“So do People of the Wing,” retorted Kirah, who belonged to the same religious sect as Emeronya. She added, turning an even deeper shade of pink, “Though I’m not going to kiss anyone.” Which of course made Ai Ling and Mayazatyl tease her more.

“The wine at the festival is filled with tokens,” I told Emeronya, knowing what it was like to feel left out. Catching up to the countless opulent traditions of Oluwan life had taken me years. “The tokens are shells, bits of bone, things like that. Some are bad, some are good. If you find a good token, you can trade it. A cowrie shell is worth … a favor.”

“From a lover?” Emeronya asked.

“From anyone you like.” I matched her deadpan tone, wiggling my eyebrows. In spite of herself, Emeronya laughed.

“I wouldn’t trade with a boy,” she said. “Girls are prettier. Except maybe Theo.”

“Theo wouldn’t kiss you,” Ai Ling informed her. “Last time I checked, he was still writing sappy love poems to farm boys in Yorua Village. Besides, council members can’t trade our cowrie shells. We’re not allowed to fall in love.”

“Speak for yourself,” crowed Mayazatyl. “Though what Kameron and I did last Nu’ina Eve wasn’t love exactly …”

“Maya,” I hissed in warning, glancing up at the braiders.

Their expressions remained placid, and hardened yellow wax glistened on their earlobes. Any commoner who waited on the Prince’s Eleven was required to seal their ears so our affairs would remain private.

“They can’t hear us,” said Mayazatyl. “Besides, everyone knows council members aren’t actually celibate. They’ve dallied for centuries. Have you read some of the messages scrawled in the sleeping chambers of Yorua?” She smirked. “Then, of course, there’s Enitawa’s Quiver.” Mayazatyl waited as we watched her, taking a languid sip from her chalice and filing her nails with a small knife.

Ai Ling rolled her eyes. “Fine, Maya, I’ll bite. What’s Enitawa’s Quiver?”

Mayazatyl batted her lashes innocently. “Why, it’s only a tree. With smooth waxy branches that grow straight up, like arms twisting around each other. Warriors used to make their quivers from the wood, because it’s flexible and it sings.” She took another long sip from her chalice, relishing our anticipation. “When the wind blows, the branches hum like flutes. Loud enough to cover up any noises that a pair might make in Enitawa’s shadow.” My sisters giggled nervously. “The tree grows beneath a cliff north of Yorua, barely a mile away. Rocks block the spot from view. Council members have been meeting there for centuries.”

Kirah’s face went blank, as it always did when she was trying to weigh the moral weight of something. “I know most of you have had dalliances,” she said slowly. “But what about imperial law? People who represent realms can’t be making calf eyes at each other. We’re supposed to be impartial, or our subjects will suspect our rulings of favoritism.”

“Only if they find out,” said Ai Ling. “The point of councils is to prevent war. So if we maintain the empire’s sense of equality, it shouldn’t matter what we do in private.” She flashed a rueful smile—her real one, not the charming dimples she used when giving speeches. “We’re not the saints people think we are.”

“You’re the High Judge Apparent,” Emeronya said, turning to me. “Will you throw us in prison if we have lovers?”

I laughed, but wasn’t sure how to answer. Enforcing the law would be my job, after all. Or at least, I had thought it would be, before my tutoring session with Thaddace. His words colored my vision, making everything murky.

Justice is not about being fair. It is about keeping order.

“Ai Ling’s right, I guess.” I shrugged. “The purpose of councils is to prevent war. So as long as we protect Aritsar during the day …” My gaze drifted to the garden bench where I had sat with Sanjeet the evening before. “It shouldn’t matter what we do at night.”

Thérèse hummed in warning. “If I learned anything from the Nontish court, it is this: What happens in the shadows always comes to light.”

Hours later, the smell of burnt yarn filled my nostrils. My braider held a candle to the tips of my finished plaits, searing the ropelike ends shut one by one. I held my breath, sitting on my hands to keep them from shaking. It’s just a candle flame. Don’t be stupid. It can’t hurt you.

