I slept fitfully that night, burrowed under the covers, my body cramped and tormented by an uncomfortable sleep. I’d been aware of every noise—the skitter of servants’ footsteps before dawn, the scrape of tree branches against the balcony. Now, the sun’s rays peeked in through the wooden slats at the far end of the room. In my grogginess the bedroom seemed as another world—dust motes floated in the air, and the room seemed to glow, as if drenched in the light of the sacred fire of the tesleet.

Idris frowned in his sleep, and slept on his back, one arm beneath a pillow, the other outstretched toward me, as if he were searching for me. Now, I slipped from the bed as quietly as I was able and made my way to the bathing chamber. It was empty, save for Tala, who had filled the stone tub in the center of the colorful chamber with steaming water.

“I am blessed by your friendship,” I said to her gratefully, gripping her hands.

She smiled. “I imagined you would want to flee as fast as possible. But you cannot afford to shirk her morning routine—so, quickly. Into the tub.”

We were well practiced at this routine by now. I scrubbed as she washed and oiled my hair. In under an hour I was out of the tub, dried, dressed in a blue qaftan, with my hair braided in Maram’s preferred style.

I hesitated for a moment in the dressing room. It was cowardly of me to flee Idris after our conversation last night, but I hadn’t lied. This—being forced into this part of his life—was painful. I did not want to know what he looked like when he woke in the morning. So I fled and returned with Tala, veiled and hidden, to the double’s suite. It was time for this part of the farce to end and for Maram to take up her spot beside Idris.

I found her in my parlor, seated on a divan, her hair hanging loose around her shoulders. She was facing my in-progress tapestry of Massinia with a heavy mantle wrapped around her and a steaming glass of tea cradled between her hands. Tala left us alone, and the sound of the door clicking shut behind her drew Maram’s attention away from the tapestry and to me. She examined me as she had examined the tapestry before finally gesturing to a seat across from her.

“So,” she said, tucking her hair behind her ear. “What happened?”

I hated the sting that appeared behind my eyes. I wanted to keep our conversation private, the trials of the night to myself. But I couldn’t, not with Maram’s eyes on me waiting for some answer. Nor could I risk a lie.

“He knew I wasn’t you,” I said at last and took the glass she offered me gratefully. “He said—”

“Yes?”