“Oh, indeed,” said Prince Natahi. “Though our runes and domestication of flying mounts tipped things in our favor as well. But that was then, and this is now. We are at peace. Women no longer need to fight and hunt,” he said soothingly.

“So you would have me give up these things?” asked Yenni.

He gave her a flirtatious smile. “While I may find your quirks charming, there are certain societal expectations that must be observed, and more so for royalty.”

Yenni folded her arms. “Forgive me, but did you not say you were concerned about a future attack from Cresh? What would you have Island women do then?”

“The women of the Sha Islands are by far our greatest treasure,” he began, but he was interrupted by a sudden shout. A pack of guards rushed past them, and as the music and drums died down Yenni heard her mother’s voice ring out strong and commanding above the confused chatter.

“Summon a healer!”

N’baba!

2

The low and soothing coo, coo, coo of the night birds was a welcome contrast to the chaos of earlier. Yenni’s father had at last given out and slumped forward in his chair. Yenni’s mother and youngest brother had rushed off with her father, while Yenni forced herself to push back her anxiety and remain with Dayo and her sisters to attend to their guests and assure them that everything was fine. Her siblings were far better at hiding their fear than she was, but she did her best.

At long last they’d bid everyone farewell, and now she knelt beside her parents’ softgrass mattress, holding her father’s hand and wondering how by all those divine she would leave tomorrow.

“For the last time go to sleep, all of you,” the chieftain said, glancing around at his family. Yenni hated how weak and breathy his voice sounded. “We have a big day tomorrow.”

She would receive her final blessing and runes tomorrow. She would leave for Cresh. Tomorrow. Yenni closed her eyes and breathed deeply to still her fluttering heart, smelling the familiar sweetness of the tree violets, and relishing the hot breeze blowing in from the gap between the roof and the wall. Home.

Her brothers and sisters each came up to hug their father and say good night, but Yenni didn’t want to leave his side, even as Dayo, the last of her siblings to go, called to her from the doorway.

“I can stay,” she insisted, ignoring her brother.

“You know you cannot,” said her mother sharply. She was seated on the other side of the large mattress, still wearing the beautiful blue and gold gown she’d put on for the feast, though it was now crumpled. Yenni knew her mother well enough to know the bite in her voice was not due to anger, but worry.

“Your iyaya is right—you cannot,” her father agreed. “You made a pact with the Sha.”