The caravan was enormous, comprised of two three-level luxury cruisers to house the makhzen and the attendant Vathek courtiers who would join us at various points in our journey, as well as handmaidens, valets, servants, and guards. They had open lawns, and various salons and ballrooms, and from their bellies and their roofs flew the sigils of all the houses on board. Highest and largest among the banners was the sigil for vak Mathis, but alongside it flew the Ziyadi flag. Maram and I had arrived at a way to take advantage of the stories from antiquity, even while making concessions to the Vath: the cruisers would land a mile outside the city the caravan was visiting, and the parade of makhzen, Vathek courtiers, and so on would march into the city led by Maram, Idris, and her chosen court. There were always two Vathek members in the party, and one of them was always her cousin Ofal, who, of all Maram’s Vathek family, she loved best.

Our first stop was the city of the Banu Nasir, Khenitra. It was an ancient and imperial city, the gate between the ocean and the mountains. Rising up behind it like the craggy spine of some ancient beast were the Mountains of Ghufran. Khenitra was one of the few places that had emerged from the war unscathed. For a while, all the children of the makhzen had sheltered here, before it became apparent that we would lose the war. It was a good place, I thought, to test the appearance of the Vath alongside Maram.

I watched the procession into the city on a newsreel from within the palace of Khenitra itself. Maram was dressed in green and gold and astride a beautiful black mare. The new wardrobe had been an excellent decision—all the clothes she’d worn to date had either been wholly Kushaila or wholly Vathek, and the seamstress at M’Gaadir had married the two styles, as they’d done for the wedding. She’d kept the wide belts and flowing skirts, but lowered the necklines on some designs, and forsaken the wide flowing sleeves we favored for the cinched sleeves of the Vath.

She and Idris made quite the pair, she in mostly green and he in mostly black. He disembarked from his stallion first, and a moment later helped her down. She smiled and the corner of his mouth quirked up—the picture of married bliss. Khulood and Tariq waited on a dais at the gates and when they approached the siblings knelt before them. When they rose to their feet, Maram turned and introduced them to the rest of their party, as though they had not spent the last few weeks together. Ofal was the picture of decorum, all smiles and laughs.