“How long?” Rabi’a asked. Her voice was admirably controlled but for a thread of curiosity.

“Long enough,” Maram said. “I trust few people. But Amani made a case for you. She believed revealing myself—that there are two of me—to you would be worth the cost.”

“I hope that I have not misled Her Highness,” I added.

Rabi’a sank back to her knees. “I am honored by your trust, Your Highness. I will endeavor to be worthy of it.”

Eventually Rabi’a did leave, and Maram cried off from her duties for the day. It began to rain in the early afternoon, so I lay in the tower, surrounded by books, interrupted only by serving girls who wished to bring me tea or sweets. It was early in the evening when I sent Tala with a missive to Rabi’a—I was coming to dinner. I knew her curiosity would get the better of her and if not, she couldn’t turn down Maram. With Tala’s help I dressed in an ivory and white qaftan, with feather printing spilling from my left shoulder and across my chest. Tala found a heavy black mantle with the same design, and pinned a corner to my right shoulder, allowing the rest of it to spill down my back and over the skirt of the gown.

I appeared thus to Rabi’a with an escort in tow, whom I dismissed once she’d greeted me. Dinner was set out in a private room with a balcony, and rain beat against the shield, filling the quiet places between our small talk and the movement of serving girls as they laid out the table.

At last, the room was empty but for the two of us, and I turned to face her.

“I wasn’t sure if you expected myself or Maram,” I said.

Instead of clarifying, she smiled. “Do you take her place often?”

“Often enough that I know the makhzen quite well.”

She took a seat and leaned back. “You didn’t grow up in the Ziyaana.”

“Neither did you,” I countered.

She eyed me and I fought the urge to twist in my seat like a child. I knew what she thought: that I’d taken her ability to offer me a seat was a gross breach of etiquette, but I would not allow her to take any ground I’d gained. I had survived, and I would not be condescended to by one who was above me simply through an accident of birth. I hadn’t come to where I was by accident either—a confidante to a princess and a rebel besides.

“Does Her Highness know you’re a dissident?”

A frisson of fear shot up my spine, but I stilled myself. “I am a royalist,” I said firmly.