Page 36 of The Stolen Throne
Turns out, Cain’s father is a dick.
Sure, I always guessed this. But when I was just Meren, I was a nobody, not worth the zariph’s notice or attention, so I didn’t exactly spend any time with the man. Because of his position and the possibility that he would meet authoritates, my grandmother, or even my sister—not to mention his power to spot lies—I made sure I stayed out of his way.
I wish I could do that now. No such luck.
The zariph’s first move was to bring up marriage again. As if that would solve everything. But before we could get down to that mess, not to mention the business of figuring out a better plan than an infinite game of “run and hide” from Eidolon, I had to force myself to sit through traditional Wanderer hospitality. Ironic, since that’s all I’ve ever wanted—to be included in the life and heart of the zariphate.
But tonight, it’s just slowing me down.
From the outside, the zariph’s tent is simpler than many of the rest in the camp. On purpose, I learned long ago. Cainis wants to keep from presenting an easy target to outsiders who might attack, and a fancy tent is like a beacon. Supported by poles in a simple configuration that makes it rectangular, the siding is black goat hair blending in with those around it made of stretched animal hides, woven bamboo, or some in a thinner cloth made from woven fibers.
Unassuming and impossible to identify unless you know.
Inside is a different story.
Luxurious animal skins of the softest furs, multicolored rugs, and bamboo pallets all woven in intricate designs cover the sand with mounds of matching fur, leather, and goat hair pillows and bamboo petates scattered about. Melted candles sit atop jewel-crusted pillars, and more fires burn in bronze braziers. The riches of the zariphate used for bartering in the cities and hosting guests are all here.
The private sleeping area for the zariph and his zaripha is hidden behind more woven dividers that separate other rooms from the main gathering area where he does most of his business. Where I found him lounging as he waited for me. He is sprawled across one of those mounds of pillows when I enter but gets up immediately.
Quickly, the large group of people gathered here—me, Zariph Cainis, Zaripha Magda, six of the zariph’s closest advisors, Cain, Pella, Reven, Tziah, Horus, and Vos—are all being directed to sit in our proper spots by the zaripha. Cainis notices Horus’s presence and gives a small huff of a sound, but he says nothing, which is at least a minor victory.
I don’t miss how I am placed beside the zariph with Cain to my right, a barrier between me and any of “my” people. Or how Reven is placed on the opposite side of the room from me, seated next to Pella.
Is it terrible that I sort of hope one of Eidolon’s Shadows pops out at her and… Yeah. I have a dark side I probably shouldn’t indulge.
The zariph pretends that the Shadowraith in the tent doesn’t exist. Meanwhile, a hardened warrior named Ledenon, who has never said one word to me, sits beside the zaripha on Cainis’s other side. Unlike the zariph, Ledenon doesn’t take his eyes off Reven. Off the threat in the room.
“I am happy our scheme to save Meren worked, my son,” the zariph leans around me to say to Cain.
Our plan? Did he really say that? I almost snort. Cain told me how his father forbade him and Reven from leaving the zariphate to come for me sooner. He saw both Reven and Tabra as bigger assets than me, and he wasn’t about to give up the assets under his “protection” to save me. Cain and Reven snuck out to come get me.
That, combined with how he abandoned the palace to Eidolon, and already I see the zariph as short-sighted at best, a coward at worst.
But still a warrior and a needed ally.
Goddess, I loathe, abominate, and despise the need to be political.
Cainis trains his gaze on me. Assessing. Probably for my childbearing capabilities. Given that Imperium powers are inherited—and my royal status technically would be, too—I’m sure he’s picturing the grandchildren I could produce for his family and what they would be able to provide this zariphate in the future.
“I couldn’t have gotten Mereneith out of there without Cain,” Reven says to the group at large.
It’s the first thing he’s bothered to say other than whispers in my ear since we arrived, but the comment effectively pulls the zariph’s gaze off me. So there’s that.
Luckily, the servers arrive just then. Loaded trays of various roasted meats along with vegetables and fruits are placed in the center of the gathering. As the highest ranked guest, I am supposed to eat first.
I hesitate, because I have to shake off the strangeness of this moment.
I’ve only ever eaten last when I’m with the zariphate, so reaching out now feels oddly wrong. As soon as I do, the zariph picks a choice piece of meat and feeds it to his zaripha on his other side in a small, old-fashioned courtesy that surprises me. Even more when he offers a smile with it, one that reaches his eyes. One just for her. He then takes a piece for himself. Once he takes his first bite, the others may join us.
Cain leans closer to point at one of the trays, the one filled with roasted hare with pickled cactus fruit. “Look,” he says. “Mother Magda remembered your favorite.”
I don’t say anything. I’m pretty sure Zaripha Magda didn’t even know my name, let alone my favorite foods, until I sent the Vanished here with Cain.
The talk while we eat is all idle pleasantries that set my teeth on edge because none of it matters. Worse, I’m limited by convention to speaking only with the people on either side of me, mostly the zariph asking questions about my life as both waif and princess.
What a waste of time.
Eidolon is coming. Tabra is dying. Reven is…whatever is happening with him. We need to be figuring out what the hells we’re going to do.
