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

Was I supposed to wallow in misery before him? Does he think I’ve never dealt with pain before?

“I’ve spoken to Filadon. We—”

“You what?” I break in, horrified. This is certainly something I would have preferred to relate myself, if only to be able to assure my family at once that I was not that badly hurt.

Kestrin’s mouth quirks. His anger is still there, in the sharpness of his cheekbones and the faint glitter of his eyes, but he’s tamped it down. And it isn’t directed at me. “I’m afraid it was necessary. The story is spreading through the court like wildfire. It seems the prince did not realize that our attendants are all from noble families, unlike the servants he brought with him.”

“I’m not all that noble,” I point out.

Kestrin raises an eyebrow. “You are Filadon’s kin, and that is noble enough in our eyes.”

I’m actually Melly’s kin, to be accurate, but Alyrra is shaking her head at me from where she stands just behind Kestrin, so I keep my mouth shut.

“The prince has been placed under guard as a protection for our people. Only his own servants may enter his rooms. He has been invited to depart shortly after the wedding.” Kestrin sighs. “Zayyida Alyrra and I have discussed with my father what further measures we wish to take.”

I nod. The man is the crown prince to his own land. Just the fact that he’s been asked to shorten his stay is significant.

“However that may play out, though, tempers are running high. You have become quite the heroine in the court’s eyes, and the more they see of your injuries, the more furious your new self-proclaimed friends will be.”

Self-proclaimed—? It isn’t surprising that the court would rally around their prince and his betrothed against a foreign attack, especially when the attack came from her brother. It isn’t even surprising that the people who wouldn’t acknowledge me two days ago would defend me now, the honor of the court at stake. What’s surprising is how very candidly Kestrin has acknowledged their hypocrisy.

He goes on, “That leaves us with the question of how to navigate the next week or so.”

By which he means the wedding with all its festivities.

Alyrra takes a half step forward to join the conversation. “Verin Filadon has requested that you be allowed to stay with him until the foreign prince has departed. And, to be sure, that would certainly ease relations in the court.”

That’s how it will go then. Disappointment flickers through me, though I’m not sure why, or for whom I feel it. “As you wi—”

Kestrin coughs once, hand raised to his mouth in what can only be an affectation. I blink at him.

“We have discussed his request,” Alyrra goes on, a slight tilt of her head to include Kestrin, “and with your permission will deny it.”

“You would?” I say blankly.

Kestrin grins, looking suddenly and strangely boyish. “Zayyida Alyrra needs a full set of four attendants to match mine for the ceremony this afternoon. And all the evening celebrations. And the wedding processional. I suppose I could make do with three, but really, I am used to having my four.”

I stare at him.

“You don’t really mind, do you?”

Kestrin awaits my response. But I don’t have an answer—not one they want to hear. Because staying at the forefront means that the whole of the court will be looking at me, pitying me for my bruised face and turned foot, and I don’t want that. I’ve never wanted that.

Alyrra says, hesitantly, “Amraeya, if you prefer not to step forward, then we will support you in that. But I would not hide you unless you wished it.”

“I understand. But”—I glance from her to Kestrin and back again, knowing I’m missing something—“what is your real purpose?” I can’t forget that they are both politicians at heart. He has some purpose here, and no doubt Alyrra does as well.

They exchange a glance.

“What is yours?” Kestrin asks instead. “This is your decision, kelari. If you wish, you can stand before the nobles of the court and look that man in the eye, and show him that he has not won—because he will be there. We cannot keep him from the ceremonies, though I might wish it.”

“And if I stay back, then he will think he won?”

“Yes,” Alyrra says, her voice weary. “It is how he reasons.”

Which means that keeping me beside her at the wedding is the only way Alyrra can make a clear statement of what she will and won’t allow, and who has the real power between them.

“Well, we can’t allow that to stand,” I say firmly. I will simply have to deal with the looks. It will be worth it, to raise my chin to that despicable prince and let him know that he has not cowed me, nor beaten Alyrra. “The wedding ceremony is in another hour or two, isn’t it?”

Alyrra smiles, but she still looks tired, wrung out. “We will be a little late, I expect. Fashionably so, I’m sure. I’ll send in one of my maids to help you.”

“And I’ve no doubt everyone will know exactly why we’re late,” Kestrin says with relish. “Thank you, kelari.”

I dip my head. Whatever politics he’s playing at by using me, I don’t particularly mind right now.

He departs with a polite farewell. Alyrra follows him to the door, then pauses to look back at me, as if her words were caught on the tip of her tongue. Perhaps she wants to warn me about her brother again, though I already know what sort of man he is. Or perhaps it’s regret in her eye and she doesn’t know how to voice it.

“Zayyida?” I ask.

She hesitates. “You’ll tell me if you decide you’d rather not be there? Or even if you come now but prefer not to attend me to later functions?”

“I will,” I say slowly. My mind flicks back to that moment when he slammed me against the wall—and when I threw myself at him after