Slowly, I gathered my draft of the Lonesome Child Edict and closed the papers in a drawer. “It certainly sounds orderly, Anointed Honor.”

“Good.” Thaddace smiled and then frowned, noticing my deflation. He produced a document from his robes. “I was going to wait before announcing this. But I see now that the sooner you are accustomed to the realities of running an empire, the better. This edict is just in from the capital. In time, His Imperial Highness would like your assistance in promoting it. Another goodwill campaign, perhaps.”

He laid the imperial calfskin on the desk, and Dayo and I leaned forward to read it.

By decree of His Anointed Honor, High Judge Thaddace of Mewe, in the name of His Imperial Highness Emperor Olugbade of Oluwan, descendant of Enoba the Perfect:

All griot drums, stories, and history scrolls of individual realms must be surrendered to the emperor’s forces. In exchange, citizens will receive gifts: new drums, scrolls, and songs, compliments of the crown.

These gifts will reflect the new stories of our beloved empire. The story of assimilation, of realms growing together instead of apart.

Families are encouraged to forgo realm names for their children, choosing instead names that reflect virtues of a united Aritsar. While this request is not mandatory, children with empire names will be rewarded with additional food for their families, as well as clothing cut from Empire Cloth: the new favored style of the capital.

The emperor thanks his subjects for ushering in this new era of unity and peace. Residences will be searched, and griots will be watched. Failure to comply will be met with discipline.

“I proposed the Unity Edict to Emperor Olugbade after the disaster at Ebujo,” Thaddace explained. “The realm loyalties displayed by Arit citizens on that day resulted in the loss of human life.” His pale hands clenched into fists. “Rewarding families for birthing isokens was a step in the right direction, but it clearly wasn’t enough. If the twelve realms continue to see themselves as separate entities instead of as one Aritsar … we will never survive another attack by the abiku.”

Dayo reached for my hands, which were clasped over my heart. The words of the edict had made the dragon in my chest return with full force, and I gasped, trying to fight it. But before I could respond, Thaddace’s sharp gaze drifted toward the woven study door flap. The severity melted from his features like butter, and without looking, I knew who had entered the room.

“We have never quite agreed on that point, Thaddace.” The High Priestess of Aritsar leaned against the doorframe, light grazing the threads of her pale yellow wrapper.

“Good morning, Aunt,” Dayo greeted. For just a moment, he winced nervously, glancing between me and Mbali. “You’re not here to give Tarisai Swana lessons, are you? We still have a lot to cover with Uncle Thad.”

“Let me guess.” Mbali’s voice was like thrush song, bright and clear. “The High Lord Judge has been impressing you with his unique definition of justice?”

“He said there’s no such thing,” I muttered, finally managing to cool the heat in my chest. “That there’s only order.”

Mbali’s soft, round nose flared with distaste. Bangles winked on her toned black arms as she challenged Thaddace. “You are perfectly aware,” she said, “that in the Storyteller’s eyes, justice begets order.”

Thaddace flushed. “I’m just trying to keep our world from falling apart.”

“But when the cause is right, we have risked chaos before.” Mbali smiled at him inscrutably. “Haven’t we?”

The air shivered above me: the crisp energy of council members speaking through the Ray. Thaddace and Mbali were having a private conversation, and judging from the way their gazes roved over each other … I was grateful I couldn’t hear it.

When the silent exchange was over, Mbali entered the study. But her steps faltered—like Thaddace, she was still recovering from their lodestone journey.

Mbali laughed when Dayo and I rose to steady her. The sweet scent of cocoa butter washed over me as she embraced us. When my cheek touched hers, Mbali purposely showed me a memory: Dayo and I, age eleven, giggling with stolen sweets as we ran hand in hand from the Children’s Palace kitchens, unaware of Mbali’s gaze, watching us through a hidden door in the wall.

She winked at me, then touched her pelican pendant and tapped my and Dayo’s chins, a blessing. “Am’s Story, Thaddace. Only yesterday, these two were lisping the Candidate’s Prayer in the Hall of Dreams. Are these the same troublemakers?”