She handed me a mirror. Hundreds of braids spilled over my shoulders, shining with oil and winking with tiny gold accents. I felt beautiful, but—

I tapped the artisan’s ear, asking her to remove the wax. “It’s very tight,” I told her. “My scalp aches.”

The braider raised an eyebrow. “With respect, Anointed Honor, that’s how ladies prefer it in the capital. Not like those unruly edges they sport in the countryside! Think of your title. Oluwan ladies rein every strand into place. Complete control.”

I gazed at myself again, remembering how I had trembled over a candle. A candle. Perhaps I could use some control. “It’s perfect,” I told the braider, smiling, and she bowed smugly.

As my council sisters made admiring noises over each other, I guiltily collected my assignments. I had barely touched them, and I cringed at the thought of facing Thaddace again. But he had offered help. Maybe I could find him before the festival tonight. Scalp aching and bottom numb from sitting, I left my cushion to find the High Lord Judge.

The study was empty when I arrived. That was no surprise; after having his body jumbled by lodestone travel, Thaddace would have needed to recover in his rooms. I turned a corner, mounting the broad stairs that led to the guest chambers. Then I stopped. From a dim corridor leading to salons we never used, I heard a muffled growl that sounded strangely like Thaddace.

I frowned and turned down the corridor. What was the High Judge doing in there? One of the salon’s woven door flaps hung slightly askew, as though it had been closed improperly. From its opening, a narrow beam of light cut across the floor. I approached slowly, raising my arm to knock on the door. My hand froze midair.

On a dust-covered divan, Mbali straddled Thaddace, clasped to his lean chest. Clothing littered the floor. He buried his face in her neck while their bodies entwined beneath the slanted light of shuttered windows.

I did not blink. If my eyes stayed open, I told myself, what I had seen would evaporate, like water from stones. I spun on my heel and swept back down the corridor. I was going to my room. I had always been going to my room. The salons had been empty, and I had seen no one.

My slippers were mercifully noiseless on the rough tiles. I stepped from the corridor, nearly escaping the secret—and collided with a scullery man.

“Anointed Honor.” Bobbing, the servant gathered up the rags and bucket I had made him drop.

“Where are you going with those?” I asked. The question came out shriller than I had intended.

“Dusting, Anointed Honor. Sorry. I’ll just—”

I stood in his way and asked loudly, “Are you looking for Anointed Honor Thaddace?”

“No, Anointed Honor. I was going to—”

“Anointed Honor Thaddace is in his chambers,” I continued, my voice carrying down the corridor. “On the other side of the keep. He told me to take a message to Anointed Honor Mbali. Return to the kitchens and take each of them some palm wine. In fifteen minutes,” I finished slowly, “I am sure you will find Anointed Honor Thaddace in the western guest chambers, and Mbali in the eastern garden.”

Behind me, I heard a faint scuffle from the salon. I smiled manically at the servant. “Off you go.”

He bobbed again and retreated the way he had come. The smile remained on my face as my feet carried me back to the study. I laid the court cases neatly on the desk, sank onto the divan, and plopped face-first into the cushions.

My sleeping chamber in Yorua Keep scarcely deserved the name. It was used only to store my possessions: my spear, piles of handmade gifts from commoners, and a daunting collection of tunics and wrappers. I stood naked as I sorted through piles of memory-soaked fabric. The musical din of markets rang in my ears, and my skin pricked with the acrid heat of dye vats. My body was suddenly made of fibers, letting the skillful hands of weavers press me together. Inanimate object memories were bewildering, and I usually avoided them—but today I welcomed the distraction.

It had been hours since I’d walked in on Thaddace and Mbali. Water still beaded on my skin from the keep bathhouse, where my council had freshened up for Nu’ina Eve. In a marble chamber partitioned by gender, we had scrubbed with cocoa ash soap and swum in orchid-scented pools, careful to keep our yarn braids dry. Over a wall, I had heard my council brothers splashing and roughhousing. My ear had tuned to a voice deeper than the others: a laugh that rumbled like thunder across the echoing marble tiles.