M’Gaadir had been the seat of Kushaila power in antiquity. When the Ziyadis unified the planet, it became the seat of their first rulership, and thereafter the heir to the planet ruled from the estate. It was the birthplace of the first Kushaila, Houwa, and the place she’d built after being crowned queen of the Kushaila.

It was also our beginning.

Millennia ago, on the edge of our continent where sand met sea, a few miles from where the first stones would be laid for M’Gaadir, a clutch of tesleet eggs washed ashore. The clutch had been lost and wandered through space far from its celestial nest, or so the stories say. When at last they landed on our planet and hatched, the first of mankind came from their hallowed shells. And because they were far from the sacred flames of their city, they never became what they ought, and remained mortal. And it was from these people that Houwa came and nursed the kernel of magic in her blood. And it was from this legacy that they chose their name—Kushaila, “those among the noble.”

The queen’s estate rested where many people believed Houwa had stood after the slaying of her conqueror husband, a crown on a hill that overlooked the city and the sea. It was a two-story structure, ringed by a wall, and with two towers, one rising out of its southern end, the other from its eastern side. I sat in the southern tower now, hidden by the shadow cast over its balcony, looking down at the city. The estate was surrounded by palm trees, and I could hear the roar of the ocean as it threw itself over and over against the cliffs. A herd of goats bleated as someone shepherded them around the walls of the estate and down the hillside. The city extended around us like a skirt draped over the hillside. White and sandstone, green and blue, everywhere I looked there was a flash of color like jewels stitched into fabric.

I wondered if Maram’s mother, Najat, had drawn strength from the memory of our first queen after she’d married Mathis. She had no family to plot with, no magic to support her. Only her wits and her will and her determination. My fingers were wrapped in the strand of prayer beads as my mind bounced between thoughts of one queen to another and the vision spread out before me. The two-month-long festivities celebrating Idris and Maram’s marriage would take place here, and it would be more Kushaila than the festivities thus far.

I wondered if Maram thought of her mother in this place and all the things she’d endured at the hands of her father.