I hummed my assent. I’d met Ofal only once at the party Maram’s elder sister had thrown in the north. She seemed one of the few family members Maram was truly fond of.

“How did you do it?” she asked. I raised my eyebrows. “The people of this city love me—love the makhzen. They were indifferent to us when we arrived.”

“People are simple, and the planet is old, and everyone likes stories. Every society leans on images of antiquity to bolster their claim. Learn the right story, stage it the right way—everything else falls into place.”

“Stories?” Maram frowned.

“The pearls,” I said. “The horses. The banners. M’Gaadir is the first Kushaila city in all the world. Every time I dress I remember that.”

“What in the worlds are you talking about?”

I widened my eyes in surprise. “I thought Aghraas at least would have told you the stories.”

“Why would she have told me the stories?”

“Isn’t she M’Gaadiri? Her daan are Houwa’s daan—the feathers.” She stared at me blankly. “The story goes that the Kushaila are descendants of a lost clutch of tesleet eggs. Houwa was the first egg that hatched on the beaches of what would become M’Gaadir. Her feather daan signified her tesleet origins. That is why the Ziyadi crest is the bird—your family draws its line directly from Houwa.”

“I thought they were descendants of Kansa,” she said.

“Kansa is Houwa’s granddaughter. She was known for her pearls. It’s why I wore them so often in public. Maram?” Her gaze had turned distant, as if her mind had fled elsewhere. She blinked and focused on me.

“Sorry—yes.”

“What is it?”

“Sometimes I think … Aghraas is an alien.” She said it with a self-deprecating smile. “I don’t know where she’s from. Or how she came to be where I needed her. One day she was just … there, when I needed her most.”

“As in … from the stars?”

“Sometimes I look at her and—” She shook her head. “It doesn’t matter. I can’t be Houwa for the whole world.”

I resisted the urge to press her on Aghraas. That she had said so much at all seemed a miracle to me.

“Certainly not,” I replied. “But sovereigns historically give out gifts and alms. You can do that in every city. Charity leaves a mark. And we can plan to arrive at Azaghar on the Mawlid.”

“The what?”

“The birth of Massinia—the whole world isn’t Dihyan, but Azaghar is a Dihyan city. And they will be celebrating it. It is custom for the ranking member of court in the city to open the gates of the palace for a celebratory feast.”

Some of her old fear passed over her face. “That is dangerous.”

“If you keep yourself apart—”

“I know. Try to keep in mind one of them tried to kill me—us—not so long ago.”