by Somaiya Daud
He frowned and looked over his shoulder as though he’d knocked on the wrong door. I closed the door behind him and touched his arm. A moment later he broke out into a wide grin as he realized it wasn’t Maram who greeted him, but me. A wave of happiness washed over me. Being recognized—and being recognized by Idris—would never lose its wonder.
“I didn’t think…” he started once he was inside.
“I thought I was coming alone,” I said.
He was still frowning. “I’ve just arrived. Maram and I had an argument and I wasn’t going to come.”
“You’ve come to apologize,” I said, amused.
“Something like that. What are you doing here? There’s no danger here.”
“My half sister’s bid for the crown poses a danger to my sanity,” I said. “Or something to that effect.”
“You are cheerier than I’ve seen you in some time.”
He was right. Twice now Maram and I had sat together and talked and I’d come away from it unharmed. A low bar for friendship, to be sure. But she seemed more real to me now, and I imagined—or hoped—that I seemed more real to her. We would never be friends, but—
But what? I didn’t know.
A serving girl knocked on the door and poked her head through.
“We’ve unpacked your gown, Your Highness,” she said. “Shall we bring it in?”
“Yes,” I said, and flashed Idris a look.
His face cleared immediately. He bowed a moment later. “I will see you when you’re ready.”
The gown Maram had settled on was more Vathek than Kushaila; it was a black gown with an oval neckline and black lace sleeves. The skirt clung to my hips and then widened just slightly at the knees, spilling into a pool of fabric at my ankles. There were silver epaulets at the shoulders and a thin silver belt of interlocking wings no wider than my smallest finger. She’d managed to find the necklace I’d mentioned—a dark silver talon clutching an emerald, and it swung from my neck, bumping against my ribs every now and then. The earrings were the same dark metal shaped and etched to look like feathers, and smelted so that when they moved, they glimmered with a rainbow of color.
All in all, I thought as I examined myself in the mirror, the effect was striking. The serving girl pulled my hair away from my face so that the earrings would not be hidden, but it hung low on my back, curling freely.
Idris’s eyes widened when he saw me. “You’re—” he began.
“Thank you,” I said, grinning. “Shall we?”
* * *
Galene held the party in the central courtyard, a place that was part garden and part ballroom, with a high glass ceiling to trap the heat. The walls were covered in ornate mirrors, and hovering high above were several chandeliers rising and falling, as though a wind flowed beneath them. White flowers hung from everything, twining over bannisters and around sconces.
I managed to keep my expression serene and apathetic as we made our way through the crowd. Most faces I recognized, and when there was one I didn’t, I squeezed Idris’s arm. It seemed Galene had invited not only the Vathek courtiers who resided on Andala, but some Vath from other places in the system. I couldn’t understand why they would make such a journey, but then I imagined a noble with no occupation had the time.
“Maram!”
Theo. And his Moranite wife. The two of them peeled away from their circle; Theo kissed me as he had in Atalasia, and his wife remained at his side, silent.
“You look a vision,” he said. “Idris.”
“Theo,” he replied. “You’re looking well. Marriage agrees with you.”
Theo grinned. “It agrees with us. Doesn’t it, my dear?”
The girl seemed to have eyes only for her new husband, and beamed up at him. Still, she’d not spoken a single word.
I smiled at her. “Does she speak Vathekaar?” I asked.
Theo didn’t look offended. “She’s only shy. She still hasn’t got used to the Vathek way of doing things.”
“A Moranite hardly has reason to fear us.” I looked at her critically. The planet Moran had been conquered not so much earlier than Andala, but they’d fallen quicker, surrendered faster. “Is Moran so different from Andala?”
I thought she wouldn’t respond. But she shook her head, her eyes still focused on her feet. “No, Your Highness.” And then, “You look well, Your Highness, you and his lordship.”
I raised my eyebrows in bewilderment and looked to Idris, who smiled faintly.
