However, Karina would never know what might have happened had she interfered, because as she approached, a cry filled the air, and a small figure tackled her to the ground.

Sharp nails tore at Karina’s face, and she could barely make out Afua screaming at her in Kensiya, “They took them! How could you? After I helped you!”

Her attack ended quickly as the guards grabbed Afua and forced her to her knees, eliciting a scream from the young girl. One of them threw a protective arm over Karina, but she forced it off.

“Stop! You’re hurting her!” Karina cried as blood welled up in the scratch marks on her cheeks. The soldiers didn’t release Afua, but they did loosen their grips. Ignoring bewildered looks from the courtiers, Karina knelt beside the girl and asked in Kensiya, “What’s going on? Who took who where?”

“My family! Your soldiers, they’ve taken them!”

“What?” Karina couldn’t keep the shocked look from her face.

Afua’s defiance quickly shifted to fear. “You really had nothing to do with this?”

“I swear to you on my father’s grave I have no idea what you’re talking about.”

Karina was willing to admit this only because they were speaking in Kensiya. The court didn’t need to know how little information she had about what happened in Ziran.

Karina all but snarled at the man holding Afua. “Let her go at once.” When the guard didn’t comply, she snapped, “Would you dare defy a direct order? Let her go now.”

Instead of complying, the guard looked to Grand Vizier Jeneba. Karina’s anger flared.

“Your Highness, perhaps it would be best to continue this discussion inside,” said the grand vizier, glancing at the dozens of courtiers gathered around. Gritting her teeth, Karina nodded. Only when Grand Vizier Jeneba gave the order did the guards release Afua, and the soldiers ushered her, Karina, and the council inside Dar Benchekroun.

The spoils of Mwale Omar’s many hunts lined the walls of the room they entered, the heads of lions and elephants and leopards looming down over them. The council stood at the wall beneath the petrified beasts; Karina stood beside Afua.

“Afua, please explain to us what happened,” asked Karina, keeping her tone as calm as she could to avoid further alarming the girl.

“There was another raid in River Market this evening, and the Sentinels came straight for my family’s tent. I barely got away.” For the first time, Afua sounded as young as she really was. “Did we do something wrong? Why us?”

Another raid had occurred, and Karina had done nothing to stop it. She turned to the council. “What is the meaning of this?”

“If you recall, Your Highness, we discovered that the sword involved in the incident the other night originated from the Arkwasi-hene’s armory,” said Grand Vizier Jeneba. “To follow this lead, the council has launched an investigation into those connected to his court.”

“Even if Osei-hene did something to you, the rest of us had nothing to do with it!” cried Afua. Karina nodded as she recalled the night she had spent with Afua and her kin. For a single night, Afua had reminded Karina of what it was like to have a family again, only to have hers stolen. Adil’s disdain for Zirani authority came to mind as Karina roiled at the injustice of it all.

“The Arkwasi-hene will be livid when he discovers we have arrested members of his court without sufficient reason,” she argued. “I wouldn’t be surprised if he considers this an act of war.”

“If so, we will deal with that when the time comes. Right now, our main priority is ensuring justice is served.”

Did the council even hear themselves? No self-respecting leader skirted so closely to the threat of war unless . . .

Unless they were trying to start a war.

All the council’s actions since the Kestrel’s death suddenly made perfect sense. The assassination of the sultana was worth a declaration of war, and almost every member of the council was involved in industries that would flourish during wartime. Plus, none of them would be expected to lift even a shield in the ensuing battles.

And without the Kestrel, who was there to stop them?

“I command you to free every Arkwasian who has been taken into custody in the name of this ‘investigation’ at once,” Karina ordered.

Not one moved.

Grand Vizier Jeneba sighed. “My apologies, Your Highness. No matter what you may believe, your coronation has not happened; you are not sultana yet. Guards, please escort Her Highness to her room, and take the girl in for questioning.”

A chill ran down Karina’s spine, and a pair of Sentinels slunk out of the shadows, bone-hilt weapons already in hand.

“No!” screamed Afua as the warriors surrounded her. The air around them crackled like it had back in the cave, and Karina felt the crush of Afua beginning to summon her powers. The truth of magic and the zawenji was still a secret, and there was no telling what else the council might do if they knew what Afua really was. But what would calm a girl who’d had her family stolen before her eyes?

And the Sentinels. There was something in the way they loomed over Afua, a connection Karina could sense but not see. If it came down to a fight of magic versus brute strength, she was not sure which would win.

A few feet away, Farid looked between the council and Karina, running his fingers through his already disheveled hair.

“Karina, please just do what they say,” he begged. “We can clear up this misunderstanding in the morning.”

The desperation in Farid’s voice brought Karina to her senses.

“Afua, stand down,” she said quietly. If anything happened to the girl, she would never forgive herself. “I swear no harm will come to you, so just go with them.”

Afua looked at Karina for reassurance she did not have. Her shoulders slumped, and the tension in the air fizzled as the Sentinels led her and Karina in opposite directions.

Karina could have screamed. She could have yelled. Not too long ago, she might have done both of those things. But now, Karina would have died rather than give the council the satisfaction of seeing her break down.

So with her head held high, Karina allowed the Sentinels to escort her back to Ksar Alahari, ignoring the whispers as she passed.

Only when she was alone again did she realize she had dug her nails hard enough into her palms to draw blood.

23

Malik

At first, Karina’s departure from the Midway was all anyone could talk about. Whispers spread that the princess had taken a huge loan from the Arkwasian ambassador’s family and refused to pay it back; no, the real truth was the princess had insulted the Arkwasi-hene and was now paying the price for her own disrespect. No, what had really happened was…

Obnoxious. Vapid. Witless. Lewd. The remarks about Karina’s character just kept coming, as if the goodwill she had earned during the wakama tournament had evaporated at the first hint of gossip. Malik wasn’t quite sure if he liked Karina after she had dropped him into the lake, but even she didn’t deserve this. No one did.

But then a drunk jurist crashed an oyinka into the carousel, and the focus of the gossip shifted as night slipped into dawn. Tunde had not been exaggerating when he’d said the court would party for twenty-four hours straight—ten hours in, and Malik felt like he might actually die.

Another drink downed and another dance danced. Mwale Omar had long ago collapsed in a flower bed with several giggling dancers in his lap; he called for Malik to join him, but someone else was pulling him away to play a game of agram and then yet another person was tugging at his wrist to meet their daughter. The cloying taste of wine mixed with lake water filled his mouth, and even though he had been on dry land for hours, he could still feel the waves trying to pull him under.

There was a reason he was here, Malik was sure of it, but he had no idea what it was. He was here to . . . dance with Princess Karina. No, no, he was here for . . . Nadia! Yes, he was looking for Nadia. But where was she? He cried out her name, to no response. Terrified, he yelled it louder, but it was lost in the din around him. Amid this dreamlike world of jewels and wealth and fame, all Malik wanted was his little sister.

“Nadia!” he yelled again, only to be silenced by someone clapping a hand over his mouth and hauling him into the menagerie tent, where he promptly fell to the ground.

“I’ve been looking everywhere for you!” exclaimed Leila. Malik rolled onto his side, clutching his stomach with a groan.

“I’m going to be sick,” he whimpered. Leila grabbed a discarded bucket from beside a cage full of chattering monkeys and placed it in front of him. Malik vomited for the second time that night, unfortunately feeling no more sober after doing so than he had before.