“Not anymore, my friend. My heart will guide me for the rest of my days.”

She raised an eyebrow. “Should we put a wager on that?”

I smiled benignly. “Wait and see.”

THE SIKARU IN the jug sloshed as I, along with Dagan, Iltani, Humusi, and another Koru warrior named Taram, stopped next to a low, crumbling wall in the bushes. Commander Ummi had told me she would come to protect us, but I’d asked her if she’d try to unite Higal’s troops with hers instead, so Arwia could be escorted in victoriously. She said she’d do everything in her power, but that she could make no promises.

We were well fed, well watered, and disguised in dark cloaks to blend in with the dense olive grove flanking the path that led from the Palace to the royal bathhouse. A tributary wending throughout the grove and underneath the squat sandstone structure gurgled as we stooped below the brush line.

My robe was bulky as I knelt in the dirt, my healing satchel twisted underneath. Nanaea had thrown long cloaks over Higal and Taram to disguise their weaponry, but the clanking under their getup was loud enough to wake Alani and pull her from the depths of the Netherworld.

The aftermath of Higal’s failed coup had left the Libbu and portions of the city near the Palace in shambles. Carts overturned. Market tents ripped apart. Flies buzzing over the bodies of the dead that had been stockpiled like sunbaked bricks near the east Libbu wall. Someone had half-heartedly draped a swath of linen over a few of them, but many of their bloodied faces were exposed to the night air.

The crows that pecked at their eyes.

The Manzazu warriors who had fallen had been piled into the back of a funereal cart, which would be taken outside the city and burned. Humusi and Taram had both vowed retribution for the slight.

The people whom we’d passed to get to our current destination in the wee hours of the night—some stumbling home in various states of drunkenness, others walking with weapons drawn and wary eyes—hadn’t seemed to mind our presence, as it was likely they were up to no good as well. A poor, starved family had scuttled behind us, their meager belongings stuffed into packs on their backs, big-eyed children in tow. They were headed toward Gala’s gate, apparently hoping to escape Uruku’s rule and brave the unknown to make a new home elsewhere.

“It’s heavy, Iltani. Are you sure?” Dagan set the jug down, his voice lowered to a whisper.

“How heavy can it be?” She hefted the jug up with a grunt and positioned it on her hip. “It’ll be fine. I’ve carried far heavier burdens than this.”

She’s carrying a heavier burden than this right now.

I’d told her of Shep’s death after our conversation in the tent, and she’d walked away from me and Dagan to sit underneath a tree. Her weeping could be heard over the soft sounds of the merchants settling in for the night, but when I’d tried to approach her, she’d ordered me away. When she’d pulled herself together, she’d been more determined than ever to enact our scheme.