The Theft of Sunlight

by Intisar Khanani

  On the other side, we turn down a wide boulevard and roll to a stop before the hall. Built of shining white stone, with exquisitely carved arches, it is breathtaking in its beauty. The whole wide plaza before the building has been cleared by guards, spectators lining up on the other side of the wide avenue to catch a glimpse of the royal family.

  Alyrra alights first, stepping aside to wait for us. I get down last, knowing it will take me the longest. Just as I lower myself down, the foreign queen sweeps up to join us, greeting Alyrra with a word and a nod. She is slightly taller than Alyrra, with dark chestnut hair and a cool demeanor. This is the first meeting between them since Alyrra’s brother attacked her, and yet her mother gives no indication of concern. I would have expected at least a question as to her daughter’s well-being. What I see instead in the woman’s strange hazel eyes is a hardness that explains how the prince was allowed to grow into the man he is.

  Once all the royals have gathered, they turn toward the hall. Waiting before the great doorway stand two men and a woman, all in the sky-blue open-fronted robes of Speakers, an indigo emblem on each breast. The man at the center steps forward, and together they bow to us. I take my cue from the other attendants, curtsying low while Alyrra offers a smaller obeisance.

  Behind them stand a pair of men. One, a captain I have seen at least once in the royal wing’s guard room, takes a step forward and nods to the king. The other, a tall, gaunt man draped in mage’s robes, dips his head as well. They must have been trusted to assess the hall for dangers. I look past them, into the main interior courtyard of the building, but can make out little.

  Speaker Adashay, the head Speaker and highest religious authority of Menaiya, leads us within, the other two Speakers flanking him. We proceed into a vast central open-air courtyard, complete with central reflecting pool. Standing to one side is a small table, elegant in its simplicity, set only with a single goblet, a golden cord, and a thin sheaf of papers. Beside the table rests an ornate couch with deep royal-blue cushions, the wood inlaid with mother-of-pearl and onyx.

  It’s a little surreal, the exquisite surroundings, the royal family, the greatest Speakers of our land gathered together. I knew they would all be here, of course; it is the royal wedding, after all. It’s just strange to find myself here when two weeks ago I was caring for my family’s horses and then searching the plains for Seri. This is a world away from that.

  We walk Alyrra and her mother to the couch and help settle Alyrra upon it. Rows of court nobles are seated in small wooden chairs across from the sofa, here to witness the wedding and its blessing. At home, the wedding formalities are often witnessed only by the couple’s closest relations, but I suppose a royal wedding is a different beast.

  As we withdraw, Kestrin moves to sit alongside Alyrra, with the king and Garrin standing behind him, just as the foreign queen accompanied the princess. And there, having clearly arrived separately, is her brother. He steps up to Alyrra’s side and stands there, chin raised and gaze moving slowly, arrogantly over the gathering.

  I wait, knowing his gaze will come to me, and I’m not disappointed when he looks right at me and his lip curls in a faint smirk. My heart beats faster than normal, though I don’t know if it’s anger or a residual panic called up by the cold malevolence in his pale eyes. I lift my chin in return, and meet him glare for glare.

  The ceremony begins, Speaker Adashay intoning a blessing in the Old Tongue, but the foreign prince is still looking at me, and I won’t be the one to turn away first. Let him look. I have nothing to hide, nothing to apologize for, and I will not allow him any space for victory.

  Vaguely, I’m aware that Kestrin and Alyrra have each sipped from the goblet, have bound themselves and their service to God, and Adashay has moved on to the actual wedding itself. But the foreign prince doesn’t look away, and neither do I. I just blink slowly, and watch as his face grows redder and harder with each passing moment. I’ve spent a lifetime putting up with cruelty and I’m not afraid to look his viciousness in the face.

  “Together, you will learn mercy and forgiveness,” Adashay says. “You will learn to build on one another’s strengths and cover one another’s weaknesses. Together, you will oversee the needs of your people. Will you so bind yourselves?”

