1
Our Father was our protector. We, the nation of Pajikstar, were his children.
That was reality for nearly a hundred years. The days before we had Our Father were dark days. Civil War. Sickness. Death. Then came stability and peace. The rise of Our Fathers – the hereditary title of leaders, the first of whom created the new nation in the image of a family. A country of brothers in name, if not by blood. A bond so close, nothing could tear us apart. We remained stable and strong even after the passing of our first two Fathers.
Now, Our Father was Gerard Messala Bordeaux. More importantly, perhaps, was that Our Father was also my father. I, Amirah Justine of the House Bordeaux, was the leading Daughter of the Nation. My life was devoted from the time of my birth to the health and stability of the country. It was a selfless life. Given to me without choice because we were the ruling family. Every citizen—every child of the nation—depended on us. We were their protectors.
As a child, I did not fully understand my role. Never speak in public without permission, be gentle and dignified, never lose your temper, maintain perfect posture, and always stand when Our Father enters the room. Except I often erred more on the side of asking too many questions, forgetting to follow orders, and being elbowed by my brother whenever father entered the room. But with each passing year, the reality of my purpose became clear.
We were a beacon to the world, and I was an important part of it. My life, until I turned twenty-one, was one of preparation. Day after day after day of instruction, lessons, and etiquette. I learned the honor of our name and the nobility of our blood. And on my twenty-first birthday, I would be married to a man chosen by Our Father.
It was an invitation as much as an obligation. We, the merciful leading family, would invite one with blood less pure to join the rank of Our Father—to join their blood with ours—and cement the depth of our brotherhood. My marriage was a service to the nation. A compassionate arrangement. A gift.
I was not the only child with a blessing to offer. I had two older brothers. Gerard Aaron Bordeaux was in line to replace Our Father at his passing. To honor the name of our true father, we referred to him as either Aaron, or simply, “Our Son.” He was twenty-six years old and I rarely saw him. He trained mostly under the tutelage of my Uncle, Major General Adil, who headed all military affairs in the Dahkr region hundreds of miles away from the royal palace. In truth, I rarely saw either of them.
But my other brother, Marion Francois, was my closest friend. While he occasionally left the country to work as an Ambassador to the International Council, we were not often away from one another. He was also the only one who understood how difficult it was for me to align myself to my proper role in the leading family. Probably because it had been even harder for him. But we both learned our place. Titles were everything. Roles were everything. It was not a simple life – it was a sacrificial one.
There were some during my younger years who thought our lives were easy. We lived in a palace in the capital city of Istaban. I was raised with nursemaids, attendants, tutors, and armed guards. Large, stone walls surrounded the palace grounds – separating us from the people, the common rabble, the uneducated children of the nation. But they needed us. We had saved them from the dark days and given them peace. Our sacrifice was their life-blood. Their shame came only in desecrating that blessing. We deserved their honor and their gratitude. In return, we gave them everything. And eventually, they seemed to understand. The soft rumors of rebellion and protest died away, leaving an unprecedented era of prosperity in its wake. That was our gift.
Our peace. Our nation. Our Father.
“Daughter Amirah, it is time for the Choosing. Our Father expects you in the Royal Court in half an hour.” It was a messenger—his name escaped me. He had tapped lightly on my closed bedroom door and was relaying the message without waiting for me to open it. Normally a bit presumptuous an act, the truth was he wasn’t interrupting anything. I had been waiting for him, sitting idly in front of my nightstand and staring blankly at myself in the mirror.
The Choosing was when my father decided who I was going to marry. It occurred three months before I turned twenty-one. In short, by the end of the evening, I would be engaged.
“I am aware, thank you…” I trailed off. His name still escaped me. “I shall be there shortly.”
