Awa gripped Bal’s sword arm. “Djola takes his own time coming back.”

Bal rubbed a scar along her jaw. “Spirit slaves are lethal even in the everyday.” She eyed Djola. “No matter who they once were. We can’t be sentimental—”

“I know.” Awa pulled Bal away from Djola. “Better than you think.”

“Tell me.” Sword still raised, Bal narrowed her eyes at Djola and waited.

“Now?” Awa set down Djola’s bag. It was heavy in the everyday. Yari’s drum was heavier, but she held on to that. “Well, in Jumbajabbaland—”

“Where?”

“Smokeland. It’s overrun. Fiends rule the six regions of my heart.”

“Zst! What do priests do with so many spirit slaves?”

“Power their gates and other nightmare spells. I had to stab a fiend’s heart…” Awa sputtered. Bal would have found a way to save herself, Djola, and Yari too. “The fiend burned from the inside out and I…”

“You were brave.” Bal scanned brands, scars, and crooked bones. Patchy hair ran riot across Awa’s head. “A hero.” She stroked Awa’s snake birthmark.

“No.” Awa cringed. “I’m—”

“Exhausted.” Bal reached for the withered hand that had killed Yari.

Awa shied away. “This is—” not quite the reunion she’d imagined. “I am changed.”

“Kyrie says you escaped a transgressor hut in Holy City.”

“How does Kyrie know that?” Awa’s blood boiled, her breath was steam. She wanted to smash or burn or destroy something. She turned away from Bal.

“Tell me later and I will tell you how Yari and I escaped the savages.”

“You mean Zamanzi.”

“Who else? No other savages raid—”

“You could be a northlander.”

Bal sheathed her sword. “Yari enchanted the uhm, the Zamanzi with tales every night. Soon they were dancing to vie’s drum and turning into rebels.” Bal wanted to say more, but instead pulled mangos, goat cheese, and honey cakes smeared with nut butter from an Aido bag. “You must eat. Still your favorites, I hope.”

Awa snatched the feast and crammed her mouth. Eating was better than quarreling over who the real savages were or telling how she’d stabbed Yari.

Bal forced a smile. “We have many stories to share.”

Awa scratched her patchy scalp. “I’d like to burn the last two years from my mind.”

“That’s what you think now.” Bal wrapped Awa’s head in soothing cloud-silk and kissed her wiggly birthmark, the way Meera kissed Rokiat when she just felt grateful he was alive and standing close. Awa felt Bal’s lips everywhere—down her face, belly, all the way to the tips of her toes, an ache, a delight. What conjure was this?

“Thank you.” Awa gulped down cheese and a hunk of mango. The mango taste was sweeter than ever. “But we can’t change the past.”

“Dochsi.” Bal used a Lahesh word for arguing against negativity and handed her a gourd of frothy fruit wine. “The future changes the past.”