Court of Lions

by Somaiya Daud

  She’d allowed herself to want for months. She’d shied away from difficult choices. She’d let Amani construct a new world for her and fallen in love. But now that world was calling, and it had demands on her and her blood and her inheritance. Her heart and duty had never been in alignment, but now she felt that disconnect acutely. Like a shard of glass burrowing its way to her center.

  “What do you want?” Aghraas said. “Is this what you want?”

  Her breath caught in her throat. That was always Aghraas’s question. What do you want?

  “It doesn’t matter,” she whispered.

  “You could leave this war, and this planet, and this rebellion all to Amani. You could come with me and we could go anywhere in the galaxy. You just have to want it enough.” Her voice was low and fierce.

  She did want it. Dihya, how she wanted it. Sometimes she woke up feeling as if the wanting would choke the life out of her. But this was what she’d been born to. This was what everyone was depending on her for. This … was her life. It was not the one she’d chosen, but the one she’d been made for.

  She wondered if when her mother bore her she’d always meant to pit her against Mathis. If Najat had planned a war from the very beginning. If she had raised Maram she would have turned out differently, a warrior queen preparing for war. Her entire life the choice was between her mother and father.

  No one ever suggested there might be a third option. That she might mold a world unlike her mother’s, where both justice and love were possible.

  “Fate is not real, Maram,” Aghraas said, drawing her thoughts back. “Our choices shape our destinies. You have a choice.”

  Maram walked toward Aghraas, and Aghraas in turn reached for her and laid her hands on her waist. Maram never tired of looking at her, at the strong planes of her face and the spill of her braids and the breadth of her shoulders. It had taken her—she didn’t know how long it had taken her to understand poetry. The wellspring from which love and safety spilled forth had been a mystery to her. But whenever her eyes fixed on Aghraas, the whole world seemed to come into focus.

  “This is my responsibility,” she said, and swept a thumb over Aghraas’s cheek. “And if—if I stayed, would you stay with me?”

  Aghraas hand came over hers. “Do you remember what I said to you at your estate?”

  “Tell me.”

  She kissed the palm of Maram’s hand. “Wherever you are, so too shall I be.”

  28

  The morning of our departure from Ghufran dawned and Maram and I met in the double’s suite. These meetings had become routine by now; an exchange of clothing, jewelry, and information. While I had taken the first days in Ghufran, she had taken the latter, and now that we were in transit once again, she wished to retire while I handled the makhzen.

  I didn’t have a courtyard as I’d had in Azaghar and Khenitra. Instead, there was a modest sitting room, with low couches piled with cushions. A table was in the center, and from the ceiling hung several brass lamps. The windows were covered with wooden trellises and Tala had passed through earlier and opened them so that the sounds of the Ghufani harbor poured in, along with the hum of sky-cars and transports. Maram stood framed against one of the windows and its trellis, her hands held in front of her, her gaze distant.

  “Your Highness?” My eyes widened in alarm when she looked at me. It didn’t look as if she’d slept at all. “What’s—is everything alright?”

  “My grandmother arrived last night,” she said, and gave me a tremulous smile. “It has altered my reality a bit.”

  I laid a hand on her arm. “In a good way?”

  “That remains to be seen,” she replied. “I can tell you want to tell me something. Out with it.”

  I wanted to ask her about her grandmother. She’d avoided meeting the dowager in the summer, and I knew she hadn’t been on the official invitation lists. A last-minute addition, done in secret. Perhaps Maram was ready to embrace this, to stop fearing her relatives and take control of our planet. But I didn’t have time and I hated that the rebellion would have to take precedence over our friendship for the next few minutes.

  “I’ve received an assignment.”

  Her body, already motionless, took on a preternatural stillness.

  “What?”

  “They’re going to kill the king,” I said softly.

  Her laugh was half hysteria, half the soft, foreboding laugh I’d learned to fear in my earlier days in the Ziyaana. She turned away from me and shielded her eyes with a ringed hand.

  “Dihya,” she said, walking a few steps away. “Isn’t that how the Kushaila swear?”

