“I can do it better, Your Imperial Majesty,” she gasped. “Adebimpe’s too slow. If you pick me for your retinue, House Ibadan will supply you with jewels from all over the empire—”

“No, me,” snarled a girl, wrestling the gele away. “My family’s richer. House Olabisi will serve the empress better than Ibadan ever could—”

“Give it back!” Adebimpe screeched at them both, diving for the cloth . . . and too late, I heard the hiss of ripping fabric.

The girls froze, each clutching a piece of bright green gele.

I groaned internally. Whatever unusual game these courtiers were playing, I didn’t have time to referee. Not with rulers to anoint, and alagbatos to appease, and a mob of ojiji to satisfy. A new headache began to blossom. Instinctively, my hand flew up to my temple.

And at that small gesture, Adebimpe collapsed to the floor, hyperventilating with sobs.

“Am’s Story,” I swore, alarmed. “I wasn’t about to strike you.”

But the lady didn’t seem to hear me. She cowered at my feet, holding a woven grass fan in front of her face as if for protection. “Don’t look at me,” she whimpered. “Please, Lady Empress. Don’t curse me with your evil eye. My family begs for forgiveness—”

“What in the Twelve Realms are you talking about?” Dayo asked with a nervous laugh. “Evil eye? Is that the newest silly rumor they’re spreading about Tar?”

Adebimpe ignored him, continuing to wail. “We’ll never plot against you again, Lady Empress. I swear. House Tunji was foolish to hire the Jujoka. My family severed my engagement to Banjoko Tunji as soon as we knew. We were barely involved, truly. I . . . I know we should have warned you, but it’s over now. No more plots. We swear—”

My blood ran cold. Jujoka. Adebimpe had named that secret guild of assassins—the one Captain Bunmi had held responsible for the attempt on my life.

Adebimpe reached out a shaking, bony hand, attempting to touch the hem of my wrapper, but recoiled when one of my Guard warriors reached for his weapon.

“You don’t have to keep hurting us, Lady Empress,” she whispered. “We’ve learned our lesson. Banjoko’s death was punishment enough . . . But when the others started disappearing—Lord Oyelana of House Ibadan, Lady Doyin of House Silva—all three heirs of House Ayodeji . . . we knew we had to make amends. That you h-hear everything. That whatever we say, even in secret . . . your s-servants are in the ground. Listening.”

My servants. Instantly I was back at the Watching Wall, frozen as that pack of dirt-caked creatures scaled the high-rise walls. The ojiji appeared to me often, as ghosts, but had only assumed corporeal form twice—during the Emperor’s Walk and at Thaddace’s murder. Slowly, I remembered flashes of Sanjeet’s warning in the dream.

Ojiji—noble families—danger.

I had thought the danger was for me. But I had not been the ojiji’s target.

“The creatures ripped my fiancé limb from limb,” Adebimpe said, staring in the distance at something only she could see. “My strong Banjoko. He—he was training in spearwork in the garden when those . . . things . . . came up from the ground. Children. Clawing through the dirt like beasts. They were gone as quickly as they came. And within days, any other courtier who had dared plot against you—even casually, or as a passing joke . . . they were gone too.”