“Nor should they, if they serve Uruku.” Her eyes were hard, sweat beading across her forehead.

Her rage and sadness were blinding her. This was not the Assata who so lovingly helped people out at her tavern whether they had coin enough to pay or not. Had given food to my abum and had lent an ear when he was drunk and mourning my mother. This wasn’t her. This was a woman bent on revenge.

“Why are you even here? To remind me of your strength? To throw it in our faces that you can do as you please?”

Ummi lifted her chin. “Arwia asked me to bring Kasha to you. He is not safe in Wussuru if we go to war.”

“And I came to tell you that you need not fear me, unless you get in my way to support Manzazu in their strike against Alu. I’m joining them,” Assata said.

Suddenly, Dagan stood, his hand in the air. “Shep! Here!”

Shep, his long hair a mess, rode up in a flurry of dust on horseback. He dismounted swiftly and led the horse to us. His eyes, always so playful, were bleak. His cheeks were smeared with dirt.

“Brother. I have news.”

Dagan met him and clapped him on the back. “What is it? Have you found Iltani? Or is it word of Uruku?”

Shep rested a heavy hand on Dagan’s shoulder. “Uruku is alive, I’m afraid. A friend saw him vomiting on his way to the bathhouse behind the Palace. He must have eaten some of your almonds, but they didn’t work.”

“No,” I whispered. “The merchant must have sold me a watered-down version of gochala. That stupid woman!”

He swallowed. “I also have news about Iltani, and it isn’t good, either.”

My hand stilled on Rish’s head. “What is it?”

Shep swallowed roughly. “She’s in a holding pen with the other girls.”

“A holding pen? What do you mean?” Dagan asked.

But my stomach sank because I already knew what he was going to say. Bikku, the fishmonger with child, had mentioned it yesterday.

I hung my head after Shep met my eyes, pity in them. He cracked his knuckles as he explained. “My friend said Iltani was caught by a group of guardsmen outside the Palace gates, claiming to be a member of the nobility. They asked around about her, but nobody knew who she was. She’s to be given as a bridal gift on the morrow to the first man who wishes to wed her.”

Heat seared through me as I stared at my hands.

My frustrating, beautiful friend had been stolen.

Uruku still lived because the gochala hadn’t worked.

Manzazu was poised to attack.

As tears sparked in my eyes, my guts churned and bubbled. Because we were facing nearly insurmountable problems, and it appeared that everything I did, every single move I made, only made things worse.

The inside of Dagan’s tent was stifling, but it was better than crying in front of Assata and Ummi. Better than the sharp tang of terror on my tongue. Better than thinking of the complete catastrophe we were all in.