A good leader might compromise, thought Willow. Know his limits and work with them, not pretend they don’t exist.

  “I don’t want to be cruel,” said Hadi. “But Zak is my heir. One day he’ll take my place. If he’s not prepared, he’ll see his people pay the price. He won’t thank us then, if we let him slack off now.”

  “Slack off?” Willow stood up as well, fury coiling in her gut. “He studies all day. He wakes up, goes to school, then comes home to Malik’s lessons. Then he’s with Lale till the moon bell, pouring tea, running dance steps—”

  “I’m not saying he is slacking. Just, he can’t give up now.” Hadi started toward her, but Willow shook her head.

  “I don’t want to fight with you.” She took a step back, then another. “I need to think. I need to sleep on this. I’m going to bed.”

  “Wait.” Hadi reached for her, but Willow turned and fled. For the first time, he’d disappointed her, and in a way she hadn’t expected, choosing tradition over Zak. He’d let it slide at Faisal’s party. Why clamp down now, with Zak’s happiness on the line?

  She slowed down, then stopped at the end of the hall. She’d never come this way before. She’d always crossed the garden to get back to her suite. She didn’t know her way home, and she stifled a groan. Here she was yet again, lost in Hadi’s world. Maybe she’d guess right and wind up safe in bed. Maybe she’d take a wrong turn and get stuck in some dungeon. Maybe, always maybe.

  Better find my way quick. For Zak’s sake and mine.

  12

  Hadi sat alone in the classroom, in the back where the books were kept. He was early for Zak’s lesson, but he didn’t mind. He was glad for the quiet, for the time to prepare. Zak needed to get better, but praise hadn’t inspired much in the way of improvement. Nor had Hadi’s coaching, or practice with Lale, so what did that leave, with just three weeks to go?

  Hadi stared at the small chairs where the kids sat for their lessons. He’d once sat there himself as his own father looked on, keeping a stern eye on his progress. Dad had pushed hard, demanded perfection, but in the end, past the tears—

  “Dad?” Zak was peeking round the doorframe, shifting from foot to foot.

  “Zak.” Hadi stood. “I didn’t see you. Come to practice before class?”

  “Not exactly.” Zak shuffled closer. He looked nervous, hangdog, like a kid caught stealing candy. “I brought this,” he said, and he dug in his pocket. He pulled out a folded paper and smoothed it between his palms. “I wanted to read it to you. Could you, uh, sit down?”

  Hadi sat, frowning. He could guess what this was. Zak had copied his verses. Now he’d read them aloud. But they’d been through this already, discussed it to death. It wasn’t the same. It just wasn’t, and—

  “Reasons Dad should let me read my verses, number one.” He held up one finger. “Smart people read, so it’ll make me look smart.”

  Hadi stifled a snort. This, he hadn’t expected. Zak was creative, he had to give him that.

  “Two.” Zak popped up a second finger, making a V. “If I had a wheelchair, you’d let me sit down. Well, I have a bad memory, so you should let me read.”

  Hadi leaned forward, half-intrigued, half-annoyed. “How many are there?”

  “Just three,” said Zak. He stuck out his thumb. “Number three. Mom says if you have a problem and you can’t beat it one way, you have to try another. I tried your way a lot, so it’s time to try mine.” Zak stood up straighter and met Hadi’s eye. “We should try, at least, right?”

  Hadi shook his head. “You’ve raised some good points,” he said. “But let me ask you this. Suppose there’s an earthquake. Everyone’s scared. Now, I’ve planned ahead for that. I know what to do. I call a press conference, but instead of standing up calmly and saying ‘here’s what comes next,’ I fidget and mumble and read off a card. Would you feel safe then? Would you feel reassured?”

  “I don’t know.” Zak looked crestfallen. “Was I mumbling? I thought...”

  “No. No, you weren’t mumbling.” Hadi crouched down to meet Zak on his level. “But you have to understand, we have traditions, a way we do things. And it’s not just for show, just because it’s our culture. It’s to prepare you for your big earthquake. For the day you’ll stand up and make your people feel safe.”

  “But...” Zak fidgeted with his paper. Hadi took it from him and held his hands still.

