from her view of the sea, though she smiled.
“Am I a child to be pacified by sweets?” she asked.
“I don’t know,” I replied archly. “Are you?”
Maram sighed, and threw herself back onto one of the couches. “The machinations never end,” she said, and her voice turned sad. “I never thought I would have to move against Nadine, of all people.”
“Oh?” I said carefully.
“I know she seems a monster to you—” I snorted, and she ignored me. “She raised me after I was sent to Luna-Vaxor. I thought … I thought she loved me.” She rubbed a hand over her face. “Maybe no one loves anyone. Maybe all anyone loves is power.”
“Your mother loved you,” I countered softly.
“And how do you know that?” I could hear the strain in her voice. “Half the time I think she bore me to be a weapon against my father and for no other reason.”
“I think you would care less what your mother thought in the grave if she didn’t love you. If that wasn’t what you remembered.
”
“Sometimes I think my memory is wrong,” she whispered.
I didn’t know what to say to that, and so set about dividing up the sweets and pouring out the tea.
“So,” I said when I’d handed her a glass. “Shall we begin?”
* * *
The work of planning such a tour was enormous.
“We should rely on the others,” Maram suggested, surprising me. “They have just as much a stake in its success as I do.”
“You’re right,” I said, staring at her wide-eyed.
“It happens on occasion,” she drawled, and I laughed.
“You will need an entirely new wardrobe,” I said. “And we will need to invite the press—”
“Why in the worlds would we invite the press?”
“This is your debut as the Imperial Heir,” I said. “The support of the galaxy is worthwhile and you should want to cement your place among them.”
She grimaced. “I hate the idea of the eyes of the galaxy watching me.”
“You will be queen—that is the reality.”
We moved on. She came up with a list of Vathek courtiers to invite city by city, and together we winnowed it down.
“You cannot invite the Clodius or Aphelion houses,” I said, pausing.
“Why not? They’re war heroes!”
I raised an eyebrow. “Because they are war heroes, Your Highness. You want the people’s love, not to remind them what they have suffered. And the Clodius and Aphelion sigils were stamped on most flags of conquest. Even I recognize them. Aphelion salted the fields outside of Azaghar. They will recognize the sigil and you will find it very hard to win them over.”
“Anyone else I need to worry about?”
“Have you not asked Idris?”
Tala came and set down a second tray with tea and pastries.
“That’s a good idea,” Maram replied. “I will ask him. But in the meantime, Ofal will meet us in Khenitra. And then one or two in every city after.”
I hummed my assent. I’d met Ofal only once at the party Maram’s elder sister had thrown in the north. She seemed one of the few family members Maram was truly fond of.
“How did you do it?” she asked. I raised my eyebrows. “The people of this city love me—love the makhzen. They were indifferent to us when we arrived.”
“People are simple, and the planet is old, and everyone likes stories. Every society leans on images of antiquity to bolster their claim. Learn the right story, stage it the right way—everything else falls into place.”
“Stories?” Maram frowned.
“The pearls,” I said. “The horses. The banners. M’Gaadir is the first Kushaila city in all the world. Every time I dress I remember that.”
“What in the worlds are you talking about?”
I widened my eyes in surprise. “I thought Aghraas at least would have told you the stories.”
“Why would she have told me the stories?”
“Isn’t she M’Gaadiri? Her daan are Houwa’s daan—the feathers.” She stared at me blankly. “The story goes that the Kushaila are descendants of a lost clutch of tesleet eggs. Houwa was the first egg that hatched on the beaches of what would become M’Gaadir. Her feather daan signified her tesleet origins. That is why the Ziyadi crest is the bird—your family draws its line directly from Houwa.”
“I thought they were descendants of Kansa,” she said.
“Kansa is Houwa’s granddaughter. She was known for her pearls. It’s why I wore them so often in public. Maram?” Her gaze had turned distant, as if her mind had fled elsewhere. She blinked and focused on me.
“Sorry—yes.”
“What is it?”
“Sometimes I think … Aghraas is an alien.” She said it with a self-deprecating smile. “I don’t know where she’s from. Or how she came to be where I needed her. One day she was just … there, when I needed her most.”
“As in … from the stars?”
“Sometimes I look at her and—” She shook her head. “It doesn’t matter. I can’t be Houwa for the whole world.”
I resisted the urge to press her on Aghraas. That she had said so much at all seemed a miracle to me.
“Certainly not,” I replied. “But sovereigns historically give out gifts and alms. You can do that in every city. Charity leaves a mark. And we can plan to arrive at Azaghar on the Mawlid.”
“The what?”
