Mirage (Mirage #1)(60)

I took a deep breath, and gripped Idris’s hand.

“Easy,” he said into my ear. “You’ll be fine. I’m here with you.”

I nodded, took a deep breath, and climbed the stairs to the platform with Idris close behind me.

“Fellow Andalaans,” an Andalaan official said, leaning over the podium. “It is a great honor to welcome Her Royal Highness, Maram Vak Mathis, into our midst. We are grateful beyond imagining for our protector’s constant benevolence and generosity.”

The Andalaan crowd was unmoved and silent. What little applause there was came from Vathek spectators and Andalaan makhzen on either side of them. I watched, my face devoid of emotion, as the official completed his introduction, then beckoned me up to the podium.

The murmuring grew as I climbed the steps, and eased into an eerie silence as I tapped the holoreader before me, bringing my notes to the screen.

“Today marks an auspicious occasion,” I began. “The first of many such auspicious occasions—the opening of the first Walili library in over a decade. A mark of the prize that is knowledge and our ability to move forward, united as one in the face of adversity.”

It was Maram’s voice that came out of me, but my sentiment had shaped the speech. I’d avoided mention of the Vath and hoped that in hearing Maram, in seeing her—me—wearing the old Andalaan seal, those who witnessed the consecration of the ground would leave with hope. Would think of our endurance and our survival. More than that, I hoped that Maram would think back on the words she’d helped me craft, and envision a world without the cruelties of her father’s reign.

It was a small hope, I thought, looking out over the crowd. But an important one—if Maram could be the ruler that her father had failed to be, that her mother had wanted to be, then there was hope for us—for all of us.

Wasn’t there?

I had to believe it.





30

Today seemed to be passing slower than most. Tala had checked on me in the morning, but when she’d seen the faraway look in my eyes, had left me with a pot of tea. I’d all but given up beating the shatranj AI when the royal bell rang, announcing a member of the royal household.

“Your Highness,” I said, when Maram appeared, and rose to my feet. “How can I be of service?”

I was surprised when she lowered her eyes, as if embarrassed about what she was about to ask me. “I can’t ask the kitchen staff to cook for me—not. I don’t even know what to call it.”

I bit back a smile. “Ah. You’re hungry?”

She tossed back her head, daring me to laugh. “Yes.”

“The same dish?”

“Surprise me,” she said.

*

I made harira and miloui—they were easy, fast, and would hopefully not raise notice with the kitchen staff. Maram sat in the same chair and watched me as I brought the soup to a simmer, then turned my attention to the bread.

“You should let me help,” she said, then made an impatient noise. “You needn’t look so shocked. Fine, I rescind my offer.”

“No,” I said, struggling not to laugh. “Please. Come, you can flip the bread.”

“I can do more than flip bread.”

She sounded peevish and young, but I didn’t trust her with anything else.

“Let’s try the bread first.”

Having Maram in the kitchen made me increasingly sympathetic to my mother. Maram shied away from the skillet’s heat, waited too long to flip it, and more than one of the flatbreads ended up on the floor.

“Here,” I said at last, and handed her a clean cloth. “If you fear the fire so much, use this.”

She stared at it for a long moment. “How will that protect my fingers?”

“It won’t,” I said. “But it may fool you. Besides, my mother used to say you never learn unless you’re burned at least once.”

“She sounds charming.”

“No more so than any other village mother,” I said with a smile.

She turned her attention back to the bread after that. Still, I noticed a number of strange things. She was silent, and when she wasn’t biting at the edges of her thumb, she was pulling her bottom lip into her mouth. Maram had always shown an extraordinary ability to showcase either complete apathy or rage; nervousness was not an emotion I’d ever seen from her.

“Is … is everything alright?”

Her eyes widened. “What? Of course it is.”

“Your thumb is still in your mouth.”

She snatched it out and hid her hand in the folds of her skirt. For a moment she said nothing, just glared angrily at me. “You know I’m to accompany Idris to the Eastern Reach?”

“This is the first I’m hearing of it,” I lied. “Is there a reason you go with Idris?”

She looked away from me and fiddled with the ring on her finger. “My—my mother had a stipulation in her will. They—their families were close. Or so I’d guess. She wanted me to visit.”

“Ah,” was all I could think to say.

“They all hate me. A very. Great. Deal.”

It may have been stupid of me to be shocked. And yet. “Why?”

Maram seemed to agree with my estimation, and leveled a look at me that would have made me cringe a few months ago. “There’s the little issue of my father.” She rolled her eyes. “You must learn to stop being so shocked all the time. Everyone hates me. I’m used to it.”