I heard his footsteps fade into the distance as he walked down the hallway. Half an hour. That was all that remained before my future would be written in stone. I turned back around to stare at myself in the mirror. The chosen attire was different than I was accustomed to wearing in public. On most days, I wore a stiff pencil skirt with white blouse that resonated with the uniform my father wore in public. Today, however, I wore a real dress. It was fitted, bright red, and sparkled in the sunlight. That is, I imagined it did. I would never have been permitted to wander around outside in such formal wear.
My light brown waves had been neatly and perfectly placed in a lavish, decorative bun. The mascara and eyeliner made my hazel eyes look foreign to me, but beautiful. Deep. Full. I also wore long white gloves that reached up to my elbows. I was elegant. I was ready to be a woman. It was futile to wonder if I were also ready to be engaged.
There was another light rapping on the door, and my cousin Nadia entered the room. She had dark hair that complimented her slightly darker skin tone. It was only slight, but it still made me feel out of place at times. Because my father had married a foreigner from across the seas with whiter skin and golden hair. It was the only thing that did seem obscure about her as the mother of the nation.
Nadia folded her arms, looking me over with something between skepticism and amusement. She always looked at me like that. It wasn’t anything threatening, but it did show that she knew how out of place I felt. Regardless, we were friends. It was something that felt necessary, since there were few in the extended leading family our age.
“Taking your time as usual, I see.” Nadia stepped closer, leaning down to get a look at me through the mirror. Her dark jade dress did wonders in bringing out the striking green of her eyes. Her appearance was what my brother would have called stunning. A typical beauty. I thought that it would make more sense for her face to be on all the posters scattered across the country—posters of the leading royal family. But she was just a cousin, not a daughter. So, it was my face. I wasn’t that pretty. I didn’t look like a leading daughter of the nation.
I sighed, finally forcing myself to my feet. “I’m just nervous. Is it normal to be nervous for something like this? You’d think I would just feel grateful for the opportunity to serve our nation.”
Nadia laughed, somewhat of a light cackle that was nothing if not friendly. She rapped me playfully on the head, “Ah, wake up, Amirah. This is not some history lesson. You can be nervous about marrying a stranger. You should be.”
I cocked my head curiously, “Do you think? It happens all the time, so I thought it was just me.”
Nadia shook her head as if I were some hopeless case. “Of course, everyone feels anxious about such things. Even me, and I won’t be twenty-one for a few more months.”
“Oh. You’re nervous, too?”
She rolled her eyes as if I were too slow to merit a response and changed the subject. “Just hurry up. We don’t want to be late. Which, of course, means we have to be early,” she muttered the latter part as a reminder to herself more than me. “You know how Our Father prefers everyone to be prepared at least fifteen minutes before he arrives.”
“Yes, I know.” I took one last look in the mirror—the last view of myself as a child—and then turned to follow Nadia out the door. It was time to accept my future.
The Council Room was filled with people—all related to me in some way by either marriage or blood. I still didn’t know the half of them, despite the many lessons on genealogy. I probably never would remember them all. That was the for the royal secretaries to know.
Many men were wearing tuxedos or uniforms—symbols of their place in our great nation. Everyone wore different medals or decorations. I eventually had to part with Nadia and make my way to the front of the room where my mother and older brother Marion were waiting for me. After a quick greeting, we sat in our designated seats at the head of the room and waited for my father. Our Father.
There was some hushed conversation from the crowd of people as we waited. Such conversation was acceptable—encouraged even. We wanted to be as close as possible. We needed to know one another well. A few minutes after I sat down, the soft buzz of conversation was interrupted by the sound of a small trumpet. Immediately afterward, a decorated guard entered the room and announced the arrival of our magnificent and infallible head of state.
Our Father, Gerard Messala Bordeaux.
Everyone stood as he entered the room. He was wearing a tuxedo in place of his usual military uniform, likely because the event wasn’t public or political. He waved briefly to quiet the applause from the crowd and then walked over to his seat. Our Father was the obvious heir to the bloodline. He had a tall, strong frame. His hair was black, his eyes a dark brown, complimenting the darker tone of his skin. He also sported a well-trimmed mustache. He looked exactly as one would have imagined for such an important figure in our family.