  It wasn’t the reaction I’d expected from her, and I was at a loss for what to do. Reach out to her? Comfort her?

  “Maram—”

  “The cosmos doesn’t line up very often,” she said. The hysteria hadn’t leeched completely from her voice. “Except for the destiny of kings and nations, it seems.”

  I stared at her, wide-eyed and bewildered. “I don’t understand.”

  “Last night my grandmother told me that Mathis’s occupation of Andalaa is illegal. The planet is mine.”

  I didn’t know how to respond to that, either. “What?”

  “Insofar as a planet can belong to anyone,” she added dryly, and waved her hand.

  “I don’t understand,” I repeated faintly.

  “Yes,” she said, bemused. “I can see that.” Her expression turned more serious. “Amani. What does your little rebel plot mean for me? You’re my sister—I expect you don’t mean to have me executed beside him.”

  That snapped me forcibly out of my daze and at last I reached for her hand.

  “Do you know what I have spent the last few weeks doing?” She shook her head. “Securing you an army. They will assassinate him to put you on the throne.”

  She looked out at the Ghufrani harbor, though her hand lay in mine. “What do you need from me?”

  “Nadine is the only person with a verifiable itinerary of Mathis’s flight plans. It will be easier to catch him in transit.”

  “You need her imperial tablet,” Maram murmured. “Easily done. And long overdue, truth be told.”

  “You can secure it?” I asked, relieved.

  She gave me a wry smile. “I am the heir of this planet, Amani. Of course I can. Though the tablet will cost you.”

  My stomach sank. “Cost me?”

  “A meeting with the rebels,” she said, and at last pulled her hand free. “If the army is mine, then let it be mine.”

  * * *

  Maram and I swapped clothes and jewelry and agreed that she would communicate to the tour that our departure from Ghufran would be delayed until the late afternoon. She was gone little more than an hour, but in that time I secured the meeting she required in a place she would not balk at going. My hands trembled. I’d worked so long toward this moment—the joining of the makhzen and the rebels, spearheaded by Maram. That this moment had finally come to pass was almost unimaginable to me.

  When at last Maram returned to the double’s suite she was grim-faced but had the tablet in hand. She carried something else as well: the medallion that was Nadine’s badge of office. My eyes widened.

  “Did you think I would suffer her in any era?” she said, raising an eyebrow. “I will not be her stepladder to imperial rule. Now. The rebels.”

  “I’ve secured a meeting with them,” I said. “In the lower gardens.”

  “How efficient you are,” she replied, and tossed Nadine’s medallion onto the couch. “Aghraas will accompany us.”

  As if summoned, the doors to the suite opened and Aghraas walked through. I hadn’t seen her since our first meeting, and I was taken again with how tall she was. She seemed to take up all the space in the room simply by existing. The two of them seemed to conduct an entire conversation with expressions alone. At last, Aghraas’s jaw stiffened—an argument, then—and Maram turned to me.

  “Shall we?”

  The lower garde
ns in the palace were dilapidated and overgrown. They were built almost directly on top of the harbor, so that quiet conversation was obscured by the roar of waves and the cry of seagulls. Standing by the water, tendrils of her red hair caught up in the breeze, was Furat. When she turned and saw me a smile grew on her face and I didn’t resist the hug she drew me into.

  “Well,” she said, pulling away from me and looking at Maram. “You certainly are a miracle worker. Your Highness.”

  Maram watched her, eyes hard and flat, as she sank to her knees then rose to her feet.

  “I don’t know if I should be more surprised that you are a rebel,” she ground out, “or that I have survived this long with you at their head.”

  Furat maintained her pleasant expression as she spoke. “Oh, I’m not in charge. I am Amani’s point of contact, that’s all. You have been blessed, cousin. Amani’s love of you prevailed over the only evidence of your character that we had.”

  “Evidence?” Maram said. The cold anger in her voice cut through me.

  “Your father,” Furat replied.

  “Enough,” I said, and laid a hand on Furat’s arm. “We are not here to argue. We’re here to at last achieve our goal.”

