“Look,” she said softly, gesturing to the ground below. Our caravan was not so high in the sky that I could not pick out the people in the fields, herding livestock, farming, on horseback. It was as if with the unfurling of her sigil the world changed for them. Children cried out, pointing at our transport, boys and girls on horseback raced to keep up with us, waving scarves in our direction. I felt my heart fill with joy. The sigil of the Vath heralded fear. Children fled in the wake of its shadow, mothers worried for those children, and so on. But the children below knew who rode with Rabi’a, saw Idris and me at her side, and yet and still, they waved and laughed. For they knew and loved us.

Idris and I grinned at each other, and waved.

We didn’t fly into the city proper. Instead, a camp was set up just beyond its limits. It seemed a city in its own right, a hundred enormous tents erected to house the hundred families who had come to celebrate the marriage. The parade, too, had been a huge undertaking that Maram had handled with grace. It showcased the most important families, both Andalaan and Vathek, though its celebratory air was distinctly Kushaila, to pay respects to her mother’s and husband’s families. It would enter the city from the south, and wind its way past each of the four hills before climbing the mesa to the palace.

The royal tent was high-ceilinged, its walls draped with Kushaila tapestries, its floor lushly carpeted. The tapestries muffled the chorus of noise outside, and for a moment I let myself breathe. From my left and going around the room, the walls depicted the story of Tayreet, a tesleet who’d come to our world looking for adventure and had fallen in love with a prince. They were beautiful, vibrant. Tayreet in her tesleet form was all blues and greens, jewel-colored and resplendent in every environment.

Idris was in the Salihi tent, so I had the space to myself. Serving girls stood at the entrance, waiting to attend to me, and guards stood just outside. I wore a blue qaftan, embroidered in gold. The skirt was many-layered, its hem embroidered with flowers and vines, crawling their way up the panels of the gown. A testleet was spread out over my chest, its wings unfurled over my arms, its head arched over my right shoulder. Its plumage was bisected by a trail of pearls over the center of my chest. A blue mantle made of organza fell from my shoulders, stitched with ingots of gold and coral, with feathers embroidered throughout. From each shoulder hung three delicate chains, at the end of which floated real feathers: red, green, and blue.