Just as he was about to sit down at the head of the room, he changed his mind and walked straight to me, grabbing my hands in his and kissing me gently on the cheek. He spoke softly in our native language of Ubaru – a dialect distinctly associated with the royal bloodline.
“You are twenty-one in three months today, I hear.”
“Yes, my father.”
“Then I expect you are prepared to meet your future husband?”
“I am prepared to do your bidding.”
“Excellent.” He pulled back, a smile lighting up his normally sharp features. “Then, let us begin. You are almost a woman now, and it would not do to postpone it.”
He took his seat, and the rest of the leading family followed. The royal advisor—Rashad Minoret—remained standing. He instantly began to address my father, explaining that the time had come for the youngest member of the royal family to choose her spouse. He motioned towards an area to the right of us, where all the eligible, male members of the distantly-related family were waiting. They were of all ages. The age of one’s husband was irrelevant. Their ancestry was not.
“These gentlemen here are prepared to take their place, if chosen, as part of the leading family. They are prepared to serve you, Our Father, and this nation,” he started the explanation. It needed to be clear to everyone that the choices included only those who had been vetted for loyalty and some distant blood relation. It was the only way to preserve our solidarity.
“We present each of them to you now and accept your choice as one guided by wisdom and graciousness.”
“Thank you, Minoret,” my father nodded his approval. “Please have the gentlemen approach the head.”
A surprisingly large number of men stepped toward the front of the room where I sat with my mother and brother. Father looked over the many eager faces with a small grin tugging at the corner of his mouth. I knew at once that he had made the decision already. The ceremony was merely the last chance to change his mind. He suddenly glanced over at me and his brow rose inquisitively.
“Ah, what do you think, Daughter Amirah? Do you have a preference? Perhaps wealthy and well-known? Or do I know you better to guess young and promising?”
I blushed in spite of myself, averting my gaze for just a second. It was not likely that he expected an honest answer, but even the thought of such a choice was enough to turn my cheeks slightly red.
“I would only do your bidding, father.” I tried to force my voice to sound clear and sure.
He nodded, clearly pleased with himself and my answer. He suddenly jumped to his feet, motioning for the rest of us to remain seated as he walked towards the group of potential sons-in-law.
“Well, I see they are all fine gentlemen. And I had my mind made up, you know. But now that I look at them, I think they are almost none of them good enough for Our Daughter.”
There were some looks of embarrassment, some murmurs of dissent, but most appeared to understand—I was his only daughter, after all. His only true daughter.
“Jamal Bertram Foucault!” The words seemed to shatter the silence without breaking it. I wasn’t quite prepared for the announcement. My eyes widened in shock as my father turned back to smile excitedly at me, as if he had just done something daring and spectacular. There was a gasp from the crowd—but there was always one at these events.
I waited, holding my breath, and finally someone stepped forward almost timidly. He was tall, dark and ruggedly handsome. Good. He was also young, maybe my older brother’s age. Better. I looked back at my father. He was still waiting for some sign of validation from me, his hands clasped idly behind his back. And finally, I allowed myself a smile and quick nod of assent. As much of a choice as was permitted, and I would take it.
My father beamed from ear to ear and grabbed Jamal by the shoulder, leading him to the front of the room where everyone could see him.
“I have chosen this young man as the only suitor worthy of Our Daughter. I think it is a perfect match. Is it agreed?”
“Our Father has chosen! It is right, it is right!” A unanimous chorus sounded the customary approval.
“Let it be written that three months from this day there will be a wedding in the leading family. Jamal Bertram of the house Foucault will join in matrimony with Our Daughter Amirah Justine, house of Bordeaux!”
“Let it be written! It is written already in our hearts!”
“It will be a glorious event,” my father continued enthusiastically. “One like we have never seen. This is Our Daughter! Let us now celebrate her engagement, my children. We shall eat and dance in remembrance of this happy day!”