  I hear Kestrin and Alyrra assent, a mere murmur below the thud of my heart. There is a rustle of paper as the final marriage contracts are presented to the royal couple, and the foreign prince glances down, distracted. He looks up again at once, his face mottling and eyes full of fury. Even though it isn’t really a fair victory, I grin at him and turn my gaze to the royal couple.

  Kestrin and Alyrra each lift a hand and entwine their arms so that their palms press flat against each other, side by side, neither one above or below the other. The woman Speaker lifts the golden cord from the table and gently winds it around their arms, binding them together, a symbolic joining of strength and mutual support.

  I’ve seen this ritual many times before, though the cords I know are made of bright thread rather than gold. The binding is the final rite of the wedding. The king steps forward to offer a drink of almond milk flavored with orange water to his new daughter, and the foreign queen does the same for Kestrin, and the families are sealed, the alliance established, the ceremony complete.

  Now will come the festivities: a day at the baths first for the women, then for the men, followed by the sweetening, and then the actual wedding procession and feast.

  As servants bring out trays set with dozens of fragile cups filled with the same drink offered to the royal couple, Mina murmurs, “Try not to look back at the foreign prince now.”

  I glance at her, surprised.

  She shrugs. “You were not particularly subtle about it. You may have won that round; leave it at that.”

  “He started it,” I say, as if I were a child.

  Zaria huffs softly on the other side of me. Jasmine, on the far side of her, doesn’t seem to have heard us.

  “You mean everyone noticed?” I ask, my gaze darting from Zaria to Mina.

  Mina eyes me with disbelief. “I can’t imagine too many of the court missed it.”

  “Oh.” My cheeks burn and I give thanks that at least my skin will not show my embarrassment half as much as the prince’s revealed his.

  “Have some almond milk,” Mina says, and lifts a cup for me from the tray a servant offers us.

  Almond milk and orange water is a delicious blend, one I’ve had at weddings at home as well, though somehow the taste is fuller, more sweet than I’ve had before. I sip it slowly and do my best not to look around, though now I can feel just how often people’s faces turn toward me, the way their eyes slide over the bruises on my face.

  I chose this, I remind myself. I chose to make a show of myself, and I’m not going to mind it now. Let the prince be ashamed, if he can feel such an emotion.

  I glance toward the royal couple just as the foreign prince himself steps forward to congratulate them, one hand out toward his sister. Alyrra doesn’t move, looking up at him from the couch. Instead, Kestrin rises, gripping the man’s hand with his own, his other hand coming up to grasp his arm. He leans forward and murmurs something in the foreign prince’s ear, smiles briefly, a cold, sharp look, and returns to his seat.

  “I do wonder what he said,” Zaria murmurs.

  Mina nods.

  “Rae,” a voice says, and I turn to find Melly before me, moving so fast I nearly drop my drink as she wraps me in a hug.

  “It’s all right,” I murmur, wrapping my free arm around her. Is she shaking? “I’m all right.”

  “It is most certainly not all right,” Melly says, pulling back to glare at me. “How bad is it? It looks painful. Did he hurt you anywhere else?”

  “No,” I say, giving her shoulders a squeeze. “I’ll be all right, Melly. Truly.”

  Melly lets out a slow breath, and her eyes glance about once as she becomes aware of the many, many eyes watching us. Then Filadon steps up beside her, b
ows to me, and says darkly, “I’ll have further words with Zayyid Kestrin, cousin.”

  I expect I can’t talk him out of that, so I thank him instead.

  “I am—” He shakes his head, starts over. “I do not know what to tell your parents. At least the man is now under guard, and the princess will have an escort until he departs—which means you will too.”

  “I’ll write my parents,” I offer. “I’d prefer they hear the story from me.”

  Filadon nods. “Send your letter to me and I’ll enclose it with mine. It’s best if they hear from you, but they should also know that I will do my utmost to protect you.”

  I dip my head, and after a few more words, Melly and Filadon join the line to congratulate the royal couple.

