“We picked Rabi’a for a reason, Your Highness. She has more in common with you than the rest of the makhzen. She’s both smart and powerful, a combination in short supply these days.” Maram startled out of her contemplation with a laugh. “Friendship is risk. This secret will engender closeness.”

“How shrewd you are,” she said with a smile. Our conversation was cut short by the click of heeled slippers against marble floor. Maram gestured to me and I lifted the hood of my mantle over my hair and veiled my face.

Friendship is risk. And so, apparently, were alliances. Rabi’a cared—she cared about Maram, her sister, her province. It was a gamble to approach her once she knew who I was with a rebellious proposition, but I trusted my instinct.

Rabi’a dressed with the staid elegance of a woman secure in her power. She wore a copper-red qaftan, with the military flourishes favored by Vathek aristocrats at her shoulders and throat. The skirt was slashed with printed brocade, and she wore a single ring—her house sigil imprinted on its surface, to mark official documentation. She frowned when she saw me, and her gaze moved from Tala to myself but she said nothing and sank to her knees.

“I confess … I am surprised to be summoned so early and alone, Your Highness.”

Maram, I thought as she came closer to Rabi’a, did herself little credit. She retained her regal air, but the Vathek frost she’d worn like armor when I met her had thawed a little.

“I wished to introduce you to someone,” she said, and motioned for me to come forward.

The veil and hood I’d only just donned were shed, and Rabia’s face went carefully blank as she gazed at me.

“I don’t understand,” she said at last.

“This is Amani,” Maram said, her voice sweet and gentle. “My body double. My shield. My … friend.”

I came forward then and stood beside Maram. I could have knelt; indeed, etiquette dictated that I should have, for Rabi’a was of a higher rank than I. But I was loath to begin our first true meeting as a servant in relation to her superior.

“It is a pleasure, Lady Rabi’a,” I said. “My apologies for the deception.”

Rabi’a was still looking back and forth between us. “You are unrelated?” she asked.

“A twist of cosmic fate,” I replied, dropping my voice to Maram’s register.

She startled visibly, clearly unprepared to see me draw Maram’s personality about myself like a second skin.

“Dihya,” she marveled, and looked between the two of us again.

“She seems quite taken with you, Amani,” Maram said, laughing.

“I am an oddity, Your Highness,” I replied with good cheer. “She is likely no more taken with me than she would be by a snake charmer in the souk.”