“It is right. It is right!” Then the crowd erupted into various cheers as the loyal members of our family broke into groups and made their way to the Great Hall for the celebration.
And just like that, I was engaged.
I was forced by tradition to sit beside my fiancé during the dinner. We hardly had an opportunity to speak to one another, but that wasn’t unexpected. There were various toasts and speeches made by various men about almost anything related to the leading family. There was praise for Our Father. There was laughter, food, and dance. Jamal kept his eyes trained on the plate in front of him for most the evening. This was also not unusual. Everyone not directly acquainted with the leading family were expected to avert any direct gaze. And being chosen to join that family by marriage? He was probably overwhelmed by the honor. It was a gift, after all.
Casting sideways glances at my future husband, I finally decided to learn more about him. It would be impolite to speak to him directly. So, I leaned over to my brother Marion, who was sitting on my left, and asked him to remind me how Jamal and I were related. Marion was a much better student than I could ever hope to be and whispered back without hesitation.
“Ah, I think he is a third cousin.”
“Hmm, that sounds like you don’t know.”
Marion laughed, the lines around his dark eyes crinkling together. “That’s because it is complicated. The family is very large at this point. So, you mean to tell me that you didn’t recognize him?” The teasing in his voice wasn’t hard to detect. After all, Marion was the only person I knew who had memorized the entire royal family tree. He and his tutor, that is.
I elbowed him lightly. “I don’t think I would have forgotten his face. He must not come to court very often.”
“Ah, probably not,” Marion nodded knowingly, turning his attention back to his food for a second before continuing. “I should have known father would pick someone so well suited to you. You know he likes you best.”
“That is not true,” I scoffed. “If anyone, he likes Aaron best because Aaron will take his place.”
“A plausible theory,” Marion feigned thoughtfulness and then shook his head in mock pity. “If only you were a boy, Amirah, maybe you could have been his favorite.”
“Ah, stop speaking like a heretic,” I decided to end our game. Marion had a way of crossing lines that I didn’t want associated with me. “It has nothing to do with favorites. It has to do with lineage, with the firstborn, and you know it.”
“Should we try talking to this soon-to-be husband of yours?” My brother said suddenly, a small smile playing on his lips as he glanced over at our still shocked guest. “He’s been playing with that grape tomato for the past ten minutes.”
I forced a polite smile to suffocate my impulse to laugh, but couldn’t help adding, “I think he might faint if we tried. He looks set to die of embarrassment as it is.”
Marion stifled his own laugh, his shoulders shaking a little at the effort. “I think I will give it a try,” he said after recovering. It was not impolite for a Son of the Nation to address my fiancé first, but I knew Marion only intended on teasing him. Before I could stop him, however, he had leaned over me enough to call out to the new addition to our family.
“Jamal, my brother, are you afraid of your plate? You’ve hardly touched your food.”
The response seemed to come in slow motion. My fiancé blinked twice and then straightened, glancing furtively over at the two of us while still not meeting our gaze directly. After what seemed like ages, he stuttered brokenly.
“Forgive me, Marion, my brother. I just think…I’m a little surprised, that is all. I didn’t think…” he trailed off.
“Well, the stars must have aligned for you today, because this isn’t a fairytale for children. You’re engaged to the leading Daughter of the Nation! How do you feel?”
“I am…honored. Yes, I’m honored. Forgive me for not being prepared. I…I only need a moment…”
“Where are you from, Jamal?” I finally forced myself to ask, not wanting to lose the chance now that the conversation had been properly initiated.
“Yeltsak, in the outer regions of the country…” he trailed off for a few seconds before trying again. “I’m sorry that I am unused to this sort of…” And finally, I caught something close to a smile break through his otherwise blank expression. “This is a very large palace! It is a little overwhelming. Just allow me a moment, please.”
