Iridescent torch-bugs flashed green and blue, a light serenade. They crawled on a Lahesh whimsy wheel carved into the wall. Djola leaned into the rough surface, willing it to be the Council entrance and not the jolly rat carvings up ahead. After a good shove, a door opened onto the chamber. He whispered his mother’s prayer to crossroads gods and walked in.

9

A Change of Heart

Council’s high ceilings, sky windows, roaring fireplace, and stone-wood table weren’t as formidable as Djola recalled. Moths had eaten away at robes and helmet masks stolen from barbarian or Zamanzi warriors. A Lahesh iron horse listed to the side, rusting among sacred relics from forgotten peoples.

Azizi stood at a side table of steaming food, thin and bent, bushy eyebrows and patchy beard gone white. His left hand trembled and his right eye drooped, as if he too had danced Xhalan Xhala. A flimsy gray robe fluttered around a wasted form and made him look like a haint. Time had served him no better than Djola. Azizi shooed rats from the cheese and said, “Are you coming in or meditating on the whimsy wheel?”

Two emperor guards, muscled and mighty, waved double-edged swords and poison daggers at Djola. These men had wrenched Djola from his Council chair, dragged him through back alleys to the harbor, and given him to Pezarrat. The warriors trembled, confusion in their eyes. Barbarian stock, they loved their emperor and believed dying for him would be a great honor, not a waste of blood. Djola should forgive them for following terrible orders. He should also forgive himself for bringing down Ice Mountain and abandoning his family. The guards grimaced at him. Djola leaned on his cane. He needed to sit down.

“Djola’s the guest I’ve been waiting for.” Azizi motioned the guards away. They backed up only a bit. “A long wait, but the Master of Poisons has finally returned.” Azizi sighed. “Just in time, my friend.”

“I’m the Master of Weeds and Wild Things,” Djola replied.

“A new name signals a change of heart.” Azizi tilted his head. “Masters at my table say you want to murder me.” The guards sliced the air with their swords.

Djola sucked his teeth. “Why would I murder you?”

“For what I did or”—Azizi frowned—“for what I didn’t do. Council can’t decide. Some say you hate the Empire. You’d see us burn and celebrate our ashes on the wind.”

“Money, Water, and Ernold worry about what they’ve done and not done.” Djola trembled. “They burn the world, celebrate ash, and tell self-serving lies.”

Azizi ambled between Djola and his jittery warriors. “Hear a lie a thousand thousand times … Who recognizes truth?”

“That is the challenge to all wise people.”

“Are we wise?” Azizi gripped Djola’s arm, taking his weight. “Did reckoning fire ruin your eye?”

“Xhalan Xhala. I’ve done too much violence.”