“So, poorly. Try to rest at some point tonight. You are no good to me or yourself when you work yourself to exhaustion.”
Farid lowered his eyes. “As you wish, Your Majesty.”
The Kestrel put a hand on Farid’s shoulder, and that simple gesture made an ugly voice inside Karina scream with jealousy. I’m your child, not him! it roared, though the feeling shamed her. Her parents had raised Farid after his parents’ deaths as there’d been no one else in the Sibari family to do so; if anyone deserved her mother’s affection, it was him. Still, the envy did not abate even as Farid gave one last bow to the Kestrel, shot Karina an encouraging glance, and exited the garden.
Several minutes of silence passed, and Karina fought the urge to tap her fingers. There was so much she wished to say, but no one spoke to the sultana unless spoken to. The Kestrel was dressed simply today, in a black kaftan embroidered with red curling flower motifs. Her only jewelry was the silver signet ring she always wore on the hand bearing her Earth-Aligned emblem, yet she still exuded a regal air that Karina often attempted—and failed—to possess herself.
Just as the silence grew too strong to bear, the Kestrel rose from her chair and stepped past Karina.
“This way.”
Karina followed her mother deeper into the garden, and the only sounds besides the dull roar of the Solstasia Eve festivities happening throughout Ziran were the nightjars cooing in the canopy overhead. Her mother’s silence worried Karina more than any reprimand could; words she could deal with, but silence was a beast she was ill-equipped to handle.
They stopped by a wide fountain in the shape of a sunburst, the early evening sky reflected in its gentle waters. The Kestrel sat down at the fountain’s edge and motioned for Karina to sit beside her.
“I hear you went to the Dancing Seal tonight.”
Karina froze, weighing the odds that this was some kind of trap. “I did.”
To Karina’s shock, her mother gave a small smile that took years off her face. “Is it still as disgusting as when your father used to play there?”
“Absolutely filthy,” Karina replied, unable to keep the surprise from her voice. This was the most her mother had spoken about Baba in years, and she wasn’t sure how to process the information, much less figure out what had compelled her parents to visit the poorest part of Ziran. Karina pulled to mind an image of Baba at seventeen like her, with dark hair and laughing amber eyes full of life. She tried to imagine the Kestrel at the same age but couldn’t.
“Why?”
“What?”
“Why?” Karina could hear the steel hiding behind that single word. “From what I’ve been told, you have invested quite a bit of time in this unofficial career. Why?”
“Because—”
Because pouring her heart into her music was the only thing that ever made Karina feel like herself these days. Because Ksar Alahari was more tomb than home, and there was nowhere within these walls where she was free from the scars of their past.
But Karina couldn’t say that, so instead she replied, “I wanted to see if I was good enough to compete with real musicians.”
Her mother seemed unamused. “And did it occur to you while you were chasing this fantasy that you could have used this time to further your studies?”
“I—”
“Your marks have fallen below average in history and economics, and your other subjects are not far behind. Do you think ‘competing with real musicians’ is more important than learning how to rule?”
When Karina didn’t reply, the Kestrel opened her palm. “Give it to me.”
“Give you what?” Karina asked, hating how small her voice sounded.
“Give me the pouch.”
Karina’s handed over the coin purse she had won from the bard. The Kestrel narrowed her eyes at the measly pile of daira Karina had been so proud of earlier that evening.
“I’m taking this.”
“You can’t do that!”
The Kestrel raised an eyebrow, not having to say what she and Karina both knew—as both her mother and the sultana, she could do whatever she pleased.
“Everything you own belongs to our people and our city,” said the Kestrel, placing the coins back in the pouch. “That includes the coins you’ve hidden in your room as well. You may keep the book, however. It would do you good to read more.”
“You know about the money?”
“Nothing happens in this city that I don’t know about.”
Her mother always did this, removing one by one the few things Karina enjoyed until her world seemed as sparse as the desert sands. Baba had been the parent who doled out kindness to match the Kestrel’s discipline, but now, without him, it was always either scolding or silence—so much silence. Karina’s dream of earning enough money to leave Ziran had always been far-fetched at best, but now she didn’t even have that.
When Karina looked up again, the Kestrel was looking down at her signet ring. The gryphon embossed into the ring’s surface seemed to gaze up at Karina, its eyes filled with disappointment.
“Karina, I cannot deny the past few years have been . . . difficult for both of us.”
Karina might have burst out laughing had she been with anyone else. The first years after the fire were a massive blur, but her one solid memory from that time was of an aching desire for comfort that never came. Karina had molded her grief into a sword, poised to harm anyone who dared get close. But her mother had built hers into a wall, and no sword, no matter how sharp, could take down defenses so strong.
Karina had stopped trying to scale that wall years ago.
The Kestrel continued, “I saw the solace your hobbies brought you, so I allowed them to distract you from your duties. But no more. You are seventeen now, and I will no longer accept such mediocre behavior from the future sultana of Ziran.”
The breath caught in Karina’s lungs. Mediocre. Her own mother thought she was mediocre.
“Our people deserve better than what you have shown me thus far. You haven’t even taken any interest in Solstasia, despite it being our most important custom.”
“Why does it matter whether I take an interest in Solstasia or not?” Karina blurted out. “It’s just another festival.”
“. . . Just another festival?”
An emotion Karina couldn’t name clouded the Kestrel’s face, and the plants around them seemed to curl toward her mother’s towering frame. The queen stood and ran her hand over the base of the fountain. She stopped at a small indent bearing the Alahari gryphon, and pressed her ring into it.
“Despite it all, still we stand.”
The tiles beneath Karina’s feet slid into the fountain, revealing a stone staircase leading down into the ground. “What the—!”
Her mother descended the steps, and Karina followed her into the dark. The stone that made up the passage was less polished than the sandstone of Ksar Alahari, and wet air shrank the coils of Karina’s silver hair. The sound of roaring water echoed around them.
“Why did Grandmother Bahia found Ziran?” asked the Kestrel, grabbing a torch off the wall to light their way. To the rest of the world, Bahia Alahari was a legendary figure, but to her descendants she was first and foremost family, and always referred to as such.