I turned back to my brother. He shrugged and turned back to his dinner, but there was still a smile on his face. It shouldn’t have been there. As part of the leading family, we were trained to be polite and unattached, particularly in public. We were leaders, after all. But while my brother sometimes forgot his place, I was always glad when he did. It made the stress of our responsibilities bearable. Except we shouldn’t have been teasing my fiancé.
I glanced over at Jamal once more. He was finally starting to eat, looking a little more relaxed. He had a nice build. His dark, leathery skin suggested many hours spent under the sun. I had never been to the outer regions, but I heard it was hard country to tame. There was a mystery about that corner of our world that I found intriguing. And suddenly, some of that intrigue shifted to my new companion. A handsome, mysterious man from a mysterious region. By all appearances, he was perfect. But deep down, I knew I wasn’t ready to marry anyone.
The interruption came at the end of dinner. The doors burst open and my Uncle Adil stormed in without ceremony. It sent a small wave of shock across the room. Seeing Uncle Adil was not a common occurrence. As the top general for the military, he usually missed social functions – and all other functions not in any imminent danger. On the few occasions when he did attend, he always seemed on the verge of exploding with rage, his dark complexion reddened by his seemingly constant frustrations. I never really understood what bothered him all the time, but Marion once said he was born legs first, and that made a person permanently irritable. The conclusion was certainly true, so I never questioned the rest.
Everything froze the moment he entered, but Uncle Adil made no announcement. Instead, he walked straight to the head of the table where my father was sitting, leaned down, and spoke softly into his ear, “I must speak to you in private, Gerard.”
My uncle was the only one could get away without referring to him as Our Father. Perhaps it wasn’t wholly heretic since they were true brothers, but my father cringed visibly at the less officious title.
“Can it not wait, Adil? We are trying to celebrate my daughter. Surely, it is nothing worthy of such an unceremonious interruption!”
“I’m afraid that it is.” Uncle Adil was always direct, always demanding, like a military officer. He was never distracted. He never smiled. He always wore his military uniform. If he were ever pleased, I imagined it would look like a less intense scowl.
My father could also be firm and severe, but I was rarely around in those moments. He’d never had a reason to be truly displeased with me. So, I was never afraid of him. But I had heard the scattered whispers from a passing tutor or small group of attendants. Some people were afraid of him. Uncle Adil was not one of them.
My father frowned at the insistence of my uncle. He wiped at his mouth with a handkerchief, excused himself, and then we all stood as the two of them left the room together. For a moment, there was some tension—it wasn’t often that my father allowed himself to be persuaded into anything. But a few minutes later, any anxiety was forgotten. It was a celebration, after all. I was engaged to be married.
Custom required that Jamal and I share a dance together after the meal. The first of many – the crowd murmured contentedly and repeatedly. The first of many. A dance with a stranger. A marriage to a stranger. At least, he was skilled in the former. Dancing. His hands were rough and firm. I guessed again that he spent a lot of time outdoors. The first few minutes of the dance were silent, but as others joined and the act felt less like a spectacle, Jamal finally ventured a question.
“Have you ever been to the Outer Region, Our Daughter Amirah?”
“You may call me Amirah, now,” I corrected, pleased with the thought of shedding the title to someone who was not my brother. I turned my attention to his question. “We haven’t visited since I was very young, but I hear wonderful things about it. Tell me more about your home.”
For perhaps the first time all evening, I noticed just the hint of a real smile starting at the corners of his mouth. He was pleased with the command.
“Ah, Yeltsak is beautiful country, Daughter Amirah. We live at the Mayor’s home. My father is the Mayor, I mean. We have a large garden that spills out the back of our house and joins with the natural forests. There are lots of forests in the Dakhr region!”
“Do you spend a lot of time outdoors?”