  “I went through this too, what you’re going through right now.” He smiled as gently as he could. “My father pushed me hard, just as I’m pushing you. I was scared—I got stomachaches, and I thought I couldn’t do it. But you know what? I could.” Hadi squeezed Zak’s hands tight. “I did it, and Dad was so proud. And he looked me right in the eye and said, ‘Now you can do anything.’ And I was proud too, because I knew it was true.”

  Zak’s shoulders drooped. He looked down at his feet. “So I can’t read?”

  “You can’t give up, ever. That’s not what we do.”

  “I’m not giving up.” Zak clenched his fists at his sides. “I just want to do it right, and your way, I’m not going to. I’m going to mess up, and it’ll be worse than just reading.” His voice rose and cracked, and he stamped his foot. “And if there was an earthquake, I’d fix it. I’d go out and fix it, and no one would be scared.”

  “Zak—” Hadi reached for him.

  “I’m not doing this. It is just for show, because there isn’t an earthquake, and it’s just some dumb party, and I want to go home.”

  “Zak!”

  Zak turned and fled, right into Willow’s arms. She caught him and held him still.

  “What’s all this shouting?”

  “I’m not doing the ceremony. Dad won’t let me read.” Zak pulled away, scowling, and crossed his arms over his chest. “I’m not. He can’t make me, and neither can you.”

  “You talk to your mother that way?” Hadi started forward, but Willow waved him back. She took Zak by the shoulders and guided him to a chair.

  “What about Faisal? And Ibrahim, and all your cousins? They’ll be at the party. Don’t you want to see them?”

  Zak hunched his shoulders and pooched out his lips.

  “I want you there,” said Lale. She’d come up behind Willow and was peering at Zak. “You know, I’m scared too. Not of my recitation, but...what if the floor’s slippery and I screw up my dance? What if I sneeze, or—Faisal got stung by a bee, right on the butt, in the middle of his verses. He made a sound like oooo-eeeeeee! I’d want you there next to me if that happened to me.”

  “If you went oo-ee?” Zak made a weird face, as if he was trying not to smile. “If I forgot, would you help me? Like, mouth the next words?”

  “Of course I would.” Lale sat down next to him and put her arm around his shoulders. “So you’ll come, right? You’ll still do the ceremony?”

  “I guess.” Zak made a snuffling sound. “I’m sorry I yelled.”

  “We just need to get through this,” Willow said. “It’s like Harry Potter, when he needs to, uh—to win that broom game, and then everything will be okay. This is our broom game, so we’ll just sweep, sweep, sweep.”

  That got Zak laughing, but Hadi wasn’t amused.

  “This isn’t a game,” he said, but no one seemed to hear him. He started for the exit just as Malik arrived.

  “Ah, sir.” Malik bowed to him. “Will you be joining us again?”

  “Not today.” Hadi shook his head briskly and turned to go. “I’ll check in with you later and see how it went.” He tried to catch Zak’s eye as he passed him going out, but Zak kept his head down. Sulking, Hadi thought. Another unseemly habit, and no time to break it.

  “Hadi.” Willow caught up to him that evening out by the fountain. She sat down beside him and for a while, she didn’t say anything. Hadi hoped she might not, that she’d leave it alone. Zak’s tantrum had happened, and it was over and done. There wasn’t much more to say, besides—

  “I’ve been teaching a while now. This ceremony, ah...” She dipped her fingers in the water and patted cool drops down her neck. “Kids do need a challenge, something they can do, but not right away. Take Zak and fractions, he didn’t get them at all. But he tried, and I helped him, and you should’ve seen when it clicked. He went bouncing all over like he’d just won a prize.”

  “So you’re with me. He can do this.” Hadi sighed with relief. “I thought, when you sat down, I was in for a lecture.”

  “Not a lecture, but no. We’re not on the same page.” Willow bit her lip. "I’m with you in principle, but the pressure’s too much. It’s too much, too fast, and something has to give.”

  “Like what?” Hadi swallowed dread. Did she have her own list, like Zak in the classroom?

  “Zak was trying to impress you, coming to you the way he did. He worked hard on that list. He wanted to show you he’d thought it through.” She set her hand on his knee. “Maybe you could stand up with him, do his verses together. He’d be off-book, but if he flubbed, you’d cover.”

