“I didn’t say that,” she replied dryly. “They need not be Nadine’s—only susceptible to gifts. That’s how she operates.”

“Can any of them be trained?” I said. “Or turned?”

“Two. Perhaps.” She said it with a touch of disdain that made me smile. Tala was good at her job—she had to be. And well trusted by the Vath at that to be entrusted with my care. I would take her word for the other handmaidens.

“I can ask Her Highness if we can interview more to replace them. But I think two or three need to be made permanent members of the household.”

“Are you already shifting things around?” Idris’s question suggested a challenge, but there was an approving smile in his eyes.

I turned to Tala. “Start interviewing,” I said. It could not help Maram’s security that every time she traveled the people who went with her were strangers. “We need a household whose loyalty is to us and us alone.”

“I will bring a dossier of eligible candidates by tomorrow,” Tala said, inclining her head.

“Thank you. And Tala?” She paused. “Keep a watch over them. I don’t trust them.”

The local diwan—ministry—met several days a week in a long, multilevel gallery on the estate. They were, if the stewardess was any proof, likely a well-oiled machine. But I knew it would help to have Maram seen at these events, and to eventually have her participate. So it was to the gallery that Idris and I went early that morning.

“Have you ever sat in on these meetings?” I asked him, my hand tucked into the crook of his elbow.

“When I’m at Al Hoceima, if the diwan is in session, yes,” he said. “They are not interesting.”

I smiled. “Perhaps. But they are useful.”

The gallery was a traditional diwan—a council chamber. There was the main floor, with lush, low-backed couches lining either wall, divided by a pathway that led to a dais on which sat a Kushaila-style throne. Rising up on all sides of the circular chamber were three more levels, each with ornately carved pale wood railings and columns, behind which were rows of backless couches. This was where the ruling magistrate or the sovereign themself would receive complaints from locals and run government. It was at the northern end of the estate, close to one of the main gates to receive the local populations on the visiting day.

The gallery was already filling up with various magistrates and officials. It took only a moment for them to realize that Idris and I were among them, and as ripples moved through water they sank to their knees one by one. When they came to their feet a nervous air took hold. The cloud of conversation disappeared entirely, and instead they looked nervously at one another.