“You!” Iyalawo Tembe covered surprise and shook a raffia fan at acolytes till they lowered dart pipes. Her gold hair and tattoos reflected torchlight. She sat a respectful distance from the Council table on an Iyalawo stool—carved giraffes adorned with cowry shells, crystal beads, and an Aido cloth cushion. Tembe was a fortress of knowledge not to be discounted. She bowed as Kyrie sauntered toward the table. Tembe’s talking drummers played a praise song for a carnival clown who juggled fire.

Kyrie bowed to Tembe. “I was sorry to hear about Ice Mountain.”

Tembe’s lips trembled. She’d loved her mountain. “Tonight we protect Mount Eidhou from a similar fate.” She glanced from Djola to Hezram and smacked her fan against acolytes who had yet to lower weapons.

Kyrie wiggled between Hezram and Arms’s sword. “Let’s not waste more blood.” She tugged the red beard frosted silver at Arms’s chin.

“Our blood is precious,” Tembe said, Iyalawo of transgressor huts. Her pronouncement made Djola’s foot throb, yet others took up her words and weapons disappeared. Arms lowered his sword.

Hezram grinned. “Poison master, why stand in the trees grinding your teeth? Come over here.” He put on a friendly command voice. “Sit. You’re injured.”

Djola wanted to shove his poison foot down Hezram’s throat. “I must stand.” Pain and distance from Hezram and Azizi would keep him focused.

“Djola’s lost his appetite.” Azizi cut cold eyes at Hezram. “You look hungry. Sit at least for food.” He pointed to Djola’s chair and piled fish and greens on the plate. The Master of Illusion barely skipped a beat and dropped down with a carnival smile. Anawanama spells in the chair made him chafe. He poked the food.

“Do you worry that Lilot might poison you?” Azizi ate from Hezram’s plate.

Djola munched berry bread lest someone think he was afraid to eat with Council.

Hezram chuckled and gobbled a piece of fish. “No man wants to die this night.”

“Dochsi,” Djola disagreed.

“It’s always a good night to die for what you believe,” Kyrie and Tembe said together and laughed, deep, throaty, dangerous laughs.

Hezram smirked at the women, too confident. “Are we all here?”

“We wait on the witnesses,” Azizi said. “Two women who escaped your transgressor huts.”

“Perhaps they are liars, cowards who don’t want to face us,” Ernold said.

“They’re almost here.” Arms nodded at Djola. Awa and Meera would soon arrive at the oasis garden.