The rebels.

My hand slipped from Mathis’s grip as I paused in the archway to the palace and looked up. The Vathek fleet was sleek, all curved edges and bright silver. But on the horizon and closer still I could see more ships; Vathek, older, their hulls streaked in rebel colors.

Mathis’s grip tightened painfully on my arm, and drew my focus back. The people on the mesa were silent—among them were dissidents: the makhzen who had allied with Maram.

“Get them inside,” Mathis snarled. “And I want the ground-to-air cannons up and firing immediately. We will crush this insurrection before it is born.”

If the rebels were engaging them in the air it meant Aghraas had gotten the de-armament codes to them successfully. It meant that in at least one of the cities, likely more, they’d not only wrested control of the city, but its defense as well. I turned away from the sky, my face impassive, and met Idris’s eyes. He wore the same mask I did, and when I slipped my hand into his, this time his grip was agonizing. He was frightened. So was I. But hope was not lost. Not yet.

Mathis led us into the palace. We were flanked by a full company of guards, and though none of us were bound, we may as well have been. My heart was stuck in my throat. Sometimes we passed a corridor and the echo of fighting would float down toward us. Idris’s muscles would seize, and I’d have to tug gently and get him moving again. The Mas’udi twins and the Nasiris were in our escort as well, and they too remained silent. Rabi’a and Buchra had gone ahead with the intention of greeting us in the throne room. Every now and then I would catch Khulood or I’timad’s eye. They were terrified. They’d lived through the purge—they knew what was at stake.

The doors to the throne room were enormous—as high as several men stacked on top of one another, made of iron, gilded. There were two guards at the door outfitted in Ifrani regalia, with swords on their left hips and blasters on their right. Their faces were masked, but when I met the eyes of one, my heart went still.

She was Tazalghit and so was her partner.

The spike of adrenaline that followed forced a tremor into my hands, and I tightened my grip on Idris’s hand. The two moved as one, turning toward the door, pushing it open. Mathis and our Vathek escort, who had only ever thought of Andalaans as one roiling mass, this tribe indistinguishable from the other, didn’t mark their presence and strode into the room. But I understood why they hadn’t attacked Mathis on sight when we entered the room.