by Naomi Cyprus
Papa had never liked him. Maybe he was right all along.
“Well, I’m going to sit down,” said Halan, and she sank down onto the pile of cushions. She scraped her hair back from her face. “I don’t suppose you have a ribbon or something?”
“Um—no,” said Nalah. Then she remembered that her own hair was braided, and was tied with a bit of string from the workshop.
She sat down in front of Halan, pulled her hair free, and handed the string over. “Here. I won’t need it anymore. I need to look like you.”
“Thanks.” Halan braided her hair and tied it up with Nalah’s string, while Nalah combed her fingers through hers and tried to get some of the tangles out. “Nalah,” Halan said, in a businesslike, regal sort of voice, “I need you to know that I don’t believe the king would go to your world and kidnap your father without a very good reason. This may all be just a misunderstanding. It’s like all of Soren’s talk of injustice and oppression—I know my father, and I don’t believe that he could do something like that.”
Nalah looked at her twin, feeling a tug at her heart. Part of her wanted to shake the princess. To tell her what she saw Asa Tam do with her own eyes. But she knew that alienating Halan would be a mistake, and besides, Halan must love the king very much to believe in him so strongly.
Probably as much as Nalah loved her father.
She tried to imagine what she would do if someone accused her father of doing something terrible. Well . . . , a tiny voice in the back of her mind needled, if he really is your father.
Nalah shook her head, trying to dismiss the thought. You have to focus! She needed Halan on her side right now. So she changed the subject. “So, what’s it like being a princess?”
“Boring,” said Halan. She looked around at the dusty old room. “On a normal day, anyway.”
“It can’t be that boring,” said Nalah. “Didn’t Ironside say something about a feast and dancing?”
“Even those things can be boring,” Halan said. “I know that must sound spoiled, but it’s how I’ve always felt. Everyone tells me what to wear and how to behave and who to talk to and even where to sit. I have no freedom. No life of my own. Though now that I’ve been in the city and seen how some people here live . . .” She looked down at the floor, fingering the fine fabric of her tunic. “I never really appreciated how beautiful everything is at the palace,” she continued. “Every room is full of Thauma artifacts and colors and sunlight. There’s always something delicious to eat, and something cool to drink, and everybody there—”
She broke off, sounding slightly choked, and Nalah felt her chest tighten in sympathy. Whatever their differences, Nalah knew what it was like to be taken far from home and shown an entirely new world. It changed everything you thought you knew about the old one.
“Everybody there wants the best for me,” said Halan, shaking off her emotion. “And they think they know better than I do! They want to keep me safe because I don’t have any powers. The problem is, they all think that protecting means keeping me locked away where nothing can ever happen to me at all! There are people watching my every move, all day—I had to trick my way out of the palace tonight. I guess it didn’t do me much good, but I felt like I had to do it, because they were never going to let me leave the tiny world they’d made for me. Every day it’s exactly the same. I get up, and Lilah, my handmaiden, dresses me. I take breakfast with my mother in the Sun Garden most days. We don’t talk.”
“Your mother?” Nalah whispered. She suddenly felt like she couldn’t breathe. Your mother is alive! Is she my mother’s tawam?
“Queen Rani,” said Halan, and Nalah’s stomach turned over at the sound of the name. Rani and Rina—reflections of the same name. That couldn’t be a coincidence. Now that she thought about it, the names Nalah and Halan were reflections of each other too. What a strange world this is.
“Sometimes I don’t think she likes me much,” said Halan casually, as if it wasn’t a desperately sad thing to say. “Don’t expect any hugs, I’ll put it that way.”
Nalah swallowed, stunned by this. “That’s terrible. My mother died,” she whispered. “Her name was Rina. She was killed in a fire in my father’s workshop, making something to cure an illness I had.”
Halan paled. “Oh,” she said. “I’m so sorry.”
They sat together in silence for a moment. Nalah guessed that Halan was wondering the same thing as she: Which was worse, to have a living, breathing mother who didn’t love you? Or to have lost a mother who did?
