The Theft of Sunlight by Intisar Khanani (story reading .TXT) 📕

perfectly fine. Though I would prefer not to see my brother again tonight.”

Kestrin nods sharply. “I’ll see to it. I’m going to assign Matsin and his quad to you for the rest of your family’s visit. The quads you have are all good men, but Matsin knows your family.”

“He does,” Alyrra agrees. “I would rather not hide, Kestrin.”

“You won’t.” The words are fierce. “Should your brother be fool enough to try anything here, he will learn what Menaiya is made of.”

I stiffen, startled by the restrained fury in his voice. Alyrra does not answer.

“Forgive me,” Kestrin says after a brief silence. “I spoke in anger. But I will not allow such a man to trifle with you.”

“I appreciate that,” Alyrra says finally. “But this is my battle to fight.”

“Then I will stand by you.” Moving forward, he takes her hand and presses it between his own. “I am here for you.”

“I know it, verayn,” she says. My lord, a typical conjugation of “verin,” but it feels like something more here, her voice heavy with emotion.

He squeezes her hand. “Kelari Amraeya?”

I blink, surprised to find the prince has turned his attention to me. I wasn’t sure he even saw us here. He trains his gaze on me, regal and powerful and not the sort of man I might argue with. Zaria remains perfectly still beside me.

“You are the newest of our attendants, so I will just mention this: an attendant can be dismissed only by the person they serve. You understand?”

“Completely.”

“Good. I shall be counting on you—on all of the attendants—to maintain your posts regardless of what may happen.”

I can only hope that whatever it is Kestrin fears might truly be prevented by our presence.

Chapter

19

That evening and the following morning pass quietly, with no sign of the foreign prince or the impostor’s father. Mina and Zaria attend Alyrra at breakfast. I watch Mina upon their return, but she glances at me only once, with a minute shake of her head. It tells me nothing at all, other than, I suppose, not to ask anything aloud, which I wouldn’t have done regardless.

Alyrra sends Mina and Zaria out to dress, and drifts over to gaze at the silk tunic and skirt made specifically for the wedding ceremony this afternoon. The pale pink tunic and deeper rose skirt are exquisitely embroidered with gold thread and pearls. Her fingers brush over the embroidery, flip the hem of the tunic. She seems pensive.

Today’s ceremony is the smallest of the celebrations to take place: the formal wedding itself, preceding the various banquets and festivities that celebrate it. She won’t be considered actually married until the end of the week, when the final wedding processional and feast are held. After all, a wedding that only lasts a day is hardly a wedding at all.

Unless, perhaps, Alyrra is used to other traditions for a wedding, or a different sort of dress from what lies before her.

“Do you miss the type of clothes you used to wear in Adania?” I ask, remembering Mina’s description from last night of the queen’s strange long dress, with its tight bodice and many-layered skirts.

Alyrra shakes her head. “No. I prefer the dress of Menaiya.”

“No one would fault you for occasionally wearing something from your own home. At least, I don’t think so. . . .” Then again, what do I know? It would be wiser, perhaps, to ask Mina.

Alyrra just grins. “No, thank you. Your clothes are much more comfortable.”

“Comfortable?” I repeat, taken aback. The outfit before her is so heavy and stiff with embroidery, I’d hardly call it that.

“They’re easier to breathe in. I don’t have to worry about being able to move. Admittedly, I often adapted my clothes after my mother had them made so that they gave me a little more space.”

“That’s . . . huh.”

She chortles with laughter. “Amraeya, you must work on your ability to cover your disbelief.”

“Well. You just told me your people care more about how a woman looks than if she can breathe. Pardon me if I don’t know how to be polite about that.”

“We are not completely backward.”

“I did not say a word about being backward. But I think it’s just as well you came here. And not only because now you can breathe.”

“No, of course not,” she agrees, and wipes her eyes. “But I do breathe easier here, and for that I’m grateful.”

I have the distinct feeling we are no longer talking about Adanian dress.

I wait, but she doesn’t say anything, and I take the chance to change the subject to the one thing I can’t bring up around any of the other attendants. “Zayyida, I wanted to speak with you about another matter. We discussed it before, that other day in the wooded courtyard.”

She nods, her smile giving way to a clear, focused look. “Excellent. Would you just close the door?”

I nod and do as she bids. She takes a seat on a carved armchair with a brocade seat and back, and gestures me to its twin. I ease myself down and launch into a description of my meeting with Artemian and Bren, their advice for her to develop her own quads and look to changing the laws.

“Who did the second man say he was?” Alyrra asks.

“He called himself Bren.”

“That’s . . . not particularly Menaiyan, is it?”

I shake my head. “No, it doesn’t fit. It may just be an alias. Do you know . . .” I hesitate, try again, “Have you met Red Hawk himself? This man acted like Artemian’s superior, but he wouldn’t tell me anything when I asked.”

“We’ve met,” the princess says. “Red Hawk was . . . quiet and serious, and dangerously sharp. He was also unexpectedly kind.”

“Someone different, then, I suppose.” Bren had been more abrasive than kind. And I wouldn’t have called him quiet and serious by a long shot. “At any rate, he also intimated that some of the children who are snatched end up in the city.”

“You mean they are enslaved here?”

I nod. “He will arrange to show me one such place in the next