“Yes, of course. That is, I like the work in the gardens. Well, that’s not my real work. I’m actually the Captain of the Guard…” He laughed a little at himself, as if embarrassed not to have mentioned the title first. “It’s a nice position, and not entirely boring. You see, the people do not cause trouble, and I get to go explore the forests. So, we are both satisfied…” he trailed off suddenly, his eyes widening as he second-guessed being so explicit. “Ah, but please do not tell Our Father. I would be…”
“You have no reason to worry,” I eased his sudden consternation. “The secrets of the Royal Guard in Yeltsak will be safe with me. It sounds more interesting than staying on the palace grounds, anyway.”
He cocked his head a little as if surprised, but his smile deepened. “I could show you a lot about the forest next time you come to visit Yeltsak.”
“I will look forward to it.”
Things were going as well as could be expected. He was polite, friendly, and not entirely dull. There was something promising about his nature that tempted me to feel optimistic. But the moment was suddenly broken by a crashing sound in the hallway.
We heard shouting, another crash, and then the doors burst open again, revealing two guards struggled to hold back a young man somewhere around my age. Except he looked nothing like any of us. His hair was a sandy blond color and he wore jeans and a dirty looking polo shirt – clothes more descriptive of common citizens than anyone with a connection to the leading family. More than that, his lighter skin and blond hair clearly marked him as an outsider – not a citizen or child of the nation. A stranger. Foreigner?
Most of the guards at the palace were more decorative than real. They dressed in old-fashioned uniforms with long sabers at their sides. But these were real guards. The uniforms were a camouflage-textured mix of greens and browns. They were wearing black berets and struggling to keep hold of their large rifles while controlling the insubordinate prisoner. I’d never seen real guards burst uninvited into the palace before. Something was wrong.
As if on cue, my Uncle suddenly stormed back into the room before anyone else could react. “What is the meaning of this?” He bellowed. “I told you to keep him outside.”
“You did, General. Yes, but he broke away from us,” one of the guards explained through gritted teeth. Then, to everyone’s surprise, he cracked the butt of his gun against the prisoner’s head. The man let out a heavy grunt and crumpled to the floor instantly, although he still appeared somewhat conscious. There were audible gasps in the room. Mine was one of them.
Uncle Adil walked over to the little group stiffly. “I don’t care what he did. You should not have problems handling one, unarmed rebel. Now, take him…”
“What is this?” My Father suddenly stepped up regally behind them. No one seemed to have noticed his entrance. “Is this the young man you were talking about, Adil?”
There was a short nod from his brother. My father smiled. “Ah, this is your rebel? Why he couldn’t be older than Marion. I don’t see what you are so upset about.”
My Uncle whirled around angrily. “There are more of them. I’m telling you, Gerard, you can’t ignore this any longer. The people want to see change. If you are not careful, this is going to get away from you.”
“You are the one who should be careful, Adil,” my father’s voice cracked like a whip. It made me jump to hear him talk like that. “I make the decisions. I am the leading authority. I will determine when and if other measures are needed—and I will use my advisors. I will not allow myself to be manipulated by your exaggerated claims of a security crisis. You will only cause undue conflict.”
“Manipulated?” My Uncle spat out in disbelief, “I am not trying to do anything but help you, Gerard. Why can you not see that?”
“Then, you will support my position as the Father of the Nation.”
“I’m trying to! But you…” Adil stopped short, his face reddening again as he breathed out his frustration. Finally, he shook his head and started towards the door. “Fine. Talking to you is pointless. I’m going back to the Outer Region to try and fix this. Let me know when you are going to face up to your problems, my brother. I will be waiting and willing to help you.”
He stalked out, leaving the two guards and their prisoner without any orders. Before confusion could follow, my father walked over to them and looked down at their kneeling prisoner with interest. He crouched down and lifted the young man’s head.
“Ah, so this is the renowned Franz Wilhelm Jakoby, is it? Somehow, I thought you would be a little more intimidating.” Father didn’t speak in our native tongue as he addressed the prisoner. It surprised me. The leading family was required to know multiple languages, but I’d never heard him speak another language to a common citizen. It was a language called Ongolo – spoken in the only other country that had survived the Dark Days without falling into chaos.