Dead is worse, Nalah thought, a painful flicker of jealousy in her heart.
“What do you do then?” she asked. “After breakfast?”
Halan seemed to pull herself together. “Lessons, with Lord Helavi. History, geography, Thauma theory. Very boring. Although today was the first time it really came in handy! After that, it depends on the day. Sometimes I sit in with the noble fabric Thaumas and sew things, and everyone pretends that my sewing is great, even though it doesn’t do anything magical.”
“That must be hard,” Nalah said.
“It’s fine,” snapped Halan. “I’m not—” She sighed. “Sorry. I know you meant well. It’s just . . . sometimes it’s like people think I’m stupid, or they treat me like a baby bird that’s fallen out of its nest, just because I can’t do magic. It’s infuriating.”
Nalah nodded, although she couldn’t really understand. In her world, not being a Thauma would have made her life much simpler. “It’s funny, you know,” she said. “I am a Thauma, and my father is always trying to protect me from it. Maybe we were just born in the wrong worlds.” She chuckled.
Halan gave a quiet laugh too. But Nalah couldn’t help feeling that despite the beauty and plenty of the palace, she herself—with her doting father and the memory of her loving mother—was still the luckier of the two.
“Sometimes I sit in my room and read,” Halan went on. “Sometimes I go for walks in the gardens with my mother, or the noble ladies who are supposed to be keeping an eye on me, and we don’t talk some more. I get changed for dinner, I eat dinner, I go to bed. That’s my whole life.”
“That actually does sound quite dull,” Nalah conceded.
“The good news for you is, they really don’t expect you to do much. You’re more like a piece of the furniture that everyone’s afraid of breaking. Just try not to look surprised by things, and you’ll probably be fine. Anyway, what about you?” Halan asked. “I know I’m not pretending to be you, but I want to know. What’s your life like in the other world? Is it exciting?”
Sometimes it can be a bit scary, Nalah thought. Is that the same as exciting?
“I don’t know, not really. Before all of this stuff with the mirror, I used to get up and have breakfast with Papa—porridge, usually.” She made a face, and then she realized that Halan was making the same face.
“Yuck. I hate porridge.”
“Me too!” Nalah grinned. “But we can afford it, so I don’t tell him how much I hate it. Then I’d usually take the little glass trinkets that Papa made and go to sell them in the market.”
“You worked in a bazaar? That must have been amazing!”
“It was hot, and kind of smelly. People would come up to the stall and look at the things Papa spent hours making and say, ‘This rabbit has a funny ear’ or ‘I don’t like this shade of red,’ and I just had to smile. Otherwise, they wouldn’t buy anything, and we wouldn’t have money for porridge, or sand to make more trinkets.”
“That sounds awful. You should tell them to pay up or leave you alone.”
Nalah couldn’t help but smirk at that advice. Spoken like a real princess! “It’s not really a good idea for Thaumas to speak their minds like that in New Hadar,” she said.
“And what about your friend with the blond hair?”
Nalah chuckled to herself. “Marcus’s stall is next to ours. His family sells fabric crafts. He’s kind of annoying, but at least I have someone to talk to.”
“So, do
you spend all day in the market?” Halan asked.
“Well, because of my . . . problem, I promised Papa I would always go straight home from the market. But sometimes I walk the long way, along the beach. In New Hadar, the Sand Sea is a real ocean, with water!”
“What?” Halan exclaimed.
“It’s true. People go swimming and sailing. Trading boats and passenger boats arrive at the harbor from other countries all the time. And then I go home and talk to Papa and have dinner.”
“I like it when I can talk to my father, but he’s so busy,” Halan said, a pensive expression twisting her lips for a moment. “Please, Nalah . . . I know you think Soren’s right and my father’s a bad man, but I beg you to give him a chance to explain himself. Please, promise me you’ll try.”
Nalah looked at her tawam. She couldn’t ignore the pleading look in her eyes. “I promise I’ll give him a chance,” she said.
