“We’re going to be late,” Kirah said, in the same dire tone she used on stubborn camels.

Several flights of stairs away, a festive commotion rumbled from the Imperial Hall. I pretended not to hear, inhaling the chatter of our council siblings instead. Their voices skittered, specter-like across the jewel-toned wall tiles. Griot voices undulated in the dark courtyards far below, and moonlight glowed through the halls of our council’s new home: the private Imperial Suite of An-Ileyoba.

Five floors comprised our private wing of the palace. A labyrinth of gilded sandstone, the Imperial Suite was a castle in its own right, with a treasury, bathhouse, kitchens, salons, and sleeping chambers, crowned by a sprawling rooftop garden. Lurid green vines crept over the balustrades, hanging down to the open-air windows of our central apartments below. The vines flowered daily, coaxed to life by my council sister Thérèse’s Hallowed green thumb, and covering the suite with their hallucinatory perfume.

Healers traditionally used kuso-kuso, the blossoms draping the suite walls, as a dreaming aid. But Thérèse altered the plant to heighten our senses. The scent extended the power of our Ray bond, allowing my siblings to move through the suite in a haze of constant intimacy, even when rooms apart. Unfortunately, kuso-kuso also strengthened my Hallow . . . and every stool, vase, and gilded divan hummed with the memories of previous Anointed Ones, including the ones who had wanted me dead. For days, I had wielded my Hallow like a scouring brush, cleansing the suite furniture of memories until my temples burned.

Gauzy mosquito netting wafted over corridor windows, lifting in the warm night breeze, and grazing my cheek as I passed.

Usurper, whispered a disembodied memory. Where is she. Where is she, whereisshe . . .

I shuddered, hurrying past. Dayo’s father used to pace the suite hallways, ranting about my mother. I’d have to cleanse the netting later.

“Tar.” Kirah trotted to keep up with me. “I know you’re still upset about Thaddace. But you’ve barely left the suite in a week.”

My council siblings knew what had happened to Thaddace, and we had opted to keep the undead phantom boy a secret. With the court still unsettled by my promise to the abiku, rumors of Underworld creatures haunting An-Ileyoba Palace were the last thing my reputation needed.

Sanjeet and his best warriors had scoured the grounds day and night. I had rifled through the memories of every potential witness, searching for clues. But the search proved fruitless: The mysterious Mewish boy seemed to have worked entirely alone.

“We’re doing all we can to find Thaddace’s killer,” Kirah went on. “But the more you hide, the worse people will gossip. Besides . . . what will all the vassal rulers think if you’re late to your own banquet?”

“Silly me,” I chattered, as if she hadn’t spoken. “Of course you haven’t had your tea. The garden’s out of coneflowers, and Thérèse needs more seeds from Swana. I promised her I’d send for them . . .”