Mirage (Mirage #1)(51)

“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.”

Idris 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.