My cheeks grew hot. The law forbids Anointed Ones from any behavior remotely romantic or sexual—except, of course, with our Raybearer, whom we had sworn to serve in any way he wished.

In private, however, the law was seldom enforced. I hadn’t even cared about it until Thaddace and Mbali’s tryst had led to Olugbade’s death. After all, if they had never fallen in love . . . Thaddace could not have been blackmailed. He would never have killed the emperor, or been imprisoned, or had his throat slit by that boy in the—

I blocked out the thought. “No one’s getting arrested,” I said. “It was just a story game. None of you were breaking the law.”

“Yet,” Theo coughed.

“Just be careful next time,” I said, more sternly than I intended. “All of you.”

Emeronya wrinkled her elfin features, managing as usual to resemble a child and a grumpy old woman at the same time. “Tar, you don’t look so good.”

“Don’t be paranoid,” I said breezily. “I’m—I’m just—”

I was just terrified of everyone I loved dropping like flies. Like Thaddace bleeding in the hallway. Like The Lady pierced with poison. Like Dayo beneath Enitawa’s Quiver, my knife in his side.

I was terrified of everything but the thick, perfume-drugged halls of the Imperial Suite, where I could search the memories of brick and tile, and ensure that no ghostly assassins lay in wait behind them.

“I’m not too busy to give you dreams,” I said brightly, sidestepping the question. “I can make up any memories you want—so long as they’re not too naughty.” I dropped the scrolls: sources I’d collected for Mayazatyl’s latest weapon designs. Then I set the tureen of goat’s milk on the floor: supper for Kameron’s latest adoptees. Immediately, two silky black panther cubs dashed from a pallet in the corner, rubbing their coats on my bare legs before lapping up the milk.

“Don’t encourage them,” Theo groaned. “Ever since Kameron became High Lord of Husbandry, the palace has become a zoo. Those monsters gnawed on my best harp.”

Kameron’s teal eyes sparkled wickedly. “Maybe if you’d write more love songs about me instead of flirting with servant boys,” he said, trapping a blushing Theo in a burly headlock, “my bairns would chew your harp less often.”

My siblings laughed and rolled their eyes as Theo made a show of trying to escape from Kameron’s embrace, though we all knew both men would rather stay just as they were.

“The puppies could have been baby war buffalo,” Mayazatyl told Theo, rolling off the bed pallet and riffling through the yellowed scrolls. “So count your blessings. We’ve been studying how the empire can breed buffalo with tougher skin. If I can design armor big enough, the buffalo can replace our old-fashioned war machines.”

I frowned. “War machines? What for?”

“In case you don’t appease the abiku,” Mayazatyl replied, never one for sparing feelings. “And the continent goes to war. Also, some rabble-rouser’s been interfering with the palace supply lines. Calls himself the Turtle, or Crocodile, something like that. Anyway, if war machines don’t scare him away from your iron quarries, a war buffalo certainly will.”