“This could be the fate of the entire continent,” I said over their indignant cries. “I had to make you see. Please sit down. I—”

They clamored over me, some dignitaries threatening to leave the banquet then and there. No. My palms sweated. They couldn’t leave; this was my only chance to save Aritsar. To prevent thousands of child sacrifices. Millions. Desperation sped my heartbeat, and heat rose in my chest. When I spoke again, my voice sounded lower, and the echo-stone brought my altered voice to a bellow.

“Please,” I thundered. “Sit. Down.”

Beneath my necklace of cowrie shells, the obabirin mask seared like a coal. For a moment, I could have sworn the mask glowed.

Then as if in a trance, every Arit ruler lowered to their seat cushions, features startled and mouths slack. When the heat receded from me and my pulse returned to normal, they still sat, stunned as though they had just awoken from a strange, powerful dream.

I was as surprised as they were. Only the dignitaries from Songland continued to stand, seemingly unfazed by whatever had subdued the other monarchs.

“Please,” I said again, dropping the bass from my voice. The Songlander royals scowled . . . but after exchanging a wary glance, voluntarily sat back down with the others.

“Thank you,” I said shakily, feeling as dazed as my guests looked. “I was . . . just trying to convey the danger. If monsters pour from the Oruku Breach, not only will they kill us, they’ll also turn our realms against each other, just like at Ebujo. The empire could splinter overnight, leaving us just as weak as we were five hundred years ago. I think—if we don’t form a council to appease the abiku—all of Aritsar could be at risk.”

Though calm now, the Arit rulers had clearly not recovered from my mental invasion. Some squinted into their chalices, as though they might have been drugged. A few shot pleading glances at Kirah, making the sign of the Pelican.

“You have nothing to fear from the empress,” Kirah assured them, using her lofty High Priestess voice. She gestured a blessing over the table. “The empress’s warning was a gift.”

“Of course it was,” Dayo announced. “We have only two years to avoid the fate of Ebujo. And so,” he said, standing and taking my hand in solidarity, “the Empress Redemptor and I would like to extend an invitation: Stay in Oluwan City. All of you.”

“Not indefinitely,” I added quickly. “But we can’t risk too much lodestone travel. You need only stay until—”

Until you love me and bind your minds to me for life.

“Until you’ve tried to join my council,” I finished lamely. “And the fate of the empire is secured. We would house you all in the utmost comfort, compliments of the crown. High Lord General Sanjeet has seen personally to each villa’s safety.” I steeled my shoulders. “We open the floor for questions.”

Cacophony from wall to wall. The rulers and their retinues roared over one another, shaking their heads and gesturing in protests that upset platters and toppled chalices.