Awa shuffled behind Soot as he padded up a steep, dark corridor in the citadel maze. Urzula’s sparking staff offered only fitful light. Djola’s conjure bag bashed her hip, weighty again. She clutched the furry Mama Zamba travel cloak tight against the chill. “Where are we?”

“They said go this way.” Meera dragged several paces behind Awa and Soot.

She was weary and slow; even chewing soft berry bread was an effort. With food, love, and rest, Meera would regain her vitality, but Awa feared Mother had been a spirit slave too long to recover. Mother’s breath tasted like rotten fruit; her eyes were half empty, her heartbeat erratic. Awa left Mother in the kitchen, Lilot’s realm, a citadel inside the citadel. Kyrie, Queen Urzula, and Lilot promised to help Mother, keep her safe. Witch women could surely do more for Mother than Awa. So much void-smoke had leaked into the everyday—nobody was safe.

Meera abandoned Rokiat to the kitchen too. He was a weak good person, afraid to bring Emperor Azizi terror tales from Holy City. Yet he was handsome, sang like a shadow warrior, and Meera loved him. Awa was also a coward, and Bal loved her. Awa’s stomach fluttered. Love was strange.

“I hate secret passageways,” Awa muttered. “Witch women turn jackals and hyenas loose in the maze to kill trespassers and assassins.”

“Would Queen Urzula or Lilot do that?” Meera swallowed a shriek. “Hezram tells lies. An illusion-spell.”

“How do you know?” Awa gulped, caught again by lies she was willing to believe.

“My aunt fed a hyena pack bones, gristle, and guts.” Meera sounded ready to cry. “The pack left our goats alone and kept other hyenas away. We had more goats than anybody, the best cheese. Jealous herders said my aunt was a Mama Zamba witch and I must be too, for the hyena pups in my lap. That’s how we ended up in Holy City. More witch women in the huts than men from such lies.” She paused for a breath. “And my aunt bled to death our first day.”

Awa and Meera had never traded stories. “Thief-lords sold me to the huts.” Awa’s good leg was throbbing. She walked slower. “I sang with rivers and trees. I also talked to crows and bees and smoke-walked.”

“I warned Rokiat—if he told on you, I’d make all the warhorses hate him. He loves the horses more than me.”

“You knew.” Awa shook her head.

“Of course. Your hair was on fire!”

A window looked out on a full moon rising from Thunder River just before it would vanish behind the mountains. Awa dipped her head in moonbeams and whispered gratitude for moon sacrifice. Meera stepped close. She pulled Samina’s cloud-silk robe tight over today’s bruises and cuts—from snub-nose Jod or others?

“I’m sorry we rode off without you,” Meera whispered. “I wasn’t thinking.”