“I’d rather be dead then—” Meera looks at Mother and leans into Rokiat.

Mother sits in the dirt, leaning against a post. She is smiling at them. Her breath is too slow. So is her heart.

“What are we going to do?” Meera asks.

“Not just save ourselves.” Awa rubs Soot’s head. “Take us to Bal and Djola.”

Soot is happy to hear them planning the hunt. He raises his tail and scents the air. He is a powerful old dog and wild. Hezram should smell him and cower.

8

Sacrifice

“Awa’s gate-spell idea could work.” Kyrie squinted at Djola, a skeptical spark on her fingertip.

They whispered in a corner of the citadel kitchen as Djola drank Lilot’s frothy medicine. Five fireplaces and three Lahesh stoves roared. Pots of herbs boiled; ducks on spits dripped and hissed—a barbarian feast-day specialty. Lilot’s helpers—former pirates and witch women in training—stood at high tables and mixed fruits and sweetmeats with spices and vinegar. Chattering and laughing, they carried trays of hot food into the citadel maze. Soot drooled and they slipped him scraps and scratched his head. Pungent medicine wraps from the cold cellar gave off a dizzying scent.

Djola leaned against a sweaty stone wall, more tired than he ever remembered being.

“You will be the willing sacrifice?” Kyrie sounded dubious.

“A true Dream Gate spell won’t work otherwise,” he replied.

“You’re a terrible smoke-walker.”

“So?” Djola glanced at Awa.

She hovered over her mother as Lilot wrapped the old woman in medicine cloth and poured a hot brew down her throat. Urzula did the same to the transgressor girl they’d rescued. Meera? Hezram’s pretty horse master stood near Meera. He flinched at doors creaking and dishes clattering then moaned as if he were at the edge of death. Kitchen crew fussed over him, icing his brow, rubbing tension from his back. Meera squeezed his hand, cooing comfort. Bal paced around them, disgusted.

“It’s our best chance.” Djola smacked the wall. “What else against Hezram?”

Soot growled. He growled every time someone said Hezram. Kyrie shook her head, a hundred ideas racing behind her eyes. Djola felt impatient to get going. Kyrie pounded his chest and reminded him of Samina.

“Trust me.” Djola gripped her fist and kissed gnarly fingers.

“What of Awa’s own plans?” Kyrie asked Samina’s question.

“Awa and Bal love this world, the way I used to.” This wasn’t an answer. He snatched the cane Urzula had given him and headed into the hallway maze. He had to get out of this stifling kitchen, away from Kyrie’s obstinance.

“Thank you.” Bal appeared at his side and he halted. “For rescuing my Awa.”