“Kyrie forged peace on the Salty Sea,” Djola shouted, his patience shot. “Her conjure book is the most coveted in the world.” The end of days, and Ernold was making a grab for Kyrie’s mountain temple.

Azizi dispatched guards to detain her. Too late, Kyrie was long gone.

Djola sneered at Ernold. “A wise man would have lured Kyrie in for one last Council, poisoned the wine, and betrayed her then.” A wise man would have bitten his tongue. Too late now. “Kyrie will close the Mountain Gates and never leave her cliffs. Council gains nothing except an enemy at our back.”

“And one at the table?” Water, Money, and Ernold ambushed Djola, talking faster than thought. They accused him of working with Azizi’s enemies. Djola’s scrolls for change and Nuar’s basket of bones were proof that savage Djola was against the Empire’s glorious way of life.

Djola faltered, weary from twenty years of pleading with men who poured libations to denial, weary of being the savage speaking jumba jabba nobody wanted to hear. His tongue tripped over words he’d said too many times. This was the opening they needed.

“Plotting with your wife’s sister.” Water shook his mane of black hair. “Those two witch women are as close as lovers.”

Money stood over Djola, a hand at a hidden dagger. “Why do you betray us?”

“Answer them.” Arms shook Djola.

Azizi’s hands trembled. “You and Kyrie, traitors?”

“Kyrie and I can’t betray what is already lost.” Djola gestured around the table. “We’ve poisoned our days. We find a new way to live or perish.” Hardly a rebuttal to treason, but he had nothing else to say.

Azizi turned to him, eyes pleading for a lie even. “What about that Lahesh conjure you’ve been chasing? Xhalan Xhala, the great spell of spells?” Desperate Azizi wasted Djola’s Lahesh secret on cowards and thugs.

“Xhalan Xhala is a tall tale.” Ernold snorted.

“That’s what you look for in the libraries”—Books and Bones worried his beard—“a conjure too dangerous even for Yari.”

“Dream Gate conjure is harmless compared to Xhalan Xhala,” Ernold yelled.

“Which is it, priest?” Grain scoffed. “Is Xhalan Xhala a tall tale or deadly conjure?”

“The griot of griots isn’t afraid of Xhalan Xhala,” Djola murmured. “Yari doesn’t trust people to do right with sacred knowledge.” Yari didn’t trust Djola in particular.

“Can you stop poison desert with your plan?” Water shouted.

Djola shrugged. “I don’t know.”

Azizi clenched the table with trembling hands. He rattled goblets and dishes. “Neither you nor Kyrie know the cause of poison desert or an antidote.”

“Your map to tomorrow is almost a cure.” Grain gripped Djola’s shoulder. “Isn’t it?”