“The birth of Massinia—the whole world isn’t Dihyan, but Azaghar is a Dihyan city. And they will be celebrating it. It is custom for the ranking member of court in the city to open the gates of the palace for a celebratory feast.”
Some of her old fear passed over her face. “That is dangerous.”
“If you keep yourself apart—”
“I know. Try to keep in mind one of them tried to kill me—us—not so long ago.”
I smiled. “You will not like the next bit, then.”
She waved a hand. “Proceed.”
“It is tradition for them to walk from the palace to the zaouia to make a donation.”
“No,” she said flatly.
“Maram—”
“Let’s compromise,” she said. “I will hold the feast. I will even be present. I will not traverse the city on foot.”
Perhaps the zaouia was too much. Especially in light of her worries about how the Vath would perceive her. She needed to appear to still belong to them for as long as possible. I nodded.
“If you’d told me last year that I would … be arguing with my double about what political risks I would take,” she drawled, and shook her head.
I smiled. “It is normal to argue with an older sister.”
She hadn’t sat up from her earlier sprawl and contorted her neck so that she could look at me while remaining on her back. “Do you want to be queen?”
I blinked at her, startled. “What?”
“Do you ever want to be queen?” she repeated.
“No,” I said, laughing. “The very idea fills me with dread.”
That made her sit up. “Really?”
“Yes,” I said. “I was not born to this life. If not—if I were not here, I would be … well. I might be married by now. I would certainly not be doing this.”
She propped her chin on the heel of her hand and watched me. “But you are here, helping me when you don’t have to. When … in truth, you have every right to let me sink or swim. If not for power, then for what?”
“I love my planet. It has been mistreated in the last decade—” It was Maram’s turn to snort and my turn to ignore her. “But I think— No, I know that you will be a great queen. That you have the compassion and capability to do better than those who have come before you.”
It seemed she did not expect me to say such a thing. She blinked rapidly and looked away.
“What makes you think so, given how I’ve treated you?”
“Because those who are unfit to rule do not worry about the sins committed by their masters,” I replied. “And they make no effort to repair the harm done by them.”
She did not look at me when she spoke. “Is it enough to worry when your hands are tied as mine are? I have noticed the ways in which my father’s laws chain the people of this planet. I have little recourse against them. And every time I sit at the diwan I notice the silence between words—the hunger that is never spoken of openly. The missing children. What am I to do? What … what would you do?”
I swallowed around a lump in my throat. “What would I do?”
“If you were queen. Or going to be queen as I am.”
“You know what I would do,” I said. “I would expel the Vath.”
Her mouth ticked up into a cynical smile. “And how do we decide who is Vathek enough to be expelled? What if I looked like Mathis instead of Najat? What then?”
I opened and then closed my mouth.
“We must face reality,” she said.
“And what is the reality?”
“After thirty years, the worl
d is more complicated because of the conquest. Children cannot be held accountable for the sins of their parents.”
“Is it so complicated that we must tolerate an occupational government bleeding the planet dry?”
Maram stilled at that. “You of all people understand the cost of dissent against the Vath. I know that. What I don’t understand is why you persist in this belief that they can be excised.”
“I cannot accept any other world,” I said. “You don’t understand why I can’t give up. I don’t understand how you can watch and do nothing.”
Her eyes searched my face as if she could divine some secret from my expression. “Amani, listen to me and listen well: whatever conflict with the Vath you choose to enter will never be equal or just. They are not idealists. Their expulsion will be long and difficult, and they will do things you cannot imagine.
“The consequences will rest on your shoulders. And then what will you do with the common Vath who have made their home here? Will they too be punished for their leaders’ mistakes?”
I lowered my gaze. I knew what she needed to do; but I knew, too, that to suggest it to her when it had been the thing that nearly broke us apart would do little good.
“How can I be a good queen when I cannot even lead?” You must engage the Vath, I wanted to say. But her expression, though calm, was also dangerously still. I could sense the turmoil inside her and I understood that if I pushed too hard too soon she would withdraw. We had come to a point where she would have to decide—I had done all I could to convince her of what was both necessary and just.
“You are leading already,” I told her. “And it is early days yet—the problems will not solve themselves overnight.”
“They have solved themselves,” she said. “It is only that I fear the solution.”
23
Furat and I arranged to meet a few days later. We met in the same garden where we’d met on her arrival at the palace. She arrived ahead of me and by the time I managed to slip away she was already sitting in the gazebo. Because of Maram’s clear position on her I hadn’t been able to speak to or see her for the majority of the visit. And because of the friendship I’d engineered with the Banu Ifran she likewise had stayed away. But she smiled when she saw me, rose to her feet and held out her hands.