  “If my dear cousin is not the leader of the rebellion, who is?” She watched Furat as one might watch a viper, tracking every single movement so that she might cut off its head before it struck. Furat held out a hand and a flat white disc rose up into the air above it, glowed silver, then descended to the spot next to her. A hologram of Arinaas flickered to life.

  Maram made a choked noise, half laughter half disbelief.

  “Your seduction to the rebellion begins to clarify itself, Amani,” she drawled.

  Arinaas grinned. “Your Highness. I am told Amani has secured your alliance.”

  Maram held up the tablet. “Do I have your knights?”

  “You have our knights,” Arinaas confirmed.

  “Good,” she said, and handed the tablet to me. “Let us plan, then.”

  Furat’s eyebrows raised. “Plan?”

  The look Maram leveled at her should have turned her to dust.

  “Mathis’s assassination will be pointless if the Vathek military takes control of the planet in the ensuing chaos,” she said. “We will need to secure the imperial cities: Walili, Palalogea, and Tayfur, along with several others.”

  “How do you know we have enough fursa for that?” Arinaas asked.

  Maram’s smile was grim. “Amani is loyal to liberation, but she is also my sister and loyal to me.”

  For a long tense moment, the two of them stared at one another. And then Arinaas smiled.

  “You will make a formidable queen,” she said. “What other cities?”

  “We will have Qarmutta in hand with Rabi’a’s knights,” Maram said. “Al Hoceima, Shafaqaat, Rahat, and Ghazlan.”

  “It will be done,” Arinaas said.

  “How?” Maram drawled. “By the power of Dihya? I am sending an agent.” She stepped aside and Aghraas stepped forward to stand beside her. Arinaas’s eyes widened as they fixed on the daan on her face.

  “Siha, yakhti,” Arinaas said.

  “Baraka,” Aghraas replied.

  “Aghraas will bring you de-armament codes. I do not trust communications enough to send them any other way.”

  “I dislike leaving you in the middle of an assassination plot,” Aghraas said, folding her arms over her chest.

  Ah. The argument.

  “It’s a day’s travel. Be back before Qarmutta.” Aghraas was silent. “There is no one else, Aghraas.”

  Aghraas’s struggle was visible, and a part of me felt I should look away. In the end, she closed her eyes and nodded. The smile that stole over Maram’s face and then was gone seemed too private for me to have seen.

  “I will be there soon,” Aghraas said, turning to face Arinaas’s projection.

  “I look forward to making your acquaintance in person,” she replied. Her eyes moved to Maram. “I’m glad Amani was right, Your Grace.”

  Maram’s eyes widened and I smiled. “Your Grace?”

  “You are queen,” Arinaas said. “Our queen. You have our knights and our loyalty.”

  “Yes,” she murmured. “I suppose you’re right.”

  “By your leave?”

  Maram gestured her assent and Arinaas’s holo flickered out.

  “And you, cousin?” Maram said, turning to Furat. “Do I have your loyalty?”

  Furat sank to her knees and bowed her head. “Until death, Your Grace.”

  29

  Qarmutta was at the heart of Tayfur province and the seat of the Banu Ifran’s power. I had been all over the world now, thanks to my duties as Maram’s double, but I’d never seen a place that looked like this. It was a world of sandy hills and rocky mesas, dotted with bright green shrubbery, short trees, their branches bowed with fruit, and even brighter flowers. The city itself was spread out over four hills that ringed the mesa at its center, on which was built the pride of the city: the Court of Lions.

  Though it was under Zidane rule now, in the era of antiquity Qarmutta had been ruled by the Kushaila. It was a favorite city of an ancient family that no longer existed—a prince had fallen in love with a daughter of the Salihis and built the palace in her honor. A court of lions for his lioness.

  It saddened me that Maram could not be here for this—we’d both agreed it was best that I take on this last piece. Before I’d revealed the rebels’ plot it was because she felt strange enacting a marriage she had no desire to be a part of. Now—well, I thought now she could not stomach being present when the deed was done. No matter how necessary Mathis’s death was, he was still her father.

