Azizi took another bite of goat. “Yari could see a person from beginning to end—”

“Awa is a Green Elder and carries a Lahesh wise-woman bag. She would conjure Mountain Gates for the capital.”

“Like Kyrie’s?” Azizi sucked a string of black seaweed. “Impossible without trees.”

“Awa writes a new spell. She would use silver-mesh.”

A faint smile twisted at the corner of Azizi’s greasy lips. “How?”

“Awa conjures with a willing sacrifice—no transgressor huts, no spirit slaves. A willing sacrifice can sustain us for years. Awa should tell you herself.”

“You and Kyrie believe in her. Let’s drink to that.” Azizi filled their wine cups, then put a hand over Djola’s. “Wait. Eat first and explain the spell clear-headed.”

Djola picked at the food. “You already have silver-mesh along the capital walls.”

“For a year, the masons worked wonders with stone and metal.” Azizi swallowed his wine in one gulp. “They’ll finish that last section beyond the oasis tonight.”

“Awa proposes to use their handiwork the way Kyrie uses rocks and trees.”

“Council has other plans.” Azizi’s hands trembled. “Hezram would be emperor.”

Djola shoved his plate away. “Nobody should be emperor, Azizi, ruling lands they’ve never touched or tasted, passing judgements on people whose songs, spells, and languages they’ve plundered and outlawed.”

Azizi choked down a hunk of stink cheese. “The People regularly give away their power to fools and monsters who lead them into the void.”

Djola thrashed in his chair. Azizi clutched his arms and held him still.

“Awa should take my chair before I break it apart,” Djola said.

“An emperor must be protected from himself. That’s why I need you at my table.”

“With Awa you’d still have the votes you need to do right.”

“Ah, the new librarian. Boto? He never seems happy voting for Money’s schemes. Is Boto a rebel-spy?” Azizi poked Djola. “Bargaining and plotting, like in our youth.”

“No.” Djola pushed him away. “In our youth, you would have never—”

“If Awa takes the poison master chair, what will you do? What will I do?”

“Kyrie says you agreed to cut down groves and bleed other people’s children.”

Azizi smeared nut butter on a slab of berry bread. “You’re not eating anything.”

“No appetite.”

“My appetite returns.” Azizi swallowed the bread and gulped more wine.

“How could you allow Dream Gates? Nightmare Gates, really.”

Azizi hit the table and rattled dishes. “Eight years ago, you should have lied, said you had a cure.”

Djola tore off Lilot’s bandages and thrust his foot on the stone-wood table. The wound oozed cloudy fluid and a rotten smell. His toes had withered to stubs. The ankle was purple and swollen. Poisoned veins crept up his calf. Rainbow tricksters in the crystal sucked down void-smoke. “Lilot says foot and crystal should come off, but the crystal and heart wheel hold me to life, for a time.”