The elephant shook off a cloud of dust and sparks. She wandered across the alley, her trunk writhing in front of her. The freak storms were like sandpaper. Blisters on her back glistened with blood. No longer dodging a mob or a whirlwind, she poked a jagged, broken tusk at an empty grain bin and stumbled through a dry water trough.

“Have you come to Council with a petition from the animal-people?” Djola sat down at the edge of the wrought-iron gates. “No? Well, I’ll tell them for you: disaster is upon us.”

His feet dangled between the bars. Mist condensed on coppery skin, and a sea breeze wafted through dense black hair. The weather shifted so quickly. As the sun disappeared into the Salty Sea, his eyes flickered in dwindling light. His moustache drooped and itched his lower lip. He was clean-shaven except for the mustache, a northern custom that made him look savage—or worse, like a Green Elder!—to folks in Arkhys City.

Samina urged him to grow a beard, do any masquerade that might gain access to people’s right minds. Djola refused. An itchy beard would aggravate him and impress nobody. Samina had a head for gazing at stars, navigating the seas, or reading books, not face-to-face politicking. After hearing petitions, Council would curse and argue all night. In the morning, Emperor Azizi would do nothing, and more people, animals, and grasslands would die, unless Djola forced Council to admit truth: no hope without change, no change without sacrifice.

The elephant bellowed, tears darkening the wrinkled skin around her eyes.

“I know.” He’d rather be home too, at the north edge of the Eidhou mountain range with Samina, waiting for the moon to rise over the Salty Sea, making love in the sand.

The elephant caught Djola’s scent and halted below him. She lifted her trunk, exploring his secrets. He smelled of crossroads conjure and root work, of sweet water and mint tea, of ink and musty parchment. He put his hand through the bars. The elephant got a whiff of mango and cathedral nuts and moved in close. Djola emptied the food from his bag for her. Her thin ears radiated heat as she gobbled this scant food offering. Mangos in the mountain groves were still plentiful. After the last sweet morsel, she wrapped her trunk around his hand, marking him with her scent and gathering in his. The two finger bones at the end of her hairy nostrils tickled—a tale for Tessa and Bal. His daughters loved elephants.

“Whayoa!” Emperor guards not from his loyal escort appeared at Djola’s shoulder, burly, hairy fellows with weapons ready. Southern barbarians?