Mirage (Mirage #1)(54)
27
“What is the matter with you?” Maram snapped, pulling back enough to get a full look at me. “Are you even listening?”
“What?” I was too distracted. As in most things, Tala was right; I could not allow Maram’s basic kindness to lull me into a false sense of security. I could not afford to not pay attention while in her presence. “I’m sorry.”
“What in the worlds could possibly be distracting you?”
“The dress?” I volunteered weakly, trying to marshal my thoughts. It wouldn’t do to be caught thinking of Idris, or what he’d revealed to me. That the more I helped Maram, the more successful we were, the sooner I would lose him.
She snorted.
For the second time in a row I would be required to dress in the Vathek style. This costume was not as stark as the last gown, but it had no sleeves, and a heavy cape that descended from the front of my shoulders instead of from the back. I felt exposed and uncomfortable, but I was expected at a Vathek council meeting. Maram could show up in Kushaila dress, but it made a stronger statement if she didn’t.
“Perhaps if you cut your hair?” she suggested, tugging on the cape.
“Then you would have to cut your hair as well,” I pointed out.
“Hm. No, this is fine. You pass muster.” She threw herself back into a seat beside the mirror. “Remember, you are not to speak. Listen, and nothing more. I can’t afford you saying something foolish and risking my position.”
“And if you were there?”
“I would have notes and be prepared to participate,” she drawled. “I will be queen—I need to know how to rule my planet.”
“Why is this meeting such a security risk for you?”
“Trade delegations are coming from outside the system,” she explained. “Everyone is screened, but Nadine deemed it an unnecessary risk.”
“Then why go at all?”
“It’s a test from my father … He wants to know I have the stomach for this kind of thing. If I’m to inherit, it will be one of my responsibilities.”
I nodded. Though Galene’s party had been a success, Maram’s father had said nothing about the state of her inheritance. Every day until her birthday was an opportunity to prove herself to Mathis and the rest of the High Vath.
“Besides,” she continued. “If I’m not present, it makes us look weak. If the Vath do not have enough security to protect the Imperial Heir, why trade with them exclusively, and on and on.” She waved a hand lazily.
“Exclusively? I don’t understand. Who else could they trade with?”
“The rebels,” she drawled. “If they gathered the funds, they could build an arsenal. Everyone must be dissuaded from doing business with them.”
I fought down a smile. I hadn’t realized others in the galaxy needed to be dissuaded from allying with the rebels—it always seemed like a fight we’d soldiered through on our own. That people needed to be dissuaded from helping us pleased me more than I could say, though I kept my gaze fixed on the floor.
*
The council chamber had been gutted and completely refurnished by the Vath. Gone were the red and orange pillars and the old script craved along the halfway point of the walls. The walls were white, carved with opulent gilt floral designs in the corners. There were mirrors all along the walls, and upholstered seats around an oval table. It was missing its center, and hovering over that opening was a holograph of the Ouamalich System.
The members of the council and their visitors milled around the opening, waiting for someone to call them to order. Several of Maram’s distant relatives were present, and greeted me with a small smile or a touch to the elbow. Galene, I noted, was also present, though seated at the far end of the table. She nodded when she saw me, once, a cool tilt of the head.
It was easy to pay attention and affect Maram’s usual sharp demeanor. The discussion crawled as the trade delegates argued and negotiated taxes, what they were legally allowed to import into the system, and what would be in direct competition with Vathek production. More than once I had to consciously keep my face impassive—there was no way to become used to the casual ease with which the Vath discussed our lives and our planet. We were numbers in a profit gained and lost column, nothing more.
It seemed to adjourn as slowly as it had started, but I didn’t rise from my seat. Some of the Vathek councilors left, while others procured drink. But all too soon the military commander, a man named Isidor, reconvened the meeting, this time with only the Vath in attendance. He was now flanked by several other lower directors, each wearing the midnight black jacket of the Vathek military, their collars pinned with the silver lightning bolt denoting their rank.
There was no more talk of trade. Instead, the image of the world hovering above us expanded until it focused on the eastern end of the main continent of Andala. The sharp Vathek letters spelled out the name of the largest city on the coast: Ghazlan. Before the occupation it had been a profitable city and a center for the arts, renowned for its beauty. It had been under the aegis of the Salihi clan, but without a central stronghold, and had been saved from the Purge. Under the Salihis it had been a cultural jewel and reminder of what we’d been. I kept myself still as those on either side of me leaned forward and began to murmur.
“Where shall we start?” Isidor said, his voice gruff.