Back Court of Lions Save as PDF
Chapters (55)
  1. Title Page
  2. Copyright Notice
  3. Dedication
  4. Map
  5. DRAMATIS PERSONAE
  6. one
  7. PROLOGUE
  8. 1
  9. 2
  10. 3
  11. 01. Maram
  12. 4
  13. 5
  14. 6
  15. two
  16. 7
  17. 02. Maram
  18. 8
  19. 9
  20. 03. Maram
  21. 10
  22. 11
  23. 12
  24. 13
  25. 04. Maram
  26. 14
  27. 15
  28. 16
  29. 17
  30. 18
  31. 19
  32. 20
  33. 21
  34. 05. Maram
  35. 22
  36. 23
  37. 24
  38. 06. Maram
  39. three
  40. 25
  41. 26
  42. 27
  43. 07. Maram
  44. 28
  45. 29
  46. 30
  47. 31
  48. 32
  49. Coda: Maram
  50. POLITICAL FACTIONS
  51. THE VATHEK CONQUEST
  52. KEY TERMS
  53. Also by Somaiya Daud
  54. ABOUT THE AUTHOR
  55. Newsletter Sign-up

It saddened me that Maram could not be here for this—we’d both agreed it was best that I take on this last piece. Before I’d revealed the rebels’ plot it was because she felt strange enacting a marriage she had no desire to be a part of. Now—well, I thought now she could not stomach being present when the deed was done. No matter how necessary Mathis’s death was, he was still her father.

Despite that, our entry to the city would be a triumphant one. The tour had been a success—we had left each city with more supporters than we’d entered with, with more ties, and with the love of the people. It was clear that they loved Maram. That they had missed the daughter of the queen, and now at last she was returned to them.

But it wasn’t just that, I thought, looking at Idris. When the dust cleared, a new world order would rise. And I—and Idris—would be free.

Idris and I stood on the open lawn of the star transport of the wedding caravan: Heiress-2. From there, we could see the city on our approach, and the lands spread out around it. We would land outside the city, prepare for the final parade to its center, and be joined by the king. The plan was to feast and celebrate the union of two great families, in the tradition Maram’s mother had produced on her own marriage to Mathis.

The hope, however, was that he would be dead before then.

“It’s beautiful, isn’t it?” Rabi’a said, coming to stand beside us.

“Yes,” I replied. “You have done well, keeping it alive.”

Rabi’a and her mother had done what many of the Andalaan families in the wake of the conquest could not—they had kept their province alive, and indeed helped it to prosper. And it was its prosperity that had enabled this moment, that would enable our victory.

She smiled. “Do you mind if we unfurl our standard? You will like the results.”

I shrugged. “Of course.”

The standard of the Banu Ifran was a single tower on a green field, with their words in Zidane beneath it: Until death. It unfurled from a flagpole over the ship, and two more flags dropped down over the sides.