She ran a finger in nervous circles over the rough stone by her knee. When Halan learned the truth about her father, whatever that truth might be . . . would she be able to handle it?
For now, Nalah realized, Halan’s blind faith in her father meant that she couldn’t completely put her trust in Halan, as much as she wanted to. The princess might defend her father, even if it meant betraying her twin. After all, wasn’t that what Nalah herself was doing, right now?
It’s time, Nalah told herself. She needs to have all the information about our fathers, just as much as you do. She told you everything you must know. Now you need to tell her.
“I need to tell you something,” said Nalah. “About your father and mine.” She clasped her hands in her lap, afraid of Halan’s reaction.
“Yes?” said Halan warily.
“They aren’t the same person.”
“What do you mean?” Halan asked. “You mean yours isn’t the king in your world?”
“No, he’s not. My father is a man named Amir Bardak. He’s a glassworker. And he’s not King Asa’s tawam. Your father came into our world, and he . . . killed his tawam.”
Halan’s expression went cold. “You’re mistaken. Why would he do that?”
“I’m not sure, but I saw it,” Nalah said. Then she remembered—it was a vision. She was certain it happened, but she wasn’t actually there.
“And if your father and my father aren’t tawams . . . ,” said Halan. Nalah bit her lip. She could see the conclusion dawning on Halan’s face. “We shouldn’t be. But we’re identical. We’re the same person! Shouldn’t that mean we have the same parents?”
“Yes,” Nalah whispered. “So one of us must be wrong about who her real father is.”
“Well, it must be you,” said Halan without hesitation. Nalah flinched. Her tawam sucked in a breath. “Oh . . . I’m sorry, I didn’t mean— Well, but it must be. I don’t know any Amir Bardak. And I’m a princess—if my father wasn’t really my father, people would know it! Like, my mother, for a start. What about you? Did you know my father’s tawam? Before . . . whatever happened?”
Nalah’s heart had started to beat high and loud in her ears.
“I knew him. When I was younger.” She didn’t want to go on, she didn’t like where this thought was leading. She felt sweat on the back of her neck, her body trying to panic, telling her to run—even though there was no running from the truth. She owed it to Halan to be honest, and to herself. “He used to visit a lot. Before my mother died. He and my mother were good friends. And my father hated him. . . .”
She didn’t want to look up at Halan’s face. She knew precisely the expression she’d find, because it was the same expression she would be wearing if their places were swapped. Pity, and I told you so.
Could it be true? Could Zachary Tam have been my real father?
What if it was true? He was never around, except for a few visits. After Mama died, he stopped coming to see me. And either way, Amir Bardak is the man who’s looked after me and loved me all these years.
I just wish I knew for sure.
“I don’t care,” Nalah said aloud, tossing her loose hair back over her shoulder and suppressing the tears that prickled at the corners of her eyes. “I don’t care if our true father is Bardak or Tam. Amir Bardak is my papa—he raised me and I love him and I’ll stop at nothing to save him!”
“I feel that way about my papa,” said Halan quietly. “Please try to remember that when you meet him. What you’re doing could be dangerous—and not just for you.”
Nalah nodded. “I understand that. And I won’t let any harm come to him until we know the full story.”
“Be careful,” Halan said darkly, leaning forward on her knees. “Soren is a liar. Who knows what his true motives are?”
Nalah nodded, though she couldn’t help thinking the same about King Tam. And it made her feel as if the thread tying her and Halan together was in danger of snapping.
“Yes,” Nalah replied, trying to keep her face impassive while her mind spun with fear and worry. “Who knows?”
Chapter Twelve
Halan
Legend has it that the Fifth Clan has had a major role in our kingdom’s history from the earliest days. Though not kings or queens themselves, the Fifth Clan were there: from the Wise Ones who traveled with our first tribal kings on their nomadic journeys, to the Queen’s Sword who drove back the invaders when war came to our shores for the first time. It has been said that they rarely seek out power for themselves, but fight and craft with undying loyalty for those they love.
