Aliya

chapter thirty-four.

My movements were quite clean, and perhaps I would have gotten away with it if only I had bothered to run away as soon as I'd gotten it. But at that age, I was still overjoyed at the fact that I could even take a tomato, and didn't bother planning my escape route at all.

When Khale finished bagging the apples and turned around to face me, she asked me where I got the tomato from.

At that point, I should have just ran away. Instead, I stood there, jutting my chin out and prodly saying that I'd found it in the bushes in front of our house.

Khale's smile had faded, and for a long while after that, she continued to stare at me.

At the time, I'd thought myself to be quite clever. I had even made her speechless. She had nothing she could catch me on now.

It was only when Khale burst out into laughter that I realized something was wrong.

"Aliya, you look constipated," she'd said, reaching out to pinch my cheek. "Khuda, you're a terrible liar. You know, your mom is a really good one. I didn't expect that trait not to pass down to you. If you wanted a tomato, you could've just asked. I would have given it to you."

Not long after, I'd walked back home in a daze, hands full with two bags of fresh tomatoes. When I had freed them enough to lift a hand up and touch my face, my cheeks felt burning hot.

I had never bothered to lie to Khale again, but the last few months in the Palace must have somehow, someway, hopefully made me a little better. After all, how many times had I lied, and how many times had my pretense slipped?

If this was a tightope, then I could only hope I could reach the bar when I slipped.

Maryam was already sitting on the table, sat on the corner, most furthest chair from the door. She had dolled up beautifully today, a red gem the size of a pearl inserted into her hair, and she had even drawn a small, gold flower on the centre of her forehead.

Her effort was admirable, and it wasn't hard to spot some envious once-overs sent over in her direction.

But as I walked closer, I wondered if Maryam herself noticed the unevenly applied sefidab on her neck, or the slightly messy kohl, or the rouge that was redder on one cheek compared to the other.

Compared to the usual clean, neat Maryam, this gaudy, fancy, tousled-looking woman did not look like her.

But to be fair.

She looked quite like a princess.

"Did you dress yourself today?" I whispered into her ear, taking a seat beside her chair.

"I couldn't sleep last night, so I stayed up all night. I got up before anyone came in and did my own makeup. You know, just to ease my nerves." Maryam reached up, touching the side of her cheek. "Why? Does it look that bad?"

"Not bad," I said, lowly. "Just... No, nevermind. You look fine."

I didn't think telling her was a good idea after all.

Maryam nodded, clenching her hands in her dress. Her fingers had long since turned white and pale, and I wondered whether she noticed.

I decided that she probably didn't, and I shouldn't really care.

"I'm assuming that he has his turn today."

"Yes," she whispered. "There. He's there. You can see him standing on the side of the door."

There was only one man outside. Although he was facing out into the hall, his silhouette was large and tall, with hair cropped short to his head and broad-set shoulders.