“She only means you look happy,” Theo cut in. “You do, cousin—lighter.”
I forced myself to smile despite the alarm ringing in my head. “Thank you,” I managed.
I should have released Idris’s arm, but I worried it would bring more attention to it. Did we look closer than Maram and Idris normally did? Had I done such a poor job of hiding how I felt?
“Don’t look now,” Idris said into my ear. “But here comes Galene.”
“Well,” I said, making sure not to look around. “Here goes nothing.”
Advising Maram had been one thing. But faced with the prospect of holding my own against Galene, my advice seemed flimsy and ill thought. I knew little of royals, and less about envious half sisters.
Your life depends on this, I reminded myself.
I had perfected passing as Maram. But if she found that I’d failed to hold my ground against Galene, I’d pay for it. Friendly overtures or not.
Before Galene reached us a hand touched my elbow.
“My dear,” a voice said as I turned around.
Ofal vak Miranous was a favorite cousin of Maram’s. I recognized her from the holopad, wide-set eyes and unusual dark hair, a spread of freckles over her nose and cheeks so thick it seemed sometimes to be a mask. She was older than Maram and Idris, and had snuck Maram treats when they were small, and later taught her to train her hunting roc.
She smiled at me, warm and lovely, and I could not control the answering smile back. Maram warned me that Ofal had that effect on people.
“Ofal,” I greeted her and let her kiss my cheek.
“I don’t think I’ve yet seen you in something so sleek,” she said, holding me at arm’s length. “It suits you. Makes you all the more striking.”
My grin widened, and I pulled my arm out of Idris’s grip and linked it with hers.
“How are your hounds?” I asked her as we walked away.
She laughed. “Oh, come now, that’s not the question you want to ask.”
“Fine,” I conceded. “How does she look?”
“Furious. You know she doesn’t like to give chase.”
“More’s the pity,” I said. “She might have had more than her inheritance if she’d learned.”
Ofal grinned down at me. “I can’t tell if your tongue’s gotten sharper or you’re just always nice to me.”
I had no response to that. Maram’s tongue always seemed razor sharp to me, honed so fine it was as likely to break as it was to cut someone.
“Perhaps my half sister just brings out the worst in me.”
She looked at me sidelong, smirking, and shook her head. For a split second I felt as though the world tilted. I was not Maram, I knew that. There was no way to forget. But I didn’t know when I’d gotten so good at being her, at being her around other people. I hadn’t committed a great wrong against Galene, but I was enjoying the careless baiting. Perhaps more than I should have.
“Let’s find a seat,” I said to Ofal. “You know she’ll hate to greet me so.”
I’d lost track of Idris, but by the time Ofal and I settled on a bench wreathed in white flowers, he’d returned. He handed each of us small goblets filled with steaming hot chocolate, and kissed my cheek.
“Careful,” he murmured.
I considered saying nothing. “You,” I said. “Should sit.”
Ofal snorted into her cup. “She’ll hate that whenever she arrives.”
A small measure of satisfaction rose up in me. “Good.”
Id
ris did not resist or argue, but there was a pause while he met my eyes. He sat, leaned back on his hands, nonchalant as ever.
I could imagine the picture the three of us made. Regal, laughing. Idris severe in his distance, as if he were looking out for danger. When I was younger I’d imagined such parties and such laughter, beyond carefree. Maram and Ofal were without the troubles of a village girl. They had never gone hungry or developed calluses on their hands from picking fruit. Neither of them had ever cowered in fear of outsiders.
When Galene arrived, she paused at the edge of our circle, waiting. I imagine she waited for Idris to stand, but I set a hand on his thigh to keep him in place. I turned to acknowledge her at last and saw the moment she understood. Saw her weigh the cost of walking away against the cost to her dignity.
In the end, protocol won, and she came forward and sank gracefully to her knees.
“Maram,” she murmured. “You honor me with your presence.”