From “The Legend of the Fifth Clan,” in Myths and Legends of the Magi
Halan awoke in darkness, a damp, moldy-smelling cushion under her head. Her heart sank in disappointment—she had hoped that her kidnapping by the rebels and her magical Thauma twin were all just part of a terrible dream.
But no, she was still here, in a room half underground. And it was all too real.
The last thing she remembered was that Nalah had left her to speak to Soren. She must have fallen asleep on the floor sometime after that. A group of rebels had come in to watch her, but they were asleep too—three of them had brought in mats and blankets. The room was getting a little brighter now; she could begin to make out the windows, where a tiny sliver of pink dawn filtered through a crack in the wooden slats nailed across them.
Halan sighed in frustration. If I had Nalah’s powers, I could command the boards to fall off the windows, she thought. Or melt the nails out of the wall.
She shook herself and sat up, rubbing her eyes. She wasn’t going to think like that, not even now. She didn’t need powers—she had her wits. She would find a way out of there.
She’d tried not to fall asleep, but it had been a very long night. After hours of walking, arguing, and being tied up, even the horrid cushions had seemed inviting. Still, it was foolish of her to let her guard down like that.
Halan shuddered, remembering Seyed’s cool determination that she should be killed. He wasn’t one of the rebels in the room, but who knew how many of them he had convinced while she was talking to Nalah?
Nalah and Soren stopped him. But what will happen when they’re gone?
How long would it take for the rebels to decide that, with their leader gone, it was too much trouble to keep Halan alive?
Halan got to her feet carefully, holding her breath and watching her captors. They all seemed to be fast asleep. Halan slipped off her sandals and tiptoed to the door. It was slightly open—Halan bristled at the arrogance of it, as if they were so certain she couldn’t escape they didn’t even need to lock her in.
“Incapacitate? What does that mean?” she heard a voice say from down the hall, and Halan’s skin crawled with the strangeness of it—it was her own voice, more or less. Nalah was speaking to Ironside. If Halan squinted, she could just make out a black, cloaked shape. They had swapped clothes—Nalah was dressed in Halan’s escape outfit, and Halan was in Nalah’s plain tunic.
“Just what it sounds like. Out of the way, where he can’t interfere with our pla
ns. You are a Fifth Clan Thauma, right?” Soren added. “I leave the methods up to you. You should be able to get to him easily—he’ll never expect it from his beloved, powerless daughter. As soon as our friends are freed from the prison, you take Tam out. I will rouse the others, every rebel we have, and we’ll take the palace.”
Halan couldn’t make out Nalah’s expression from here, but her tawam didn’t argue with him. She was silent.
Halan felt something break inside her. My own tawam is working against me.
That line of thinking hurt too much, though she wasn’t sure why—she’d just met Nalah. But there was something comforting about the girl. Because she’s another side of me, Halan realized. Whatever she does, it’s almost like I’m doing it too.
Pushing her hurt feelings away, Halan focused on Soren. Liar, traitor, murderer! You think you’re going to kill my father and steal my throne?
Well, not if I can help it.
She was so angry and frightened she almost didn’t hear Nalah say, “Soren, do you know why Tam would have kidnapped my father? Why he might want me? Do you think it has something to do with my being Halan’s tawam?”
“I’ve no doubt he has his reasons. What they are, I can’t say.”
“It’s just . . . Halan seemed so certain. She loves her father. She really seems to think that he’s misunderstood.” Nalah’s voice sounded sad, almost pitying.
I don’t need your pity! Halan thought angrily. It’s Ironside who you’ve misunderstood. He’s using you as a weapon against my family. Can’t you see that he’s manipulating you?
“You don’t believe that, though, do you?” Soren said. “Ever since the Year of Storms, Tam’s family and people like them have stopped at nothing to keep control over the kingdom. Asa Tam is no different. In fact, he’s worse than the kings and queens before him ever were. I suspect he’s up to something bigger than just squashing the people’s rebellion. It’s possible your world is somehow part of the plan. If we don’t stop him for good . . .”
