“She saved me. Did she tell you? Probably not. She blames herself for Yari’s death.” Djola pulled Bal close and told how Awa refused to abandon him when he was a deadly weight. “Awa brought Yari and a sea of demons back from the void.” He savored the memory. “In a burst of indigo light, Elders turned into themselves again.”

Bal stroked Yari’s drum, dazzled. Vie leaned into Djola. “You’re a story Awa told me. In the enclave, when we were young. That story saved me.” Bal winked at him and Awa, bowed to Kyrie, and slipped away. Djola felt a surge of pride, despite having nothing to do with Bal’s training.

Kyrie shoved him down the dark corridor. “The emperor is a difficult trick.”

“I can give Azizi what he wants,” Djola said. “I’m not an arrogant fool anymore, and Zizi is ready to listen to me.”

“Can we afford to sacrifice you? Who will Azizi listen to after you’re gone?”

Djola pressed Kyrie’s sparking hand to his heart. “Let’s not fight.”

“It will take everything to conjure Dream Gates.” She patted him. “We must be heroes.”

“Of course.”

“Heroes don’t do what they want or get what they need.”

“You’re relentless, woman.”

Djola hobbled away from Kyrie up the dark, twisty corridor toward Council, cursing mazes, assassins, and heroes. Lilot had wrapped his mangled foot in furry bandages that snagged on jagged stone sticking out from the wall. Urzula’s cane provided sparks of light and meant nobody had to carry him, yet climbing from Lilot’s kitchen, he almost passed out three times. He gulped sour air and slowed down. Whatever Lilot put in her frothy brew cleared his thoughts and calmed his belly. He’d refused pain conjure. Seed and silk potions interfered with reasoning and memory, with resolve and courage too. Facing Azizi, clarity should counter rage.

He clutched the wall, surveying a crossroads of six hallways. When assassins, spies, and Azizi’s scoundrel nephews got lost in this maze, Urzula’s jackals supposedly ate their traitor hearts, Lilot’s hyenas crunched their bones, and Azizi’s rats ate what was left. Rats ate anything.

Tessa wavered in front of him, a shaft of mist from nowhere with blue-violet eyes like Samina’s, a long neck and big feet like his. Quint was a smoldering ball of ash rolling around his sister. “The living are the changes the dead cannot make.” Talking out loud to haints fortified Djola. “Trust me.” Haint children nodded at his resolve and dissolved. Evening air drifted through a window. He stuck his head out. In the citadel corral below, Mango sprayed Lilot’s helpers as they brought bushels of food. Djola chuckled and walked on.