“Don’t you dare,” Karina warned, her affection cooling at once. Hanane might have been Farid’s best friend, but she had been Karina’s sister. Amazing how people only ever wanted to talk about her when they were using her memory as a weapon.

Karina and Farid stared each other down, the history between them now a chasm neither could cross. Farid had been brought to Ksar Alahari after the deaths of his parents, the Mwale and Mwani of the Sibari family, years before Karina had been born, and he’d shared a close bond with Hanane. Some of her earliest memories were of toddling after the two of them and crying every time they left her behind.

But the decade since the fire had changed them both, and now almost all traces of the gangly boy Karina had known were gone.

The creak of ancient wood broke the silence, and Commander Hamidou’s head popped through the door.

“Your Highness, Haissa Sarahel is ready to receive you.”

The Kestrel’s garden had once been Karina’s favorite place in the world. It had been her and Hanane’s playground, Baba’s preferred space for practicing his music, and their family’s sole refuge from the ever-prying eyes of the court.

The garden was a small forest onto itself, full of low-hanging willows, sweet-smelling pines, and a host of other plants that never could have survived in such an arid climate if not for the Kestrel’s expert care. Karina rarely came here anymore; the only people who frequented the space were the Kestrel herself, five special servants who tended to the plants when the queen could not, and the royal council on the occasions when the Kestrel held meetings in her quarters instead of in the Marble Room.

Her mother was overseeing one such meeting when Karina and Farid approached. Seated around a long table beneath a wrought-iron pagoda wreathed with fragrant lilies, the royal council was engaged in a heated discussion, a map of Ziran laid out before them.

“The parade route must pass by the university, or the Chellaoui family is threatening to pull their funding from the new bimaristan! If it doesn’t get built, we won’t have enough hospitals to meet the growing demand.”

“But that would mean moving more guards to University District, which won’t leave enough to control the crowds to the west, especially considering how many soldiers were injured in the stampede today!”

Karina and Farid stopped at the edge of the pagoda. Every member of the council made a gesture of respect in her direction, touching three fingers first to their lips and then to their hearts. The Kestrel spared Karina only the quickest of glances before returning her attention to the argument.

“We cannot risk jeopardizing the parade over the Chellaouis’ ridiculous demands,” stated Grand Vizier Jeneba al-Bekhri, jabbing her finger into the map. From appearance alone, one might not guess that this tiny, heart-faced woman was the second-most- powerful person in Ziran, but when she spoke, what came out was a commanding voice that left grown men shaking.

“But the bimaristan must—!”

“Enough.”

With a single word from the Kestrel, the council fell silent. Her face betraying no emotion, she moved one of the figurines on the map.

“We will push the drum performance to the third day in order to give the procession more time to pass by the university. A contingent of one hundred extra soldiers from the southeastern garrisons will be added to the area to accommodate the change, and in exchange, the Chellaoui family will double the size of their donation to the bimaristan. What is next on the agenda?”

The Kestrel steered the rest of the conversation in this manner, always ready with a solution to every problem the council brought forth. In a matter of minutes, she adjusted the performance schedule, settled a dispute between two Eastwater tribes over their plot of land for the festival, allocated more funds to inns bursting past capacity with all the travelers, and drafted a declaration granting special passage of foreign diplomats through the Zirani Territories. It was a flurry of names and figures that Karina could barely keep up with.

Through it all, her mother never once looked at her.

“. . . and that will be all.” The Kestrel’s gaze finally landed on her daughter, and Karina shrank under the weight of it. “Unless anyone has any pressing matters that must be attended to at once, you are all dismissed. I will see you tonight.”

The council exited the garden, and Farid made a move to do the same until the queen said, “Farid, wait.”

Farid froze as the Kestrel made her way over to him. He was by no means a small man, but even he had to look up to meet the sultana’s gaze.

“You haven’t been sleeping lately.” It was a statement, not a question; Farid’s battle with insomnia was well-known throughout the palace.

“I’m sleeping about as well as ever, Your Majesty,” he conceded.

“So, poorly. Try to rest at some point tonight. You are no good to me or yourself when you work yourself to exhaustion.”

Farid lowered his eyes. “As you wish, Your Majesty.”

The Kestrel put a hand on Farid’s shoulder, and that simple gesture made an ugly voice inside Karina scream with jealousy. I’m your child, not him! it roared, though the feeling shamed her. Her parents had raised Farid after his parents’ deaths as there’d been no one else in the Sibari family to do so; if anyone deserved her mother’s affection, it was him. Still, the envy did not abate even as Farid gave one last bow to the Kestrel, shot Karina an encouraging glance, and exited the garden.

Several minutes of silence passed, and Karina fought the urge to tap her fingers. There was so much she wished to say, but no one spoke to the sultana unless spoken to. The Kestrel was dressed simply today, in a black kaftan embroidered with red curling flower motifs. Her only jewelry was the silver signet ring she always wore on the hand bearing her Earth-Aligned emblem, yet she still exuded a regal air that Karina often attempted—and failed—to possess herself.

Just as the silence grew too strong to bear, the Kestrel rose from her chair and stepped past Karina.

“This way.”

Karina followed her mother deeper into the garden, and the only sounds besides the dull roar of the Solstasia Eve festivities happening throughout Ziran were the nightjars cooing in the canopy overhead. Her mother’s silence worried Karina more than any reprimand could; words she could deal with, but silence was a beast she was ill-equipped to handle.

They stopped by a wide fountain in the shape of a sunburst, the early evening sky reflected in its gentle waters. The Kestrel sat down at the fountain’s edge and motioned for Karina to sit beside her.

“I hear you went to the Dancing Seal tonight.”

Karina froze, weighing the odds that this was some kind of trap. “I did.”

To Karina’s shock, her mother gave a small smile that took years off her face. “Is it still as disgusting as when your father used to play there?”

“Absolutely filthy,” Karina replied, unable to keep the surprise from her voice. This was the most her mother had spoken about Baba in years, and she wasn’t sure how to process the information, much less figure out what had compelled her parents to visit the poorest part of Ziran. Karina pulled to mind an image of Baba at seventeen like her, with dark hair and laughing amber eyes full of life. She tried to imagine the Kestrel at the same age but couldn’t.

“Why?”

“What?”

“Why?” Karina could hear the steel hiding behind that single word. “From what I’ve been told, you have invested quite a bit of time in this unofficial career. Why?”

“Because—”

Because pouring her heart into her music was the only thing that ever made Karina feel like herself these days. Because Ksar Alahari was more tomb than home, and there was nowhere within these walls where she was free from the scars of their past.

But Karina couldn’t say that, so instead she replied, “I wanted to see if I was good enough to compete with real musicians.”

Her mother seemed unamused. “And did it occur to you while you were chasing this fantasy that you could have used this time to further your studies?”

“I—”

“Your marks have fallen below average in history and economics, and your other subjects are not far behind. Do you think ‘competing with real musicians’ is more important than learning how to rule?”

When Karina didn’t reply, the Kestrel opened her palm. “Give it to me.”

“Give you what?” Karina asked, hating how small her voice sounded.

“Give me the pouch.”

Karina’s handed over the coin purse she had won from the bard. The Kestrel narrowed her eyes at the measly pile of daira Karina had been so proud of earlier that evening.

“I’m taking this.”

“You can’t do that!”

The Kestrel raised an eyebrow, not having to say what she and Karina both knew—as both her mother and the sultana, she could do whatever she pleased.

“Everything you own belongs to our people and our city,” said the Kestrel, placing the coins back in the pouch. “That includes the coins you’ve hidden in your room as well. You may keep the book, however. It would do you good to read more.”

“You know about the money?”