The bird takes wing, flying high above the roof. I hold my breath, and then he drops the cloth right on top of the chimney. I almost laugh with relief, and scratch his neck when he comes down. “We don’t give you enough credit, do we? If only you three could fight guards.”

But they can’t, and the rest is up to me. I take out two herb bundles, place them on small plates, and light them on a nearby torch. The leaves immediately began to smolder and smoke as I adjust Mehtap’s gown. The gown is light and airy, like those of the priestesses of Zenagua. It’s also more layered and ornamented than a priestess habit, but my cloak covers much of it and I’ll just have to rely on the darkness to hide the rest.

“Goddess help me,” I whisper. “Let this work.”

I circle the prison, stopping in front of every corner of the building with the smoking plate, making up some nonsense gestures, and speaking words into the air. I can sense the soldiers watching me, and I hold my head high as befits a priestess of Zenagua. I continue my stately march up to the door, praying that the soldiers do not notice my shaking hands.

“Good evening, good soldiers. The gods smile upon your service.”

They look at me quizzically as I lay the herbs on each side of the doorway. Perhaps the Goddess is with me, because there’s no wind, and the smoke from the herbs rises straight up around us. The smell is quite strong.

The soldier on the left waves his hand. “What is this? It stinks.”

“It is for the consecration of the palace,” I say. “It has been a month since the late emperor passed into the underworld. Tonight we bless the grounds.”

The guard narrows his eyes. His suspicion is clear, but I also see his pupils dilating in response to the fumes. He shakes his head as if to clear it. “Under whose authority is this?”

“The temple of Zenagua and Emperor Kiran.”

The other guard steps to the side, probably to avoid the smoke.

“Sir, wait,” I say. “I have something to ask you.” He stops, albeit unwillingly. “I…” My mind goes blank. The herbs are affecting me too.

The first guard rubs his eyes. “I’ll have to check with my commander,” he says. But as he steps past me, he stumbles against the wall.

“You’re not well, sir.” I take out my jar of wine. “Drink this. It will counteract the effects of the incense.”

He takes the wineskin and drinks, though he stops mid-swallow, as if he’s remembered not to take drinks from strange women in the middle of the night. I quickly take the wineskin back and give it to the other guard. “Your friend feels better. You should do the same.”