The foreigner had regained consciousness. And with his head lifted, I could see his face. Blue eyes, clean-shaven, tan—though skin tone lighter than mine—and strong, sharp features. He looked to have been beaten, with one of his eyes dark purple and his lip bleeding. Most surprising, however, was that he was looking directly at my father and…smirking. Yes, he was smirking. And he began to speak without permission. Boldly, defiantly. Like I had never seen before in my life.
“Well, look at that. Face to face with our noble Father, Protector. I’m with you, pops. This whole rebellion thing isn’t anything to lose your head over. So, maybe you could do me a little favor and tell these guards to let me go. How does that sound?”
There was no way to describe the shock that his words sent spiraling through every individual in the room. That is, except for my father. He didn’t seem surprised at all. But he wasn’t smiling anymore.
“You have a shameful mouth, boy. That’s fine. It’s always better when my enemies have a larger bark than bite. I don’t think I’ll lose any sleep over this.”
My father stood up and directed his orders to one of the palace guards, ignoring the two soldiers who were holding the prisoner. “Take him to the prisons tonight. Don’t give him anything to eat or drink. We will discuss what to do with him in the Advisory Council Meeting tomorrow. Now, everyone is dismissed for the evening.”
That was the moment the entire leading family met a member of the rebellion, Franz Wilhelm Jakoby. But I hadn’t even known there was one—a rebellion.
A Daughter of the Nation is not to worry or concern herself with such muddling questions of state. She is a symbol of family unity, not discontent. Of peace, not discord. She is above conflict…
I imagined my tutor’s voice on repeat as I pondered over what had just happened. But try as I might, it was impossible not to wonder about it. And the only person I knew who didn’t get offended by questions was my brother Marion.
I caught up to him in a long hallway while he was on the way to his room.
“Marion! Wait a minute. I have a question!”
“Ah, Amirah, come to talk about your fiancé? I should tell you, I don’t do that sort of conversation. You will have to go to Nadia.” He was smiling when he said it, enjoying every opportunity to tease me. I rolled my eyes and shook my head as convincingly as possible.
“No, of course that’s not it.”
“Ah, okay. Then, what is it? Tell me.” He folded his arms and made half an attempt to look serious, but I could tell he was ready to tease me again. He was in too good of a mood for me to drop something serious, except I wasn’t sure I’d have another chance.
“Why didn’t…I mean…what did Father mean about a rebellion? That foreigner…Father said he was a rebel.”
Marion’s arms dropped and the smile disappeared. His brows furrowed and he sighed wearily. “Ah, Amirah, it is nothing to worry about.”
“I’m not worried. I’m curious,” I responded firmly. “I just want to know.”
Marion looked me over seriously, studying my face as if looking for any sign of capitulation. Finally, he shrugged and muttered half to himself.
“But why keep it from you? If you want to know, you will know.” Then, he dived into a brief explanation. “That foreigner is called Franz. He’s not really part of a rebellion – it’s just a group of troublemakers. After the Dark Days, we welcomed many refugees. I think his parents were among them. They brought their ideas with them. People choosing their laws and leaders as if from a menu. They are never satisfied and always angry. They ask for the impossible, and it is impossible to reason with them.”
“Are there a lot of these people? If they do not like our laws, why do they stay?”
Marion tossed his head back and forth as he evaluated my question. “We offer security. That’s why they stay. And you know, Uncle Adil is not wrong. While there are not many of these troublemakers, they have powerful voices. Some of our native brothers are starting to listen. But Father is aware of them. We are doing more than Uncle Adil likes to believe. Everything is under control, I promise.”
Assured by his promises, I returned to my room and slept without anymore questions about the rebellion. My mind was too full of thoughts about Jamal. About whether or not I would really like him…about how I was not ready to be married.
A Daughter of the Nation carries a duty first to the leading family, to the royal bloodline, and to the people who depend upon its perpetuation and health…
