Awa shrugged. “Who could think?” Forgiving Meera was easy. Nothing to forgive. “I’ve done worse, but now we change. We don’t just save ourselves.” Meera nodded.

In the kitchen, after Djola and Bal disappeared, Awa told Kyrie of Father and Kenu building Nightmare Gates. Awa promised to sacrifice herself to Djola’s Dream Gates for her friends, for the Weeds and Wild Things, and for Bal. Djola was too valuable to lose and Dream Gates needed a willing sacrifice. Kyrie looked relieved. Our secret was her only reply. Every minute since, Awa wanted to take this promise back. “You’re strong, Meera. You’ll help me keep my promise at the gates, no matter what.” She couldn’t ask Bal—vie was too lovesick to understand. “If I falter.”

“Our vow.” Meera’s face shone in moonlight. “I’m for you and you’re for me.”

Awa repeated their words and hugged her. “I love the world and I love someone, the way you love Rokiat.”

“Bal,” Meera said, wiping tears. “And you came for me.”

Soot yapped, and they hurried up to him, their cocoon anklets banging a polyrhythm. He jumped against a Lahesh whimsy wheel carved into the rock. With a second lunge, a door opened, and light and warmth trickled into the passageway. High ceilings disappeared in the dark. Moonlight leaked through sky windows. Soot scampered in, barking and growling, and raced out a whimsy wheel door on a far wall.

Awa and Meera tiptoed in. Emperor Azizi lay limp on the marble floor, eyes closed, breath shallow, his heart doing a bird beat. Djola held Yari’s knife to his neck. Blood trickled across the diamond tip. Bal hovered a few steps from the blade. Vie shot Awa a desperate look.

“Forgiveness is a lie,” Djola said.

“So many, many lies,” Azizi replied. “I was the youngest son. I never expected to rule. But you saved me, Djola. Why?”

“Nobody can save you now.” Djola shook Azizi. “Look at me as you die.”

“Stop,” Awa yelled. “What are you doing?”

Djola glared at her.

Awa glared back. She marched over and crouched down. “Djola the Assassin is a tale Hezram would tell.”

Djola snarled at her. “I’m the end. You begin a new story.”

“I need a better end to begin with,” Awa declared.

Bal gripped Djola’s knife hand. While they wrestled, Awa and Meera dragged Azizi away. They propped him in a chair at a stone-wood table. Azizi stared glassy-eyed at his rescuers then traced the blood drizzling down his robe. Meera ripped a piece of the fancy hem and tied it around the neck wound. Awa raced back to Djola.

Bal leaned vie’s forehead against Djola’s. The blade trembled between them. “Kill the emperor, and—Hezram will seize power tonight.”

Djola stammered. “I’m lost…”