  Despite that, our entry to the city would be a triumphant one. The tour had been a success—we had left each city with more supporters than we’d entered with, with more ties, and with the love of the people. It was clear that they loved Maram. That they had missed the daughter of the queen, and now at last she was returned to them.

  But it wasn’t just that, I thought, looking at Idris. When the dust cleared, a new world order would rise. And I—and Idris—would be free.

  Idris and I stood on the open lawn of the star transport of the wedding caravan: Heiress-2. From there, we could see the city on our approach, and the lands spread out around it. We would land outside the city, prepare for the final parade to its center, and be joined by the king. The plan was to feast and celebrate the union of two great families, in the tradition Maram’s mother had produced on her own marriage to Mathis.

  The hope, however, was that he would be dead before then.

  “It’s beautiful, isn’t it?” Rabi’a said, coming to stand beside us.

  “Yes,” I replied. “You have done well, keeping it alive.”

  Rabi’a and her mother had done what many of the Andalaan families in the wake of the conquest could not—they had kept their province alive, and indeed helped it to prosper. And it was its prosperity that had enabled this moment, that would enable our victory.

  She smiled. “Do you mind if we unfurl our standard? You will like the results.”

  I shrugged. “Of course.”

  The standard of the Banu Ifran was a single tower on a green field, with their words in Zidane beneath it: Until death. It unfurled from a flagpole over the ship, and two more flags dropped down over the sides.

  “Look,” she said softly, gesturing to the ground below. Our caravan was not so high in the sky that I could not pick out the people in the fields, herding livestock, farming, on horseback. It was as if with the unfurling of her sigil the world changed for them. Children cried out, pointing at our transport, boys and girls on horseback raced to keep up with us, waving scarves in our direction. I felt my heart fill with joy. The sigil of the Vath heralded fear. Children fled in the wake of its shadow, mothers worried for those children, and so on. But the children below knew who rode with Rabi’a, saw Idris and me at her side, and yet and still, they waved and laughed. Fo
r they knew and loved us.

  Idris and I grinned at each other, and waved.

  * * *

  We didn’t fly into the city proper. Instead, a camp was set up just beyond its limits. It seemed a city in its own right, a hundred enormous tents erected to house the hundred families who had come to celebrate the marriage. The parade, too, had been a huge undertaking that Maram had handled with grace. It showcased the most important families, both Andalaan and Vathek, though its celebratory air was distinctly Kushaila, to pay respects to her mother’s and husband’s families. It would enter the city from the south, and wind its way past each of the four hills before climbing the mesa to the palace.

  The royal tent was high-ceilinged, its walls draped with Kushaila tapestries, its floor lushly carpeted. The tapestries muffled the chorus of noise outside, and for a moment I let myself breathe. From my left and going around the room, the walls depicted the story of Tayreet, a tesleet who’d come to our world looking for adventure and had fallen in love with a prince. They were beautiful, vibrant. Tayreet in her tesleet form was all blues and greens, jewel-colored and resplendent in every environment.

  Idris was in the Salihi tent, so I had the space to myself. Serving girls stood at the entrance, waiting to attend to me, and guards stood just outside. I wore a blue qaftan, embroidered in gold. The skirt was many-layered, its hem embroidered with flowers and vines, crawling their way up the panels of the gown. A testleet was spread out over my chest, its wings unfurled over my arms, its head arched over my right shoulder. Its plumage was bisected by a trail of pearls over the center of my chest. A blue mantle made of organza fell from my shoulders, stitched with ingots of gold and coral, with feathers embroidered throughout. From each shoulder hung three delicate chains, at the end of which floated real feathers: red, green, and blue.

  “Your Highness,” a serving girl murmured, entering the tent. She bore a cushion, which in turn bore a crown. It was more delicate than the imperial crown I’d worn to Maram’s coronation, dotted with emeralds, and at its center a bird rose up, her wings unfurled so that the tips met over her head. I knew it had to be a tesleet, but the design was such that the average viewer would not be able to tell if it was the Andalaan tesleet or Vathek roc. She settled it over my head, then gestured to the mirror at the other end of the room.