Mirage (Mirage #1)(57)

The line went dead without a goodbye.





28

It felt as if the data packet were burning a hole in my pocket and in my mind. Nothing could keep me still, and my mind went round in circles, cataloguing what I knew—the bombing campaign, the cost in life—against my helplessness as I waited for Arinaas to arrange a handoff. I needed something to distract me, to occupy my time.

I thought I might have forgotten how to cook, especially in a strange kitchen. But the moves and measurements came to me easily. My family always ended the summer with a sweeter tajine—instead of olives, my mother added figs or apricots, whichever was more handy that year. I wondered if she would do so this year. If Aziz would hover as he did every year, trying to sneak a taste. Or if it would be harder for them to acquire the fruits with all the setbacks the village had suffered this year.

I’d set the tajine to simmer and was kneading dough, lost in thought, when a droid’s whistle echoed in the kitchen.

Maram stood in the center of the courtyard, her cloak pooled on the ground around her feet and her veil thrown over her shoulder. She examined the open space with a distant curiosity. The sparsely planted courtyard paled in comparison to her lush garden. But she didn’t sneer, which I found a small victory.

“Your Highness?” I called, announcing myself. “What are you—what can I do for you?”

She looked a little longer before settling her gaze on me. “No,” she replied. “Nothing you can do for me. I realized I’d not been to this part of the palace in a long while and wanted to look.”

“Oh.”

Her eyes narrowed. “Why are you covered in flour?”

“It happens, Your Highness, when one is cooking bread.”

At that she seemed delighted. “I thought I smelled food,” she said and wandered past me. “You cook. How provincial.”

“Your Highness,” I called, trying to stop her; the data packet was hidden in my chamber, but her proximity to it raised a hundred alarm bells. Instead she made her way past my chambers, to the kitchen.

“Don’t!” I cried when Maram reached for the tajine.

She raised an eyebrow. “Is it a bomb?”

“It’s hot,” I said and picked up a towel. “But only food, see?”

“Is that fruit?”

“Yes, Your Highness.”

Feeling exacerbated with Maram was new. I was used to frustration, rage, a great deal of hate. But right then it felt as though a child had entered my kitchen, determined to cause some mayhem.

“Well,” she said, taking a seat. “Don’t stop on my account. I’ve never seen a villager cook.”

I imagined she’d never seen anyone cook, but I kept the thought to myself. The bread was all there was left to make, and the easiest part of the meal. I’d planned on making a single loaf, but if Maram decided to stay, I thought she would balk at having to share with me. With two loaves in the oven, I set water to boil and pulled out glasses, a teapot, and plates for the food.

“Do you mean to feed me?” Maram said, balancing her chin on her fist.

“If you like,” I said, hoping my voice was noncommittal.

She hummed. “I’ve never had meat with fruit before.”

“The Vathek idea of good food is unseasoned and dry, Your Highness.”

She grinned.

When the kettle whistled, I gestured to the glasses I’d set out. “Tea?”

She shrugged.

“Tea, then.”

*

“I never thanked you,” she said when we’d moved to the courtyard.

I paused, one plate half in front of Maram. “Thanked me?”

“For your performance with Galene, and at the council meeting,” she explained. I set the plate down. “My father was quite pleased. Thanks to you he believes perhaps I’m more suited to the throne than he previously thought. In fact, he’s decided that it should be me and not one of the city magistrates who will give the speech to open up a new library.”

I raised my eyebrows. “Walili is getting a new library?”

“Is that so surprising?”

“I didn’t think the Vath valued that sort of thing,” I said.

“What?”

“Reading,” I answered dryly.

“I do like your sharp tongue, girl,” she said with a grin.

“Are they replacing the Fihri library?” I asked.

“The what?”

“The two-hundred-thousand-year-old library they sacked,” I said flatly. “And burned to the ground.”

“I don’t know,” she said, strangely somber. “I’ve never done this sort of thing before.”

At my look of confusion she clarified. “I don’t go among Andalaans outside the Ziyaana. Ever. I … worry … I’m not up to the task. Of facing the people who have made it abundantly clear they hate me. Who have no ulterior motives to pretend to like me.”

My eyebrows continued to rise in surprise.

“Oh, you needn’t look so put out,” Maram snapped. “It’s me they hate, not you.”

“I just find it hard to believe.”

“Why? You hate me.”

“I don’t!” The words tumbled out of me louder than I meant, and surprisingly true.