“I’m all right,” I mumbled into Sanjeet’s bicep. But he barely seemed to hear me. He rasped curses in Dhyrmish, scanning me over and over with his Hallow as he buried his face in my hair.

“We heard the news,” gushed an advisor, gawking at the blood staining my neck and ankle. “How horrible, Lady Empress. Let us attend you—”

Then everyone was talking at once. The air grew thin. My chest began to palpitate, and before I knew it, I had stepped out of Sanjeet’s grasp and gestured sharply at the carved anteroom doors.

“Out,” I rasped. “Everyone, except for the emperor, Anointed Ones, and Captain Bunmi.”

“You should at least keep the healers,” Dayo objected. “Your ear. And your leg—”

“Out,” I barked again, and an exodus of servants and courtiers stampeded for the door. Once they were gone, I exhaled . . . and the room swayed beneath my feet.

Sanjeet picked me up in one efficient movement and stalked wordlessly to the suite common room. Bunmi and my siblings followed close behind. Sanjeet set me down on a low salon chair, rummaged through the cabinets above his war table, and produced salve and linen strips. He attended grimly to my wounds as I stared at Umansa’s dire prophetic tapestries, watching the colorful glyphs and patterns pitch and swirl.

Bunmi genuflected at my side, offering up her spear with open palms.

“Your life was endangered on my watch, Your Imperial Majesty,” she grunted. “I assume full responsibility. Please accept my resignation from the Imperial Guard.”

“Rejected,” I told her. “We both know that was no ordinary assassin.”

“You should get examined by a traditional healer,” Sanjeet said in a rough voice when he was finished with my ear and ankle. When I shook my head, a vein in his brow ticked. “The arrow could have been tainted, Tar. My Hallow is inefficient at checking for poison. For Am’s sake. You don’t need to be brave right now.”

“We can’t trust anyone,” I said. “The person who tried to kill me is here, in the palace.”

My council siblings collectively stiffened, and I looked at Bunmi for confirmation. The captain nodded, grimly. “How did you know, Lady Empress?”

“Call it a feeling.” The moment I had seen the figure atop that building, my mind had seized at the puzzle, stacking facts and connecting images, like I had during the tests in the Children’s Palace. Someone at An-Ileyoba wanted me dead . . . and they had almost succeeded.

The assassin had fooled Bunmi by knowing the correct all-clear signals, which suggested help from within the Imperial Guard. But the crown’s forces were famously difficult to corrupt. Warriors who exposed traitors were awarded with cattle fields and a noble title, the latter of which no amount of money could buy.

Bribes, then, were unlikely to sway a Guard warrior . . . unless they had no need of a title. Unless, I concluded, the traitor was already a noble.