Her hair was near silver in the High Vathek way, her gown done in the style of antiquity, a long flowing gown, gathered at one shoulder. A large pendant swung from her neck bearing the crest of the Vath. She looked every inch a conqueror.
I drew on all my rage since coming to the Ziyaana, all the rage of being taken on my majority night—at losing my own inheritance—to harden my voice.
“Galene,” I replied coolly. “You remember the Lady Ofal and my fiancé, the Lord Idris.”
I had not given her leave to rise.
“Of course,” she said.
She raised her head and I let her stare, waiting for her eyes to drift down to my necklace. She was far more practiced in keeping her emotions in check. Her jaw tightened when she saw it, but nothing else.
“Thank you for your invitation,” I said, and at last gave her leave to rise. When she stood, I held out the near empty goblet, waiting for her to take it. “The food is delightful.”
And then I turned back to Ofal, dismissing Galene. Ofal for her part could hardly contain her laughter. Her lower lip trembled until she bit it.
I heard no footsteps marking Galene’s departure so I turned back and tilted my head.
“Had you need of something?”
Her grip turned white knuckled around the goblet.
“No, Your Highness,” she said through clenched teeth. “Enjoy the festivities.”
* * *
I spent the rest of the night giddy on my success, giggling with Ofal and a few other friends. It was easy to forget I wasn’t Maram, these weren’t my friends, this wasn’t my life. Easy to enjoy it all, especially when Idris took me out onto the dance floor. By the time we retired for the evening I was dizzy with success.
“You’ve had too much sugar,” Idris said as he led us upstairs.
“I have not,” I replied. “It’s only that tonight feels like a triumph.”
He sighed but said nothing.
I bathed, in the hopes that the warm water would pull me closer to sleep, but it did nothing. When I emerged robed, with my hair down, I could not force myself into bed.
I’d discovered that the living room attached to my apartment linked my rooms to Idris’s. He was standing over the table, his hair wet, arranging a shatranj board.
“I thought we might play,” he said. “If you’re not too exhausted.”
“Do we have to play at the table?” I asked. I hated the tall table and the equally tall chairs the Vath preferred. He was quiet as he moved the board to the floor and retrieved a pair of cushions.
“You look tired,” I said.
He settled on the floor and gave me a faint smile. “These engagements exhaust me,” he said. “I’m not as tired as I could be, though.”
“Oh?”
“I’ve never been able to look across the room and know I have an ally,” he said without looking at me. “It was … novel.”
“Really?” I said.
“Did you know none of my peers are friends?” he said with a sad smile, his eyes distant for a moment. “We tried at first. We thought—we thought that we were all hostages. But if we stuck together, eventually we would grow old enough to resist the Vath. We would take back our strongholds, avenge our families. The Vath had only won because we didn’t work together. Or so we reasoned.”
I reached out for his hand. His gaze grew more distant, but his hand gripped mine as if it were an anchor.
“It took three months for us to realize that fear was stronger than loyalty. A boy would disappear or a minor house would be raided, and we’d know the Vath had gotten to someone. Had pressed fear into them and turned them against the rest of us. By the end of our first year none of us trusted each other.”
I couldn’t keep the horror from my face. Imagining such a world seemed impossible, even though I lived in it now. I had never second-guessed any of my friends, never wondered if one would sell me to the Vath in exchange for safety or mercy. I knew in the early days of the occupation such a thing had been common, but by now—
“I’m sorry,” I finally said. It was all I could think of to say.
He shook his head and looked down at the board.
“And Maram … she isn’t an ally?”
At that he looked up as if to say, really?
“She … she isn’t reliable. Most days we’re friends. Or as close to friends as we can be. But she values the respect of her Vathek peers far more than mine. It puts me in difficult positions regularly.”
“More or less difficult than when you argue with her?” I asked, my curiosity getting the better of me.
He grinned. “I wondered when you were going to ask.”
