The Farren Queens

Amara

Even though it had been hours since she killed Ka'kwet, the guilt felt like a heavy weight on her heart. Amara had imagined killing people before, but in her mind she always felt a sense of satisfaction. Part of her was glad to have killed the old woman. The woman had tried to hurt Samir and probably would've killed him if Amara hadn't arrived. On the other hand, Amara had ended someone's life. Nothing would ever bring that woman back into the world.
   
Amara buried her guilt and led them out of the slums and back to the bakery. It was only a few blocks away, but it felt like a different world. The buildings here were clean and polished, with flower boxes hanging outside the windows.
    
By the time they returned to the bakery, the rain had stopped. The wind continued to howl outside, but the room was warm. Amara stretched out on a couch, and Samir sat on the armchair across the room. Books were scattered around the shop. Three were on the coffee table and a large stack sat next to the couch.
   
When Amara looked at the titles, she realized they were multiple copies of one book. All of the covers were different, but the text was the same. Each was signed by a different person, and the story was filled with notes in the margins. Some of them were sad, but most of them were full of happy memories and hopeful messages. Amara read a few of them before her eyes started to feel heavy. She fell asleep moments later, curled up on the sofa with a book.
   
She woke up to the smell of burnt bread. Smoke billowed from the oven, and Samir was running around the kitchen, filling a bucket of water and pouring it onto the stove.
   
Amara's first thought was, I hope he's okay. It was immediately followed by, How do you mess up bread?
   
She raced over. To her relief, the fire was smaller than she thought. Samir handed her a pail, and she poured it over the flames. After a few tries, the flames went out.
   
"What were you thinking?" she yelled.
   
"I was making breakfast." Samir shrugged.
   
Amara held up a piece of burnt, soggy toast. "This is not breakfast!" She threw it on the ground and grabbed an apple instead. It tasted like smoke, but she finished it in a few bites.
   
Didn't he learn how to cook toast in Basam?
   
"I didn't, actually." he replied, "Bahar always liked making it."
   
She spun around to face him. "What did you just say?"
   
"Nothing."
   
She didn't need her kouzlo to know it was a lie.
   
"No." she said, hands on her hips. "Tell me what you just said."
   
"I said Bahar always made breakfast."
   
"You answered my question!"
   
He shrugged. "So?"
   
"I asked myself! In my head!" Amara took a deep breath and tried to lower her voice. She wasn't any calmer, but was able to ask, "What is your kouzlo?"
   
He mumbled something she couldn't hear, and his eyes dropped to the floor.
   
"Speak up."
   
"Telpathia." he muttered.
   
Amara stood in shock. All this time, he had access to her thoughts. It wasn't that she had thought about anything secret, but she had a right to privacy. She threw the apple core on the ground and stormed into the other room. Amara slammed the door as hard as she could, and hurled herself onto the chair.
   
Despite her best attempts, tears fell from her face. They were slow at first, then they cascaded down like a waterfall. Her entire body racked with sobs.
   
I hope you can hear every word in my head, Samir Balil. she screamed in her thoughts. You are the worst person to ever walk this Earth! You're a liar and a cheat and a disgrace to all who know you. I hate you more than Eira. I hate you more than William Bates or Ka'kwet. I should've let her kill you!
   
He didn't respond.
   
Amara wasn't sure how long she cried, but a few hours later, after the sun had gone down, she heard a soft knock at her door.
   
Don't let him in. Don't let him in.
   
"Come in." she heard herself say.
   
He opened the door and sat across from her. Samir looked her in the eyes and said, "I'm sorry."
   
"You're sorry?" Amara scoffed, "That's it? My thoughts were supposed to be the one piece of privacy I had left, and you managed to ruin it."
   
"You think I wanted this?." Samir yelled, then sighed. "What I did was wrong, but you must know the circumstances."
   
She grunted, but he continued,
   
"My father had a vision about the ball."
   
"That's reliable?"
   
"He was right though. Despite what you may think, I saved both of our lives."
   
She thought back to the coronation. "You told me to get a knife."
   
Samir nodded. "Father knew what would happen. He knew about your kouzlo, and about William Bates."
   
"That still doesn't tell me why you had to read my saint-forsaken mind!" Amara demanded.   
   
"It wasn't my choice either!" he yelled, then rubbed his forehead. "Father forced me into it. He was convinced the only way to save your life was to warn you about what would happen."
   
"You could've just talked to me!"
   
"How would we have gotten a message to you in time?" Samir asked. "We got to the palace just before the coronation."
   
"Figure something out that doesn't involve destroying the one bit of privacy I had!"
   
"Think about it from my perspective-"
   
"Your perspective? No amount of past trauma makes this okay! You're responsible for what you did. I don't care if you were under pressure! Don't try to make excuses."
   
Samir sighed in a calm voice. "I wasn't making excuses. What I did was wrong, you have every right to be angry. Please, promise me you will forgive me."
   
"You're pretty words don't change anything." she said, "You insulted me in the worst way possible. You want my forgiveness? Get out of my head!"
  
"I cannot." he shook his head.
   
What if I kill you? Amara thought. She could see the shock register on his face, but he had the decency to ignore the question.