“Fatazz!” Azizi pulled his robe tight.

“Yari was the spirit slave who fed on my foot,” Djola wheezed, “until Awa rescued vie from Hezram’s void-spell.”

“Nobody breaks Hezram’s spells,” Azizi hissed.

Djola snorted. “Does Hezram spread this tale?”

“Yari tried to seduce him in Holy City and got sucked into the void, for lying.”

“A true Lahesh, Yari got a thrill persuading enemies to be lovers, with truth, not lies.” Djola sighed. “You know this.”

“Nobody survives Hezram. Nobody ever comes back to themselves.”

“Yari did and saved me and Awa.” Djola told the tale, relishing Azizi’s tremors and twitches. Yari’s drum rattled from the shadows. “Let’s not waste Yari’s sacrifice on Nightmare Gates.”

Azizi spit out an olive pit. “Hezram was sniffing around. Savages were in revolt, and you, Yari, and Kyrie had abandoned me to a Council of traitors and cowards.”

“You never listened to Yari,” Djola said softly. “You removed Kyrie’s stool then banished me. We never abandoned you.”

Azizi jumped up, combing crumbs from his beard. “I could have executed you and Kyrie. Brought in Tembe and Hezram right then. But I waited eight years!”

“Should I thank you for my pirate adventure? Or my family—”

“Too arrogant to lie. Hezram is your fault.” Azizi paced around the stone-wood table. “I didn’t expect you to take so long. A few months at most.” He smacked stolen robes and helmet masks. Two masks fell down—Anawanama sacred clowns, laughing through a cloud of dust. “I’m fending off rebels, starving hordes, and witchdoctors with demon armies, and you bring me what, a witch woman to conjure Mountain Gates?”

“Woman or not, Awa is the true Master of Poisons.”

“Hezram defeated Yari. Sooner or later, he’ll try to kill us all.” Azizi kicked a rusty iron horse. It fell over, insides spilling out. A golden wheel rolled to the fireplace. “Even Urzula fears the Master of Illusion.”

“Hezram will ambush us tonight when the gates are finished,” Djola said.

Azizi stood over him. “What are you going to do?”

“Me?” Djola tried to recall why he and Azizi had been friends, why he’d sacrificed everything for him and the Empire. “We had grand plans. A better future, a just one.” His head ached. “My brother, my wife, warned me. We made a disaster, Zizi.”

“So it’s Zizi now?” He stabbed his knife into the stink cheese by Djola’s foot. “That’s what Yari called me, lying in my arms, a tongue in my armpit. I loved vie.”

“I know.” Djola dropped his foot to the well-worn marble floor. “Not just Yari, I’ve lost everything, everyone—”