  I take a slow breath and turn my attention back to the gathering. A tiny, gray-haired woman who wears her clothes like battle armor and bears her cane as though it were both support and weaponry alike makes her way over to us. She greets Jasmine and Zaria, then Mina, and then she says, quite unexpectedly, “And you will, of course, introduce me to your newest companion.”

  I dip a hasty curtsy as Jasmine presents me to the woman, one Veria Havila.

  “I, for one,” she announces loudly, “am so very glad you have joined our court and were able to be here today. You’ve done our princess a service, and so honored us all.”

  She most certainly noticed my staring match, then. I duck my head, feeling my face warm again, my swollen cheek tingly and stiff. “I thank you, veria.”

  “I like the looks of you, child. I’m sure these girls will take good care of you.”

  “Of course, veria,” Jasmine says brightly. “She is one of us.”

  Havila hmms to herself, and I catch in her bright-eyed look an amused awareness that Jasmine would not have made such a claim yesterday. She steps away, and another noblewoman moves in to demand an introduction. It seems that almost every lady who approaches the royal couple stops by to make my acquaintance afterward, proof that the story of the prince’s assault positively screamed through the court.

  Finally, the stream slows and a servant comes by with a tray filled with an array of honey-dipped sesame cookies. I take one, grateful to eat something—I forgot altogether to eat lunch. Although just nibbling on the cookie tells me that chewing will be an uncomfortable experience for a day or two.

  “That was well done of Veria Havila,” Mina murmurs. At my questioning look, she goes on. “She’s one of the pillars of court society. By demanding an introduction at once, she set the example for the remaining ladies. When Dinari came over after that—well, I knew everyone would be by shortly.”

  “Oh,” I manage. Wasn’t Dinari the woman Mina had hoped to introduce me to before—the one who had, apparently, refused that opportunity? “That was very kind.”

  Mina nods. “Strategic, I’m sure. It shows her support of the princess, which will be much appreciated by the royal family right now. But yes, also kind. Be sure not to lose her support.”

  With such a vote of confidence, it seems best to keep my silence. Instead, I turn my attention back to the nobles paying their respects to the royal couple. As I watch, Genno Stonemane approaches the couch, and beside him, another man. Or rather, Fae. Though he bears Stonemane company, they are nothing alike beyond the velvet darkness of their eyes. This Fae is dark as the richest of earth, his beauty as profound and gorgeous as the deep wood, so unlike Stonemane’s colder, paler beauty, if just as dangerous. His hair is braided into long ropes that fall down his back, glinting here and there with jewels.

  “Who is that beside the Fae ambassador?” I ask Mina softly.

  “Adept Midael, the Cormorant. He rarely takes part in court gatherings, so you likely won’t see much of him.”

  The Cormorant? What sort of title is that? I thought a cormorant was a seabird. I glance at Mina and make myself focus on the first part of his title. “Adept?”

  “One of their more advanced mages, I think. It’s curious to have them both here now. We haven’t had a nonhuman member of the court in years.”

  “No dragons?” I quip, remembering the creature I met with my sisters some time ago. She had been sentient and capable of her own magical brand of speech, but she had also been hunted by the king’s soldiers. Dragons are distinctly not considered on par with the Fae or the merfolk.

  Zaria laughs softly, having turned her attention back to us. “No. Even the merfolk are only here for the wedding. They arrived a few days ago, and will leave again a week or two after.”

  Jasmine nods. “Delegates come and go. It’s rare to have an ambassador such as Verin Stonemane, let alone an adept in residence.”

  I hesitate. “Why would there be a Fae mage at court?”

  Mina shrugs and Jasmine shakes her head. It is Zaria who says softly, “They say he’s here to build relations with the royal family. But what I heard is that it really was a curse that took the queen, and he’s come to see it doesn’t take anyone else. When the prince went missing, it was the Cormorant who joined the search party. But then the prince came back of his own accord, so maybe the curse is just a rumor.”