I couldn’t help smiling back and brushed a curl behind his ear. “Well? I didn’t think she was the type one argued with.”
“Normally she isn’t,” he said with a sigh. “I don’t know what got into me. She made a comment about Furat and I snapped.”
“You snapped?” I gasped.
“Furat’s and my circumstances are much the same,” he said. “You know that. I asked her if she felt the same about me and she became angry.”
I leaned back in surprise. “I’m surprised she didn’t claw your eyes out. Or that you risked her clawing your eyes out at all.”
“It felt worth it,” he said, looking at me. “As if now … I have more at stake. More reason to … care, I suppose. It’s easy to do or say nothing,” he continued quietly. “I don’t want to take the easy path anymore.”
I felt a flush work its way up my throat and looked away. We were both silent and the room quiet, but for the crackle of the fire. He broke the silence first.
“You want first move?” he asked.
We didn’t speak for a while after that. My skill had not progressed as much as I would have liked, and more than once I leaned forward, trying to plan an escape. Idris was methodical, working his way slowly over the board and into my territory. If he was ever given command of real armies, I imagined he could do a great deal of damage. His patience astonished me.
“You’re cheating,” he chided.
“I’m not!”
“Your hair is obscuring the board,” he said, and flicked a finger at a lock.
For a moment I had no idea what he meant. And then I laughed and leaned back.
“Sorry,” I said, and began to gather the hair spilling over my shoulders and down my back into one hand. He watched, eyes sharp, as though he expected to find a shatranj piece hidden in my curls. “It’s never been so long before. I forget.”
His mouth curled with skepticism.
“Frown all you like,” I said. “Farmer’s daughters do not have the time that noble women do to tend to an excess of hair. My mother cut it in the winter. Why are you staring?”
The braid was only half finished but I knew the sudden tremor in my fingers would keep me from completing it. He watched me as if all his patience had been honed and transformed into a gaze that could cut through metal. It was the same look he’d given me at Ouzdad. We had not seen each other since that
afternoon, and a part of me thrilled to think what might happen. The rest of me, however—
“I don’t understand how anyone can mistake you for her,” he said at last.
My eyes widened. “Is this about Galene? Did I not do well?”
He breathed out a half laugh. “No, in that you were Maram to perfection.”
“Then what do you mean?”
He rested his chin on a fist. The firelight cast his face in shadow so that I could see the ghost of his lashes against his cheeks, but not his eyes. He mesmerized me as no one ever had. It wasn’t only that I wanted to look, I wanted to touch. My fingers itched with the desire to reach forward and comb through his hair.
He shook his head as if coming out of a dream. “My apologies,” he said. “I’m being—I’m more tired than I thought.”
I could breathe again, though I watched him still. He did look suddenly tired, his shoulders slumped, a hand shielding his eyes.
“We can pick up the game next time we see one another if you like.”
“We don’t know when the next time will be,” he replied.
I laid my forehead against his and linked our hands firmly together. The only sound in the room was the crackle of the fire. Its flame cast him in sharp relief—the flecks of dark brown in his eyes, a thin faded scar on his chin, the black-red in his hair.
“I never—I used to not think about having to marry Maram,” he said. “It always seemed so far away.”
“How far?” I asked, though I didn’t want the answer.
“After she turned eighteen and her inheritance was confirmed,” he said. “I always—” His grip tightened around my hands.
“What?”
“My marriage felt necessary.” His voice had dropped to a near whisper as if he were struggling to admit something to himself. “For Andala. For its future. But now…”
I raised my hands to his face. “Now?” I wasn’t sure I wanted the answer to that, either.
He didn’t complete his sentence. Instead, he leaned forward and kissed me. It felt like relief and desire. I—we—had avoided thinking about our future, about what it meant that I was a stand-in for his fiancée. I’d avoided examining my feelings too closely. But I wanted him for myself, for all time. I could admit that much at least.