  “That’s not how it’s done.” Hadi felt tired—how else to explain it? “You wouldn’t get married and exchange bottle caps. Wedding rings mean something, and so does Zak’s speech.”

  “Then how about...” Willow sat studying the water. Her lips were moving, as though she was arguing with herself. “You sit in that classroom with your face like Mount Rushmore, all stony and stern, judging from on high. Could you maybe try smiling, like Hey, bud, good job.”

  “My face?” Hadi pulled back, affronted. “What are you saying? He’s scared of me?”

  “I’m saying you’re new to him. Your relationship’s still tender. He needs to know you’ll still care for him, even if he screws up.”

  “Of course I’ll still care for him.” Hadi surged to his feet. “I treat him well, don’t I? I’m a good father. Look at Lale.”

  “I’m not saying you aren’t.” Willow got up too. “I’m just saying, you know, you could be more approachable. Relax, take the pressure off. Laugh with them. Play. When was the last time you did that, just tossed a ball with them or played dress-up or tag? Fun, Hadi. Remember that?”

  “I think you’re too much fun.”

  “What’s that supposed to mean?” Willow stepped close, red-faced, hands on her hips. “Maybe Lale’s used to this, all this pomp and circumstance. But Zak’s an average kid. He’s used to soccer, Nintendo, hunting bugs in the park. Kids his own age to play with, not tutors and maids.”

  Hadi took a deep breath and let it out through his nose. He was too tired to argue, tired of all this. If Zak just applied himself—but he couldn’t say that.

  “We’re stressed,” he said instead. “You and me, Zak, we’ve all let it get to us. I was the same way when I was Zak’s age.”

  “You were?” Willow looked doubtful. “You couldn’t remember your lines?”

  “Not that. Just, all of it.” He made a vague, sweeping gesture, out across the garden. “Dad pushed me hard, as I’ve done with Zak. I was his son, so he expected the best. And I got there. I did. I—I need you to trust me.” He grasped Willow’s shoulders, as he’d seen her do with Zak. “I got through my ceremony, and life went back to normal. Dad was proud. So was I. It’ll be the same for us.”

  “Back to normal.” Willow smiled faintly, and then her smile died. “What is that for us?”

  “Good days,” said Hadi. “Like at the park, with the carousel in the clouds.” Hadi spoke with conviction, as he’d done at his ceremony, as Dad had coached him. But his heart still felt heavy. The park had been good, but looking back, it felt special. Normal took time, time to find and time to settle into.

  “Good days,” he said again. “We’ll get back there. Don’t fret.”

  13

  “Don’t get me wrong,” Karima said. “I love the tea ceremony. But sometimes it’s nice to sit down and just drink some.”

  Willow found herself laughing, her stress ebbing away. “It’s been a while since I’ve done this. And look, milk and sugar. Pass the sugar?”

  Karima passed it over and took some milk for herself. “I was thinking, once the ceremony’s behind us—isn’t that your phone?”

  Willow caught her phone on the verge of vibrating itself off the table. She glanced at the screen and felt cold. “It’s the Register. Their review is out. You know, of the art show.”

  “Aren’t you going to read it?” Karima leaned forward, but Willow pulled a face.

  “I heard they were savage, that arts editor they’ve got. Sayid Whatzisname.”

  “So I’ll read it for you.” Karima snagged Willow’s phone. “Trust me. This might hurt, but it’s better than sitting there imagining the worst. Oh, this isn’t so bad...” She scrolled down and nodded and scrolled down some more. Willow jiggled where she sat.

  “Well? What’s it say?”

  “This year’s Teachers’ Collective show proved eclectic as ever, with a wide variety of styles on display—and a wide range of quality. The venue was—”

  “Never mind the venue. What does he say about me?” Willow flushed, embarrassed, but Karima just smiled.

  “He liked you,” she said. “See—‘Newcomer Willow Mandrake boasts a loose, confident style. Her handling of light and color are a joy to behold. However, her technical bravura is undermined by the—’ oh.”

  “What?” Willow felt sick. She felt clammy all over, palms slick with sweat.

  “The thing with Sayid is, he’s got to go against the grain. He’s probably just saying this because your other reviews were so good.”

  Willow swallowed thickly. “What? What’s he saying?”

