Mirage (Mirage #1)(45)

“My lady?” the serving girl said in accented Vathekaar.

I nodded and the doors groaned open.

The Dowager Sultana sat in her customary throne-like seat, her face turned to an open window.

“I will be sorry to see you go, girl,” she said in Kushaila. “I should have liked to walk the garden paths a little longer with you. The few afternoon walks weren’t enough.”

I made myself smile and leaned over to kiss both her cheeks and the backs of her hands.

“If I am still living,” I said in Kushaila, “you will likely see me again next year.”

She grunted and waved her hand. “A year is too long for an old woman like me.”

Furat swept in, still in her sleeping robes, her hair flowing behind her. “I thought I’d missed your departure.”

I barely had time to stand before she pulled me toward her for a hug. Gratitude flowed through me as I hugged her back. We’d not spent much time together, but what I’d learned about her comforted me. She was a good ally to have, here and in the Ziyaana. And now I felt we were sisters-in-arms, too. She would watch my back as I watched hers.

I wished, briefly, for a true sister—one who watched my back for no other reason than she wanted to. But I didn’t live that life, and the wish came and went, flashing and dying as quickly as lightning.

“When we return to the Ziyaana we will be enemies,” she said, pulling away.

“But we will know the truth,” I replied, squeezing her hand. The next time we saw each other, I would be spying on the Vath. The notion sparked both fear and excitement in me, but the idea that I would have an ally—that mattered to me more than anything else.

We set off soon after the same way we’d come, with Nabil and his guards leading us out of the canyon and through the desert. I felt a pang in my chest and forced myself not to look back. I’d spent three weeks in the shadow of those canyon walls, happy, and safe. I was used to feeling that way now, and the prospect of returning to the Ziyaana, a place wreathed in suffering, frightened me.

Far in the distance I saw the shape of half a dozen Tazalghit women astride their horses. One of the horses reared up on its hind legs, whinnying angrily. I didn’t know if it was Arinaas, if she’d even sent those women to watch as we departed the palace. But the sight of them heartened me nonetheless.

I knew I wasn’t alone.

*

I retired to my chamber once our cruiser took to the air. I had no desire to spend the next few hours constantly aware of Idris, to wonder when I might see him next.

I dozed on and off until Tala woke me and helped me to freshen up.

“Alright?” she asked.

I nodded and settled the light cloak over my shoulders. “I don’t think I’m ready to go back.”

Tala smiled. “I would find it strange if you were.”

The cruiser had begun its descent to Walili and the Ziyaana landing by the time I emerged from the chamber to the receiving room. Idris was already there, standing at the large window, framed by a stream of clouds and the planet’s afternoon light. His hair was held back as it always was in the Ziyaana, and his navy blue jacket was buttoned up to his throat. He struck a severe figure with his clean-shaven face, wiped of expression. The sarcastic rise of his eyebrows and small creases at the corners of his eyes were absent.

When he turned away from the window and saw me, something in his expression eased. I found myself smiling, just a little, in response. And when he held out a hand to me I took it without hesitation.

His hands were dry and warm, the hands of a makhzen with few scars and no callouses. Idris had likely never plowed a field or hauled wheat into a warehouse. His struggles were altogether different.

I stilled when his hand brushed against my cheek. His fingers slid over the hairline behind my ear and into my hair. “The next time we see each other,” he began, “we won’t be ourselves.”

I wound my fingers around his. I’d known from the beginning our moments would be stolen and few. Hoarded and measured out between engagements, while all the world watched me thinking I was Maram. I knew it wouldn’t be enough, but right now it was something, and that was more than I’d had before I’d gone to Ouzdad.

“We all have parts we must play,” I told him. “It doesn’t change—”

“Anything,” he interrupted and smiled. “The ties they forged have broken and Fate has led our feet to freedom.”

I couldn’t keep my grin off my face. “That was a very good translation. And from a lesser-known poem, no less.”

“The Dowager helped.” My laugh was stopped by a wave of emotion. By his own admission he couldn’t read Kushaila very well, but he’d struggled through it to find something to bring to me. It was a gift more precious than he knew.

My hand tightened around his. I didn’t know when we’d see each other again, how many weeks or months we’d have to wait before we were brought together next.

“We will see each other again?” I said softly, leaning my forehead against his.

“Yes,” he replied, his words a promise. “Yes.”





the ziyaana, andala





24

“Will you swoon like Bayad?” Tala muttered to me one afternoon, startling a laugh out of me. I blinked at her, clearing the daydream from my mind.