Idris and I had taken up a game of shatranj in the later hours of the afternoon. The courtyard looked like a scene out of antiquity—Andalaan nobility reclined beneath trees and gazebos. And it might have been, but for the droids that stood attention at the entrances and the probes that waited attendance on all of us.

I’d improved—or at least, I’d thought I improved. But Idris was still a master, and I found myself locked on my side of the board. I laid a finger on a piece and Idris made a soft sound in the back of his throat.

“That,” I said, raising an eyebrow, “is unfair.”

The expression on his face could only be termed a smirk. “If you’re unsure of your move…”

“I hate you,” I said with feeling, and moved the piece. A moment later it was captured and Idris had advanced further onto my side of the board.

“You’ll get better,” he promised.

The Banu Ifran sisters swept in a moment later flanked by estate guards. They wore the colors of their house—green and black. Zidane wear was not so different from Kushaila dress, though the lines often seemed softer. There was just a hint of Vathek gloss in their design, but not enough to obscure where they were from.

The two sisters at last reached our dais and sank to their knees gracefully.

“Your Highness,” the elder said. “Thank you for welcoming us into your home. And felicitations on your marriage.”

“You are welcome to our hospitality,” I said without rising from my seat.

Rabi’a, for she was the elder, lifted her head at last. When her eyes set on the shatranj board between us, they lit up.

“Your Highness plays?”

I could feel the eyes of the court on us, waiting to see how our interaction would unfold.

“I dabble,” I said lightly. “My lord husband is the master player.”

Rabi’a, I knew, would be the more dangerous of the sisters. Until now, Buchra had said nothing and kept her eyes fixed on the ground. A small idea grew in my mind.

“Why not take my place and see how you fare? Your sister can tell me of your journey.”

At that, Buchra looked up, eyes wide in surprise. I didn’t bother smiling. Maram would not give the girl assurance that she meant no harm; she would allow her to twist in the wind. Rabi’a eyed me sharply but did not refuse, and when I’d risen from my seat, she took it. I laid a hand on Idris’s shoulder for a moment.

“Play nice,” he said mildly.

I gave him one of Maram’s frosty half smiles. “I’m always nice.”