  “Her technical bravura is undermined by the maudlin sentimentality of her subject matter. Miss Mandrake’s sickly-sweet vignettes would not seem out of place on the fronts of greeting cards. The American market might embrace, even celebrate, Miss Mandrake’s brand of schlock, but style without substance is like honey without bread—too much, and you’ll gag on it.”

  “Ouch.” Willow sipped her tea to keep from gagging herself. “Greeting cards? Really?”

  “Salvador Dalí did Hallmark cards,” Karima said. “So do a lot of artists. Sayid’s just a snob.”

  “Maybe. I don’t know.” Willow toyed with her spoon. Sayid’s review felt personal, as if he’d used her art as a pretext to ridicule her. She took her phone from Karima and switched it off.

  “Willow? You okay?”

  “Yeah. It’s just that Sayid’s not the only one saying that stuff.” She looked down, eyes stinging. “The whole Dressgate thing is still going on Twitter. I’m naïve. Unsophisticated. I’m trying too hard, or not trying hard enough. I’m too plain, too American. I just don’t fit in.”

  “You fit in with us.” Karima moved closer and laid her hand on Willow’s back. “As for the dress thing, it’s just clothes. It’s just words. It feels bad right now, but give it time, a few days—gossips are like vultures. They’ll pick you bare and move on.”

  “So I’m just another dead rabbit?” Willow snorted in spite of herself. “That’s comforting, sort of. In a gross kind of way.”

  “Here, have some comfort food. These cakes will change your world.” Karima slid the sweets tray her way. Willow took a lace cookie, but the taste made her stomach clench. She felt tired and threadbare, glazed from lack of sleep. Royal etiquette was a minefield, and even with Hadi’s help and her lessons from Malik, she kept tripping up.

  “Willow?” Karima was leaning forward, brow knit with concern. “Are you okay? You look kind of pale.”

  Willow set down her cookie. “I guess it’s just—last week, they loved me. I was the Bride of the Planets, the answer to their prayers. Now, I’m...I just hate how quickly love can turn to judgment. Like my parents, our friends, everyone at church...” She trailed off, eyes stinging.

  “What happened?”

  “It wasn’t just one thing. It could happen whenever, to anyone. You wouldn’t expect it.” A flush rose in her cheeks, not embarrassment, but anger. “Like when I was eight, I got crazy into sewing. I found these old patterns, and I went through them all—skirts, pants, and cardigans, even fancy dresses. I got pretty good, and then…” Her throat went tight, and she cleared it.

  “Here. Drink your tea.”

  Willow took a sip, but she’d gone tense all over, just like back then.

  “I made this Easter dress,” she said. “It was fancy, all flouncy, with a big bow on the back. But I was so excited to wear it I forgot a few pins. They stuck to my coat, and the bow tore right off. It took the back of my dress with it, right there in church with everyone looking. They saw my butt and my stockings. They called me…Dad called me a Jezebel and frog marched me out of there like I’d done it on purpose.”

  “He what?” Karima recoiled like Willow had slapped her. “You were eight. How could he—”

  “It wasn’t just him. Everyone was whispering. It was always like that. One minute, they loved you. The next, you were trash.”

  “But this isn’t that. You know that, right?” Karima stroked Willow’s arm. “It’s more like they’re schoolkids and you have a zit. They’ll snicker for a minute, but then they’ll forget.”

  Willow wanted to believe her, but her missteps kept mounting up—not just hers, but Zak’s. Hadi was losing patience, and sooner or later—

  “Ladies.” Hadi appeared in the doorway, as though on cue. He nodded at Willow, then turned to his sister. “If I might steal a moment with my bride?”

  “Oh, banished from brunch! I see how it is.” Karima rose smoothly, snagging a pastry as she went. She winked at Willow. “To the lovebirds the spoils.”

  Willow’s chest tightened as Hadi sat down. He had his serious face on—beetle-brows, Lale called it. That dark, intense look that foretold nothing good. But she’d only just gotten up, only sat down to brunch. How could she have slipped up already, unless he’d seen Sayid’s review?

  “Malik informs me Zak missed last night’s lesson. And the day before that, he came an hour late.” Hadi pressed his lips together. “Did you know?”