“The first of the Kushaila. Every royal family tracks their lineage to Kansa, but they forget that Kansa tracked her lineage from Houwa. We are in her birthplace.”

“Do you like it?” he asked.

I laughed in disbelief and looked up at him.

“Did you draw it to ask?”

“No.” He grinned.

My gaze returned to the mural. It brought me great joy to see it, but it was a sharp reminder, too. I was not Houwa. I was her shadow, sent out into the world to gather information only to be returned, stitched to Maram’s feet.

Idris’s voice pierced my melancholy. “But I remembered you had a liking for historic murals. Come,” he said, and took my hand. “We have some time yet. We can sit, away from the eyes of the court and the servants.”

A half-hearted protest came to and died on my lips.

We sat against a wall without cushions or blankets, facing the mural.

“I’ve only been here once before,” he said. “To this cave, I mean. Before my parents died. Before Najat died.”

“Oh?” He so rarely talked of his family, and I found myself leaning closer without meaning to.

“My father took me down into the city after.” He gave me a lopsided grin. “We saw a fortune-teller.”

I could not control the laugh of disbelief. “You don’t strike me as the superstitious type.”

His grin widened. “I’m not. But her predictions were—well, none of them came true. I was a child, I took heart in what she said.”

“Did she cast bones?” I found myself a little intrigued. There were no soothsayers in our village. They gravitated to the larger cities where their trade was more tolerated.

“She read my palm,” he said. “She terrified me, you understand. She was old, and her eyes glitter in my memory. But she told me I would be happy, and that’s all a boy really wants to hear.”

“What did she tell your father?” I asked, curious.

“Nothing—he refused to have his future read.”

“Smart man,” I said.

Idris raised his eyebrows. “How so? Don’t tell me you believe in fortune-tellers?”

I huffed another incredulous laugh. “It’s not about the teller,” I said. “But the fortune. Good or ill, true or false, it haunts the listener. What?”

“I don’t know…” He shook his head as if shaking away the cobwebs of a dream. “You know, I still remember some of what she told me.”

“Your fortune?”

“No,” he smiled slyly. “She told me what certain lines on your palm might signify.”

I eyed him suspiciously as he took my hand into his and drew a thumb down its center.

“Shall we try?”