It was a single bird, its wingspan nearly eight feet long. It hovered high in the air, gave one great push of its wings, and soared higher.

“Is that…” she started breathlessly.

“A golden eagle,” Aghraas confirmed. “There are twenty-seven in the northwestern steppes. Likely the descendants of eagles freed or lost during the initial wave of conquest. None of them native to the area. But that—”

“Is a descendant of my grandmother’s famous hunting eagles?”

“A descendant of her most famous hunting eagle, Your Highness,” Aghraas said. “The Golden Punishment.”

Maram didn’t return the binoculars, but instead watched as the eagle dropped into a sharp dive and slammed bodily into another bird. She wished she could bring just one in—she loved hunting with larger raptors. But Maram knew, without Aghraas asking her, that she would not capture any of the eagles here—there were too few to risk breeding experiments. And yet to have a descendant of her grandmother’s Golden Punishment in her mother’s favorite retreat …

“Have they bred?”

“Not in enough numbers,” Aghraas said, taking the binoculars back. “Maybe in another five years. She’s magnificent, isn’t she?”

“Yes,” Maram breathed.

“People can’t cross into your estate, Your Highness. But the eagles do not have the same limitation. I worry—”

“About the birds?”

“Should I worry about something else?” she said. “They need official protection.”

Maram sat up in the grass.

“Don’t you wish to protect your family’s legacy?” Aghraas said, sitting up as well. “For as long as your grandmother had that eagle it was as symbolic of her as the tesleet.”

Maram looked out over the valley, its pristine emerald glow, the way the sun slanted over hills and grass, and seemed to halo the single eagle below. Perhaps she was overthinking it. Mathis—the Vath—would think nothing of a measure that at its heart was about natural conservation and not familial ties.

Except, for the Vath, everything came down to the blood. And Maram knew if the question were put forth to Mathis he would say, “Let her symbol die.”

“It depends,” she murmured, “on which family legacy you’re talking about.”

8

“Did you know,” I said a few days later, “the M’Gaadiri stewardess is terrifying.”

Maram’s eyes widened. “Aicha? She’s not frightening at all.”

“You’ve never had to review rooming assignments with her,” I replied with a smile. “I didn’t know the answer to a question, and I thought her glare was going to melt the flesh from my face.”