“This isn’t a Zirani-style weapon, is it?” said Farid, his face twisted into a grimace.

“It’s an akrafena, used primarily by warriors of high rank in Arkwasi.” The commander’s voice was chilly in its detachment, and not for the first time, Karina wondered what training Sentinels endured to remain so calm in the face of so much violence. “And this here?” Commander Hamidou pointed to the akrafena’s golden hilt, where a symbol formed of two vertical lines between two horizontal ones had been carved into the round end. “This is the Great Stool, the symbol of the Arkwasi-hene. Both this blade and the other one bear this insignia.”

Each word felt like a piece of a puzzle that refused to be whole. Akrafena. Arkwasi-hene. Last night at the comet viewing, that girl Afua had mentioned the Arkwasi-hene. Had she had something to do with this? Had she spoken to Karina knowing that in a few hours’ time, the Kestrel would be . . .

Karina forced herself to focus on the conversation.

“But why?” interjected a lower-ranking vizier. “Our alliance with Arkwasi still stands, and Osei Nana was on good terms with Her Majesty—may the Great Mother grant her peace.”

“Ziran has been facing difficulties as of late, between the growing population and the tenth year of this drought,” said Grand Vizier Jeneba. “Perhaps he saw Solstasia as a chance to strike when we were already vulnerable.”

Low murmurs filled the room. Karina had met the Arkwasi-hene only once, when he’d come to Ziran to celebrate Hanane’s sixteenth birthday. The paramount chief of Arkwasi had been jovial and boisterous, a far cry from the shrewd murderer the grand vizier described. Besides, something else about that theory made Karina pause.

“But if the Arkwasi-hene is responsible for this, why would he give the assassin a sword bearing his personal sigil?” asked Farid, voicing what Karina had been thinking.

“He probably thought there would be none among us who could understand their symbols,” huffed Mwale Omar, shaking his head. “The jungle dwellers aren’t exactly the smartest people.”

The disdain dripping from Mwale Omar’s voice made Karina’s skin crawl. She’d met plenty of intelligent Arkwasians, and most had been more pleasant than him.

“So what do we do now?” asked one of the advisers.

Karina wished she was back in her bedroom. She wished she hadn’t opened her eyes that morning.

Grand Vizier Jeneba paused before saying, “The only people who know of the assassination are those present in this room, and the Sentinels involved in the investigation, all of whom have taken blood oaths to ensure their secrecy. Thus, our next course of action should be to alert the temples that the Opening Ceremony and all related Solstasia festivities are postponed until further notice—”

“You’re canceling Solstasia?” interjected Karina.

Every eye in the room turned her way, and more than a few members of the council threw her incredulous looks, which were quickly hidden beneath masks of concern.

Grand Vizier Jeneba nodded. “We must. I am sure I do not need to remind you of the standard protocol for incidents such as this.”

“No, Grand Vizier, I don’t need you to remind me that my mother is dead.”

A sharp pain twisted in Karina’s heart as she said her new reality out loud for the first time.

Her mother had died thinking she’d hated her.

But more important than her own grief was what the Kestrel had shown her in the Queen’s Sanctuary. If Solstasia didn’t happen, the Barrier would fall, and though Karina longed to walk past the Outer Wall with nothing to stop her, if the Barrier went down, Ziran would be vulnerable to all sorts of magical attacks from their enemies.

Whatever the cost may be, Solstasia had to happen.

“We hold Solstasia only once every fifty years,” argued Karina. “There are already tens of thousands of people here to experience it. If we cancel it because of this, our enemies win.”

“We can’t hold the festival and perform the proper funeral rites for the queen—may the Great Mother grant her peace—at the same time,” said one vizier. “It pains me to think of all the work we put into Solstasia going to waste, but what other choice do we have?”

Another vizier added, “Plus, this will give us time to find those responsible for this heinous crime.”

There was a rehearsed quality to the viziers’ declarations that made Karina pause. The council must have met earlier to discuss this without her. Her irritation mounted.

“We understand that no one here is grieving more strongly than you,” said Grand Vizier Jeneba, her tone the gentlest Karina had ever heard it. “We wouldn’t dare ask you to go through the emotional and physical toll of running Solstasia as well.”

Karina thought back to the mural in the Queen’s Sanctuary and the brutal sacrifices her family had made to turn Bahia Alahari’s dream into a reality. She couldn’t be the Alahari who let all that work crumble to nothing.

“I’ll do it,” said Karina, surprising herself with the force of her words. “I’ll run Solstasia.”

In her mind’s eye, she imagined the Kestrel nodding. This was what Ziran deserved from its new sultana.

But the concerned looks from the viziers suggested otherwise. After too long a pause, Grand Vizier Jeneba leaned forward and said, “If I may be frank, Your Majesty, I do not feel that would be the wisest idea.”

“You have experienced an unimaginable loss,” said a vizier who looked at Karina with pity that made her want to scream. “At such a young age too. Please take care of yourself. We can handle Ziran.”

The council nodded again. Farid shifted in his seat.

“I think Her Highness’s idea bears some consideration,” he said. “Haissa Sarahel—may the Great Mother grant her peace—would not have wanted the festival canceled on her account. Though perhaps we could find someone else to run Solstasia while Her Highness recovers?”

It wasn’t unheard of for members of the royal family to deploy decoys for events that were too dangerous for them to attend in person, but the Kestrel had made it clear only a true Alahari could renew the Barrier. Karina was the last living one, which meant it had to be her behind Solstasia or no one at all.

Karina had never wanted to be queen—not when Hanane had been alive and not once in the tumultuous decade since. But here she was less than a day into her rule, and Ziran was already slipping through her fingers.

But could she blame the council for doubting her? What had she done during the seventeen years of her life to prove she could be a competent ruler? She wasn’t a natural leader like her mother had been, wasn’t as charming and beloved as her late sister. If she had been on the council’s side of the conversation, Karina wasn’t sure she would have faith in her either.

But Solstasia was hers. If they took it from her, she’d truly have nothing left.

“I want to do it.” Karina dug her fists into the fabric of her gown to stop them from shaking. “This is my duty. You have no grounds to keep it from me.”

She turned to Farid. “Farid, tell them I can do this,” she said, her tone demanding in order to hide the pleading in her eyes.

Farid’s mouth pursed into a thin line. Her awful barbs from the comet viewing hung heavy between them, and Karina would have given anything to take them back. The first rays of sunlight peeked through the window, far too bright for the tense air in the Marble Room. Before long, the sun would set once more, and it would be time for the Opening Ceremony and the First Challenge. This debate had gone on long enough.

“Farid, please,” Karina begged.

Farid looked at her, all their history and memories, both good and bad, filling the air. Finally, he spoke.

“I will admit I have my doubts. But as someone who has watched Her Highness’s growth closely over the years, I believe she deserves the chance to honor her family’s tradition and ensure the continuation of Solstasia.”

Karina would have thrown her arms around Farid would it not have been wholly inappropriate to do so. Her word held little weight with the council, but they had trusted Farid since he’d been an apprentice steward. His endorsement alone had already eased the troubled looks on several of the adviser’s faces.

“But what of the prize?” asked a vizier. “Haissa Sarahel—may the Great Mother grant her peace—did not inform us of what she had in mind before she passed.”