Guilt overwhelmed me. The child was right. How dare I stop and celebrate when there was still so much work to be done? The mine was only the beginning.

When the apparition vanished, I climbed down from Dayo’s bony shoulders with unmajestic awkwardness, then pointed, panting, into the crowd.

“You.” I indicated at the masked man called the Crocodile, who watched me from a distance with what seemed to be wary fascination. “I’ve heard of you. You’ve been inciting insurrection across the continent. And this was only the beginning, wasn’t it? You want to wake all the alagbatos. Start disasters everywhere.”

The man stiffened in surprise. I clearly wasn’t supposed to know about the other alagbatos—and wouldn’t have, if it weren’t for Umansa’s prophecies. The Imperial Guard warriors lurched for the Crocodile, who moved a hand to his weapon hilt. My accusation had been more than enough to have him seized and imprisoned. But I held up a hand to detain the warriors. If this man had agents throughout the empire, waiting to summon the other alagbatos . . . perhaps only he could call them off? Besides, after his seemingly accurate tirade about stolen wealth, I felt strange about imprisoning him. Still . . .

“You’re either a fanatic or an idiot,” I told him bluntly. “You almost got these townspeople killed. And when the quarry was destroyed, what then? These people are miners. How were they supposed to live?”

From an ever-so-slight hunch of the Crocodile’s shoulders, I could tell my reprimand had hit home. Still, with a low, mask-muffled bravado, he replied, “They were to live free from the yoke of exploitation. As long as that quarry continued to line the coffers of your gentry sycophants, the people of Olojari would never be liberated.” He paused, again seeming off balance, then conceded coolly, “But Your Imperial Majesty, it appears, has improved on my plan. Well done, Empress Idajo.”

“Call off the other attacks,” I snapped, “and I’ll continue my improvements.”

The man considered me. Then, in a single elegant movement, he genuflected, touching his head and heart in the imperial salute. “Let the will of Idajo be done,” he said. He began to mutter a rapid series under his breath. The onlookers gasped, backing away as his limbs convulsed, and the tendons in his muscles glowed gold. He yelped in pain and grasped his leather-banded arm, where his veins bulged grotesquely—then he vanished.

“Track him,” I ordered the guards, disbelieving my eyes. He must have darted behind a building. Created an illusion. But after an hour of searching the town, the imperial warriors returned empty-handed.

The Crocodile was gone.

CHAPTER 11

“We don’t have to do this,” Dayo said a week later, as we crossed the palace courtyard to stop at the An-Ileyoba gates. “We can postpone the Emperor’s Walk. You’re still recovering from Olojari.”

“I’m fine,” I said, rolling my eyes. “I may not be immune to death, but I’m not made of glass. Besides, we owe this to the city folk. They deserve a holiday.”