  A chill sweeps up my spine. I do my best to stifle my shudder. Not that such a curse makes sense magically speaking—enchantments require power to continue. Curses usually feed off the person they are set upon, drawing from their natural reserves in a parasitical relationship. A curse dies with the person it is attached to, assuming it isn’t stripped away by a mage first. A curse doesn’t pass from one person to another, generation upon generation. Which I suppose means there are likely more mundane reasons for the royal family’s dwindling numbers.

  “I don’t believe there’s any sort of a curse at play,” Jasmine says, her voice firm. “And it’s best if you don’t mention such things, Zaria. We don’t need any more rumors causing trouble.”

  Jasmine defending the royal family from rumors rather than starting them? The foreign prince’s attack really has had an impact on her.

  Zaria looks away guiltily. “As you say.”

  Chapter

  22

  We return to the palace in the same carriage we arrived in. The Menaiyan royal party gathers in the main courtyard before continuing to the royal wing together.

  “A word with you, verayn,” Alyrra says as we come to her door.

  Kestrin dips his head and motions one of his attendants to stay with him. Alyrra nods to me and steps into her rooms. I follow after her, leaving the rest of my fellow attendants looking slightly put off.

  Kestrin’s attendant takes a seat on one of the sofas, off to the side, so I do the same opposite him. Alyrra doesn’t sit. Instead, she turns to her husband and says, “Will you tell me what you said to my brother, after the ceremony?”

  Kestrin hesitates, watching her, and then admits, “I told him that if he ever touched you again, I would see his entire land gutted before he was ever made king.”

  I stiffen, glance desperately at Alyrra. Surely she won’t allow such a threat to stand against her people? Even if it is meant to be against her brother?

  Her jaw hardens, and she says, harshly, “You wouldn’t. I know you wouldn’t.”

  “No,” Kestrin agrees. His smile verges on tender. “You know me better than that. But he doesn’t.”

  “It’s an empty threat?” Alyrra asks. “That doesn’t seem like something you would do either.”

  I’d have to agree.

  Kestrin shrugs. “It was the only threat he is likely to understand. I had to give him fair warning.”

  “What do you intend to do, then?” Alyrra asks, as if it’s a certainty her brother will come after her again.

  “I think you will agree that no one but he, himself, should pay the price of his decisions.”

  Alyrra considers him. “I believe that is so for most crimes. But you haven’t answered my question. What will you do?”

  Kestrin looks away, toward the window. “Whatever it takes.”

  “Verayn,” she says. She’s o
nly said my lord, but it sounds like an order. “Did we not agree this is my battle to fight?”

  His expression hardens, but after a moment he nods. “We did. I will not act without your blessing. You can trust me that much.”

  “I trust you a great deal more,” Alyrra says, smiling wryly, the tension gone out of her. “And you know it. Now, I had best freshen up before dinner.”

  He blinks and then grins at her, amused to be dismissed so casually.

  After he and his attendant depart, Alyrra turns to me. “This conversation . . .”

  “What conversation?” I ask brightly. “Did someone say something?”

  Alyrra laughs. “I’m glad I have you, Rae. You’ll come to dinner?”

  “Of course, zayyida.”

  “You can take tomorrow to check on the house of healing, and whatever else you might need to do. I’ll need you again at dinner, but otherwise I should be fine.”

  “Thank you,” I say, grateful for the reprieve she’s offering me. Now that I’ve proven I’m not hiding, it will be a relief to step out of sight.

  I wake sometime after dawn, light filtering in through the curtains. I stretch my arms and wiggle my toes, testing the muscles of my feet. My blisters are still a little raw.

  I turn my head and spy Mina asleep, her hair spilling across her pillow. I ease myself out of bed, wrap a shawl about my shoulders to ward off the chill, gather my writing supplies, and slip out of the room. Whether or not I can sleep, there’s no reason to wake her. In the common room, I pour myself a cup of tea and set to work on the letter I promised I would write my parents.

  I’ve already sent them two—one upon my arrival in Tarinon, and a second upon my appointment as attendant, as well as a separate letter to Ani. With the distance and the fact that Sheltershorn lies on one of the less ridden routes serviced by the royal couriers, I haven’t received any reply from them. But I should hear something soon.