Mirage (Mirage #1)(70)

I didn’t know if this section of the Ziyaana predated our Vathek rulers. It was a wall of balconies, made so that we might look out at Walili, and so that they might look up at us. It was full to the brim, every courtier and servant milling around, pressed up against the railings. A hot, stifling wind blew in.

Thousands had gathered outside the Ziyaana. They were pressed up against the walls, fit into alleys, hanging off of roofs. Brought here by royal decree, they were restless, waiting for the ceremony to start, waiting to be freed to go home. A pair of overwrought thrones sat waiting for Mathis and Maram; they were made of dark wood and veined with black metal. The back of each was carved in the ornate Vathek style, baroque and floral, gilded and gleaming in the sunlight. A clarion call went out, as though they’d been waiting for us, and pulled my eyes away from the throne. The king was already seated, flanked by a pair of hovering droids. In the sunlight I could see the glimmer of the shield they’d erected around him. He’d survived in his court of vipers by being prepared, I supposed. I imagined it would serve him well here.

Did he care so little for Maram that I had none of the same protections—or did her body double not require them? I knew the sort of man Mathis was, and yet still I was shocked at his carelessness, his ruthlessness, with his own child and the people around her.

He met my eyes and didn’t smile. I wasn’t sure that I wanted him to smile at me—I remembered being on the receiving end of his approval in the council meeting and repressed a shudder. There seemed to be no pride in his daughter’s success or her as cendancy to the throne. Did Mathis not love Maram? Did he love any of his children, I wondered.

Hovering in the air were several screens, so that everyone would be sure to see the proceedings. A droid handed me a great, sheathed sword. It had belonged to Mathis’s father before he killed him, and was the symbol of his empire. I bore it aloft, its hilt in one hand, the flat of its sheathed blade balanced on the other.

“By the Will of Vathek House of Lords,” a minister recited in Vathekaar, his voice booming. I began to walk. “And the Rightful Will of the King, Lord Mathis, Conqueror of Stars…”

A shiver went up my spine. The ceremony would be broadcast not just around Andala but through all parts of the Vathek empire. The eyes of the whole world were on me, Andalaan and Vathek alike. And if Arinaas hadn’t been successful in reaching her agent, a pair of those eyes were an assassin’s eyes.

“In accordance with our High Laws, we hereby declare Maram vak Mathis Inheritor of the Realm, Sole Heir to the Ouamalich System and its ancillaries, future queen of Andala, Gibra, and Cadiz. Protector of Qilbir, Verdan, and Shelifa.”

I knelt at Mathis’s feet, the Vathek sword still held aloft, and cast my eyes down. The minister removed the Andalaan crown from my head. A moment later another crown, Vathek and made of excelsior, dotted with a hundred gems mined from Shelifa, settled on my hair.

“Kneel,” the minister called out. “In the name of the queen.”

The sound of a hundred thousand people kneeling at once echoed through the air.

“In the name of the queen!”

The ceremony was over. All that was left was for me to rise to my feet and sit on the throne at Mathis’s side. If the assassin was going to strike, it would be now, while I was in full view of the Andalaan public. My hands were surprisingly still despite my fear as I rose to my feet and turned to face the crowd.

Then there was a scream.

I flinched at the sound, though I could not tell from where it came, and watched the crowd shift like a roiling sea. There was another scream, and the crowd surged forward, toward the balcony—toward me.

Though I’d known this moment was coming, I froze in fear as they swarmed in all directions, knocking over the barricades that separated them from their Vathek spectators, and the ropes meant to keep them in line.

One of the Garda moved forward and slammed his baton into the face of a terrified Andalaan man. And then another, and another—chaos erupted, and yells sounded over the pounding of fleeing feet.

One of the Garda collapsed in front of me. I stared at him for a moment, uncomprehending, and watched a red stain spread across his chest. When I looked up I saw a boy, several feet in front of me, pointing a shaking blaster at me. His face was clear of any daan, his eyes bright and fierce as they looked at me.

Dihya, I thought. It was the boy from the Reach.

I threw myself to the ground as he fired twice, and something exploded behind me. He’d hit the throne where I was meant to sit. Where there had been a gold curlicue of design there was now a crater. The king had already been ushered away by Garda and droids.

I looked up at the boy advancing toward me. I hadn’t even learned his name. Our words had all been business. He was a rebel forged in fire—what in the worlds would make him stop?

“Siha, yakhoya,” I said, just loud enough for him to hear.

Health, brother.

He froze, his eyes widening in surprise, his gun still aimed at my chest. He was close enough to touch me. It was all the time the Garda needed. A squadron swept in and slammed him into the ground.

No, I thought, but it was too late. I’d stopped him, but now—

“We need to go,” Nadine said, appearing behind me, and I turned to see her racing up the stairway. “Now.” She jerked me away from the shooter and I tried to remember why I was doing this: for Maram. To save her life and mine. I couldn’t throw it all away right now, but I was not just her body double; it wasn’t even the thing I cared about the most. I was a rebel, and I’d condemned one of my own to prison or worse. A third shot rang out, and rock and dust sprayed down around us as a corner of Maram’s throne blew apart. I flinched away and into Nadine’s grip and at last allowed her to lead me away.