“Actually, nobody owns the mountains.” Kyrie lit candles around the room. “I speak for Eidhou, as guardian and—”

“So do I.” Ernold had been after Kyrie’s mountain realm for years. If not for the conjure in her Mountain Gates, he’d have strip-cut sacred forests and declared Kyrie and her people transgressors who should bleed for the glory of the gods. “I know the mysteries and all that is sacred. Witches and witchdoctors make a carnival of faith.”

Everyone went stone still, even the rat. Kyrie blew sparks from her fingertips into the fireplace and flames burst through a smoldering woodpile. “You’ve danced on the moon’s cool white face and seen elephants fly.” She called Ernold a liar to his beautiful face. “Yet I walk Eidhou’s glaciers, taste the breath of cathedral trees, and cloak myself in wind and rain and snow. The mountain is my backbone. I—” She stumbled to a halt at Azizi’s left side. Her stool was missing, her goblet face down, her plate empty.

“Kyrie always comes after supper,” Djola said, swallowing panic. “Guards!”

“No sweets tonight.” Water sneered as guards appeared from the shadows.

“In times of turmoil many believe that a woman at the stone-wood table is a sign of weakness,” Ernold said, rubbing the crimson tattoos on his bald head. He’d persuaded Azizi to do this. “Even an Iyalawo of Kyrie’s stature.”

Grain frowned at Arms. “Besides Council, who knows she is here?”

Kyrie had conjured a wise-woman passageway through mountain forests to come and go from Arkhys City without notice. The best emperor-spies couldn’t find her almost invisible path—a great escape route for an Iyalawo, elephant, or any Wild Thing.

“My men removed the beaded monkey stool last month, after Kyrie left the citadel,” Arms muttered.

“Last month?” Grain glared at him, like a lover betrayed.

Arms turned to Djola. “I meant to tell you both.”

“You didn’t,” Djola said.

Arms stiffened. He followed Azizi’s orders even if they were stupid. Maybe he agreed with this one. Azizi waved the masters into their seats. Djola remained standing. Kyrie was essential. How could Azizi dismiss her without consulting him?

“Masters at your table spoil for war,” Kyrie said. Her fingers sparked as if she’d scratched a rough surface. “They think I’m only good for carnival amusement.” The air above the table burst into flames. Kyrie took each man’s measure in the bright-as-day light while they gaped or fumed at her conjure. She was no better at politicking than Samina. Grain groaned and closed his eyes.

Azizi ground his teeth at her insolence. “So why do a carnival fire-show at Council?”

“Emperor Azizi,” she glared at him, “do you no longer wish the Iyalawo of Mount Eidhou to sit at your table?”