“Yes.”

“And the water its people drink?”

The heads all looked at one another. “Perhaps.”

“I don’t think you should, then,” Alba said.

A wave of nodding swept over the heads. “A wise decision,” said the advisor. Amending the parchment, he waited for her signature. A scattering of cicada-haunches disallowed the digging of land and the clearing of trees. “Thank you.”

Another stepped forward. “On the matter of the road that stretches fro—oh!” He interrupted himself. “You have not had your meal. Please eat, Apprentice, to regain your strength.” He gestured to the table beside her.

Alba glanced, expecting to see the gray mush that had made up her meals for so long. But no.

A simple stew.

Chickpeas. Thyme.

Hands trembling, she picked up the bowl. Wisps of chickpea steam rose over her cheeks.

“Who made this?” she asked, voice breaking. She stared at the sea of advisors.

“We know it’s not fine,” one finally whispered. “We know it’s not a meal fit for a king, but he insisted you’d like it.”

“Who?” Alba asked again.

“Fetch him! Fetch him!” they murmured at one another. “Why hasn’t someone gone to fetch him?”

Steps scurried away. A few moments later, the murmuring heads—“Here he is, here he is”—parted again.

“Alba?” A silhouette inclined above her. A hand, warm, took hers. For an instant, in the confusion and brightness, she could not tell the face, but she knew the voice.

“Maurus,” she whispered. She had not thought she’d ever see him again.

Maurus sat beside her, face pinched with worry. He squeezed her hand. “I thought you were gone.”

Eyes hot with tears, Alba shook her head.

The buzzing of the figures continued around them.

“How have you come here?” she asked. “Has the high priest sent you? Am I to be abandoned again?”

Maurus’s brow crinkled in puzzlement. “Have they not told you?” he asked. “How they found your writing below—”

“Yes.” She nodded. “That’s why they wrote to the priests—”

“I think you’ve misunderstood. These advisors”—he gestured with his chin—“they’ve been desperate to see you return to health.”

Behind him, the heads hummed and nodded. “It’s true, it’s true.”

“But the head priest…” Alba could not overcome her confusion. “He cannot be pleased.”

“No.” Maurus shook his head. “He was not pleased at all when a letter arrived saying the apprentice was at the palace. He insisted you must be dead, insisted you’d been left in the wilderness. I volunteered to travel here—to make sure it wasn’t you.” He smiled. “But when the letter mentioned writing, I knew of course it must be.”

“And does he want me returned?” Alba said hesitantly.

Maurus’s smile faded. “Perhaps…” Seeing Alba’s expression fall, he shook his head. “No, Alba. It’s not what you think. It’s…” He paused, twisting a corner of one of the silken pillows. “She’s… passed. And there is no replacement.”

“Oh, Maurus.” Her voice trembled. “Oh no.”

Maurus swallowed, glanced away. “I’m sorry,” he said after a moment. “It was peaceful, though. The oracle… left… in her sleep. She left before the priests could abandon her to the wilderness. And before she passed, she told me to tell you, Do not be afraid of what is to come.”