Mirage (Mirage #1)(75)

My fingers tightened their grip, trying to come to terms with what I knew I had to do.

“You know as well as I do,” I said, “that the risk is too great, now. My family—”

“Amani—”

“Please,” I said, my voice cracking. “They don’t even know why they were beaten—” I wanted to shut my eyes so that I didn’t have to see my grief mirrored in his gaze. He looked alone, as alone as I felt standing in front of him. I could see the future unfolding, forlorn and bleak. Idris had become one half of me, and now I had to cut that half away.

“Can you turn your heart away from mine, Amani? Can you cut me away so easily?”

“Never,” I said fiercely, and drew his face back to mine. “Never.”

“Then run away with me,” he whispered. “We’ll go anywhere you like. I beg you, Amani—”

“Could you do it?” I asked. “Truly? Abandon your family to the mercy of the Vath?”

He closed his eyes. When he opened them again I knew his answer.

“No,” he said hoarsely. “No more than you could abandon yours.”

“We wouldn’t be who we are if we could run away,” I said, pulling his hands into mine. “We wouldn’t love each other if we’d been those people.”

For a moment, I pictured it. Not running away—but a world without the Vath. A world where I might have crossed paths with Idris, where I could seek patronage in a magistrates salon, where I could write poetry without fear of reprisal, where we might have loved one another freely and happily, without worry or censure.

I drew him down for a kiss, hoping he might taste the dream on my lips, hoping I could keep this memory. His mouth against mine, his hands cradling my head, his broad chest pressed against me.

I pulled away at last and drew in a breath. “We … can’t take a risk like this again,” I made myself say. “We can’t risk—I can’t risk what will happen to my family. We can’t … be together … anymore.”

“Amani—”

“We knew from the beginning,” I said softly, looking up at him. “We knew this would happen.”

“Is it foolish that I began to hope?” he asked.

“Then we were fools together,” I said. “I don’t even know how to say goodbye.”

“Don’t,” he said. “We’re apart. But nothing will change that I love you.”

I kissed him again, then said, “Lamma bada yatathana, hubi jamalah fatanna … man li raheem shakwati … fil hubi min la’watee.”

He laughed. “What…?”

“It’s the song I sang,” I said, feeling an answering smile on my mouth. “That day in Ouzdad.”

“What does it mean?”

“When he first approached me, his beauty seduced my heart,” I whispered, pressing my forehead against his. “Who will soothe my complaints, born of suffering a love unfulfilled.”

“Amani…”

I didn’t want to cry again. I didn’t want the last time I would let myself touch him as mine to be tainted by it, to remember this moment always broken up by my tears.

“I love you,” I said, pressing my face against his chest. “I love you.”

Walking away from him, it felt as though my feet were weighed by stones. Every step took all my willpower, and it seemed to take an eternity for me to reach the door to my chambers. Don’t look back, I told myself even as I turned my head. He stood where I’d left him, his hands at his sides, flanked by pulsing orbs. Dawn’s first light was peeking in through the roof, and it haloed him against the doorway.

I forced myself to turn away.

Tala was waiting for me in my chambers. She said nothing as she eased me down onto the bed.

When she laid a hand on my head, I broke. I curled up as though hunching over my heart might save its pieces from flying out, and I wept. I would likely never see Idris again, and if I did it would be at public functions where we were watched. I would never again know him in private, and the hazy future I’d hoped for had disappeared.

Tala said nothing, but gathered me up in her arms and rocked me slowly. There was nothing she could say to ease what I felt; there was no solace to be had.

This was life under the rule of the Vath.





37

I could hear the bells.

They had rung so loudly and for so long only once before in my lifetime—on the morning of Maram’s birth. Now they rang five times at the top of every hour, reminding the citizens to rejoice. Our princess had at long last secured her inheritance. And though the public was barred from this ceremony, the truth was still the same: she was now the Imperial Heir.

I sat in my window seat, joyless and without direction. The gate had not opened in a week, and I had been visited by no one. No droid or human passed through the courtyard except for Tala. Even Nadine had not come to gloat over her accomplishment. For the millionth time I fought against my tears. I slipped between grieving Idris, Maram, and the boy from the Reach, whose fate was unknown to me.

I should have tried harder to convince Maram. I should have pleaded more, demanded she listen to me. I should have been able to convince her how much I cared, that I’d willingly risked my life for her. That I’d wanted to secure her inheritance, not steal it. But now—I would never get the chance. Nadine would ensure it. Under her sway and with the crown finally in her grasp, Maram would revert to the girl she’d been when we met. Cruel, thoughtless, hateful.