Mirage (Mirage #1)(21)

“Food?” Idris asked, peering down as the dance drew to its end.

At last, I let myself smile. “Please.”





11

Idris tucked my arm in his elbow and together we made our way to the far eastern corner of the room, where tables of food were laid out for us to eat. We were parted more than once—the ballroom was long and vast, and Idris was popular. I should not have been surprised when Furat made an appearance before me.

She sank prettily to her knees, and then rose just as gracefully. She was wearing a gown in the old Zidane style, in shades of gold that came close to red and brown, with wide sleeves and a beautiful waist piece. Her hands were dark with henna, a tradition Maram had never indulged in. She resembled Idris more than Maram with her high forehead and olive skin. Where Maram’s hair—my hair—curled uncontrollably, hers fell in waves around her face, thick and brown with a red sheen in the sun. She had the roundness in face common to the Kushaila, and a hint of rounded cheeks. Her daan must have been striking when she had them, dark black against her skin, impossible to ignore.

I eyed her warily, trying to make sense of what I knew. If she had given up her daan, why choose to dress so? Why not blend in?

I could see, suddenly, why Maram disliked her so. She was effortlessly poised, fearless, despite all she’d lost and all she still had to lose. Maram clung to her Vathek gloss like a shield. Furat, on the other hand, was fully Andalaan despite being stripped of her daan. And she managed to produce the same hard shine as any Vathek courtier.

Maram, I imagined, would hate her twice over—first for effortlessly embodying our dying traditions, despite Vathek mandate, and second for her calm.

Me, I envied her. She was everything I wanted to be—free, despite being completely under someone else’s control.

“Cousin,” she said when she was standing again.

“I didn’t think you would come,” I said. “You seem to enjoy your provincial traditions far more.”

“I was invited,” she said. “And I thought I should see such a celebration at least once. You cannot judge what you do not know.”

I hummed, thoughtful, then moved around her.

“We should learn to be around each other,” she said as I passed by.

“I don’t see that we should,” I replied, voice flat, and tried to continue on.

Instead, I ran headlong into a servant.

“Are you alright?” I asked without thinking, then realized my mistake. Her head jerked up, eyes wide and face white.

Maram would never ask such a thing.

“Maram?” Idris said from behind me. He did not spare the serving girl a look, and instead held out an arm to me. I held my breath, but he said nothing.

Idris and I were led to a table on a dais, raised up over everyone else. There was a single large plate between us, along with a tea set, the glasses etched with feathers in silver. The food itself was from various regions, all of it finger food. Small Vathek biscuits, Kushaila briouat stuffed with lamb, Norgak vilgotzi. Ringing the edge of the plate Kushaila chebakiyya, a favorite of Maram’s. To our right and left were other tables, a little below us, but the seating arrangement had effectively closed us off into our own little bubble.

He bent his head toward me when he wanted to speak, mouth close to my ear, as I’d seen him do with Maram. I stiffened, unsure what he would say, but he merely wanted to gossip. He pointed out dignitaries and their children, telling me the latest news from far-off places.

“The king has confiscated all of House Dion’s holdings,” he said to me, and set a piece of honey-drenched chebakiyya on my plate. “They’re not penniless, but none of them want to go back to Luna-Vaxor.”

I resisted the urge to pick up the chebakiyya, lest the honey drip onto my dress. “Why not? It’s home to them.”

“Oh, my dear,” he said, and I fought the instinct to raise my eyebrows. “They wouldn’t be half as wealthy on their moon mining excelsior as they would be here inheriting lands that were liberated in the occupation.”

His voice dripped with sarcasm. Did he really speak to Maram in such a way? I struggled for a moment, casting him a sidelong glance. Was it his security as a lord at Maram’s side that allowed him to speak so, or was he taking a risk?

I’d never considered what it might be like, to be a makhzen and hostage of the Vath at the same time. I wanted to know where his loyalties lay. Did he want to be a king among the Vath? Or did his status as hostage necessitate play-acting as mine did?

I was unsure how Maram would respond to such a statement and settled on saying nothing at all. I looked out over the ballroom and the mix of people—Vathek and Taifa and Norgak and every tribe and culture across all of Andala and its moons were gathered here tonight.

He was still smiling, but there was a sharpness to it now, as if my cold reaction had put him on the defensive. We fell into an uneasy silence until he lay a hand on my shoulder.

“Another dance?” It felt like both a challenge and a peace offering. Did he placate Maram like that? Did she enjoy dancing so much? I let him lead me onto the dance floor as the music started up again.

“Would you like to hear a story? It’s a Kushaila one. An old one.”

I couldn’t stop my head from jerking up at that. He was playing with me, I was sure—though whether it was because the statement would annoy Maram, or because he had a notion something was off about me, I couldn’t tell. He smiled just a little, with an edge of triumph. My fingers tightened painfully on his shoulder without thinking.