“Yes, they are,” Thaddace said shortly, and Mbali smirked at him over our heads.

“You know you’ve missed them. And I’ve come to take your star pupil away; she’s needed in the gardens.”

Thaddace frowned. “She is eons behind in study. We’ve barely begun—”

“Twelve realms, Thad; it’s a holiday.” She gestured out to the hallway, where Yorua Keep servants bustled with palm wreaths, sides of uncooked goat, and platters of peeled plantain.

Today was Nu’ina Eve: a festival observing when Am the Pelican fed its blood to Queen Earth, nursing her back to health and creating humankind. It was the only shared holiday of the four major religious sects of Aritsar. That evening, our council would ride in a processional to Yorua Village, where revels would last till dawn.

“The children will need to prepare,” said Mbali. “The braiders have already arrived; that’s why Tarisai is wanted in the garden. She had better go. I’m sure her council sisters cannot gossip properly without her.”

“Not so fast,” Thaddace barked before I could escape through the door. He thrust a pile of cases into my arms. “Solve these while you’re out there sitting pretty. Find me if you get stuck. And for Am’s sake—stop trying to be fair.”

“LOOK WHO FINALLY ESCAPED,” KIRAH GREETED me when I arrived in the garden. She patted the cushion next to her and scooted me a chalice of palm wine. The grass was littered with pillows and cosmetic bottles, and the smell of olive oil hung in the air. My council sisters chattered in a circle as braiders sat above them on stools, working fastidiously.

“We thought Thunderbrow Thad would keep you forever,” Mayazatyl put in. “Wait—are those court cases?”

“I had to bring them.” I clutched Thaddace’s assignments sheepishly as I sank onto a cushion. “He thinks I’m behind. I know, I know—” I shielded my face as Kirah, Mayazatyl, Thérèse, Ai Ling, and Emeronya pelted me with figs.

Braiding parties were sacred: No studying was allowed. Once a month, the strict security of Yorua Keep lifted for beauty artisans to visit from the palace. Their deft fingers would comb away our weeks’ worth of tangles, styling our hair in the Oluwan court fashion: hundreds of braids, interwoven with soft wool yarn and burned at the ends so the plaits wouldn’t unravel. The style took hours to complete and lasted for weeks. I sat submissively as my braider tugged and raked my coils with a wide-toothed wooden comb, laying out lengths of richly dyed dark yarn that matched my hair.

“Besides the figs, we’ve got fried chin chin dough. And palm wine,” Ai Ling said, pointing to each platter and smiling mischievously. “I managed to smooth talk the cook. He was saving it for the festival tonight.”

“I do not think the revelers will miss it,” Thérèse said with mock gravity as an artisan braided white yarn into her pale tresses. “Some treats are more intoxicating than palm wine.”

Mayazatyl spit out her drink, chortling. “Twelve realms, Reesy! I’d never expect to hear that from you—”

“I may have been sheltered,” Thérèse said mildly, “but I was not born yesterday. In Nontes, we have Nu’ina Eve festivals too, though we call it Fête du Feu there. I knew what happened when a lady found a rosebud in her wine.”

“In Oluwan, it’s not a rosebud,” said Kirah. “It’s a cowrie shell. Am’s Story, I hope I don’t find one.” She wrinkled her nose. “What would I trade it for?”

“A kiss.” Mayazatyl grinned. “Or something naughty. It’s up to you, priestess.”

Kirah turned pink. Emeronya’s features bent in a confused frown. “You are talking of sex,” she said in her blunt, deadpan way. She was the youngest of our council, barely thirteen. “Is that what Nu’ina Eve is like in Oluwan? A night for being drunk and making babies?”

Ai Ling laughed, patting Emeronya’s knee. “Not just that. Poor Em. Don’t they have holy festivals in Biraslov?”

Emeronya scowled, as she always did at the slightest hint of condescension. “In Biraslov,” she said with a sniff, “People of the Wing celebrate Nu’ina Eve with fasting and a vigil. Am’s gift to Queen Earth was a sacrifice, not a party.”

“Then I’m glad I was born in Quetzala,” snorted Mayazatyl. “People of the Well know how to relax.”