Sanjeet restrained her arms. “It’s all right,” I said. “Come with us. Come back to the path.”

She shook her head slowly. “I can never go back. A captain does not abandon—I should stay with them, in the Bush—I can never go back.”

“Your warriors are not here. They’re fine,” I said firmly, and prayed to Am I was right.

We rescued three more warriors. The third we found brandishing a spear over a lifeless body.

A real one.

The beguiled warrior had pierced the fourth remaining warrior, a woman named Awofeso, through the heart. The Bush had tricked him into seeing a wild beast. When his vision cleared, he began to tremble, yelling, then whispering her name. He continued to ask for Awofeso even when we reached the end of the path, crossing out of the Bush into a rural village.

“Sometimes, the Bush wants to keep you,” Bunmi told us as we put the warrior to bed at the village inn. “Other times, it only wants to steal your joy, so instead you carry the Bush with you, always.” The warrior’s lips continued to shape that name, over and over, until at last I brushed his temples, plucking the memory of his comrade’s mangled body from his mind. He stilled, sighed, and fell fitfully asleep.

Sanjeet and I spent the night side by side on straw mats in the inn’s best room. The floor was packed dirt, strewn with fresh hay. More than once, I wanted to touch him. He twitched often, as if he wrestled with the same temptation. But our arms stayed by our sides, and I stared up at the wattle-and-daub ceiling, knowing we couldn’t go back.

The children who had kissed by the sea were gone. We were different people now, more jaded and honest. If I touched him that way again, I would be making a promise that I had no power to keep. How could I swear to love anyone when The Lady still held my puppet strings?

I turned away from Sanjeet so he wouldn’t see my features contort with anger. “It’s my story. Mine, you hear me?” I hissed at a woman only I could see. “And I’ll get it back. You’ll see.”

When we said our goodbyes to the Imperial Guard warriors the next morning, their faces shone with grave new respect. This time, they did not challenge us when we kept our destination secret and nodded when we insisted on going alone.

“If you had left the Bush without rescuing my warriors,” said Bunmi, “no one would have blamed you. You are Aritsar’s future. Your lives must be preserved. But you came back.” She squinted and locked her jaw, restraining tears. “I will never forget what you did, and neither will any of my comrades. The Imperial Guard shall always be loyal to Tarisai of Swana and Sanjeet of Dhyrma. For the first time in many moons … I smile for the future of Aritsar.”

As Sanjeet and I walked away, her last words rang strangely in my ears. For the first time in many moons. The Imperial Guard was more loyal to the empire than anyone. Why would a captain have doubts about Aritsar’s future?

A three-hour walk from the village, a bustling town guarded a lodestone port to Nyamba, the realm northeast of Oluwan. Sanjeet and I had planned the journey with a map the night before. Each lodestone could transport travelers to only one place. Nyamba was the opposite direction from where we needed to go, but from there, another port could take us directly to Swana. Going the wrong way via lodestone was faster than going the right way on mule or on foot.

“Names and reason for travel,” barked a scowling old man when we arrived at the port. The lodestone, a smooth bed of black rock ten men wide, was nestled in a copse of trees at the edge of town. A palisade fence surrounded the port, with openings on either side, flanked by guards. I could feel the power pulsing in the stone from several feet away. My stomach gurgled, anticipating the nausea. The last time I had taken a lodestone had been when my council moved to Yorua Keep. We had taken two days to recover, lying on our pallets and clutching our middles.

Sanjeet flashed our council seals at the guard, and the man’s eyes widened. “Your Anointed—”

“Keep your voice down,” muttered Sanjeet, and paid our fare.

“Of course, Anointed Honors. You’re free to cross … No. Wait.” The man peered at the lodestone’s surface, from which lines of ghostly black script began to rise. “Someone’s coming.”

With a thunderous crack, a cohort of imperial militia burst into view from thin air. “No time to waste,” the captain shouted to his comrades, stepping off the lodestone and shrugging off the nausea. He flashed his identification at the guards. “We may have captured the abomination, but her servants still lurk in the empire. They were last spotted not far from …” His voice trailed off as the cohort left the port, running in formation.

“Who knows what all that was about?” said the old man, smiling at us with nervous courtesy, then waving us on. “It’s safest if you hold hands,” he called after us.

I looked at Sanjeet askance, but he held out his calloused palm. I stared at our clasped hands as we stepped onto the lodestone. Warmth pulsed into my soles, and vibrations traveled up my legs, belly, and chest until my eardrums rang. We stepped again. The scene around us shimmered, and I could no longer see our hands. We continued to walk, blinded by a growing whirl of heat and wind, until at lasted we jolted to a stop.

“Names and reason for travel,” a reedy voice said.

My vision was still blurry. Now we stood atop a new lodestone, slightly smaller than the last. This port rested inside a city; I could hear the bustle of carts and street criers outside the palisade wall. Shaking his head to clear it, Sanjeet produced our council seals.

“Welcome to Kofi-on-River,” said the guard, stepping aside. “Enjoy your stay in Nyamba, Anointed Honors.”

I smiled at him shakily and stepped off the stone. The world tilted, but Sanjeet caught my elbow. “Inn,” he said, clutching his stomach, and I nodded.

“The best accommodations are toward the city center,” the guard called after us. “I’d be wary today though, Anointed Honors. The streets are rowdy.”

When we reached the city square, indignant roars echoed off the stone high-rises. Smoke rose to the sky, and Nyambans shrieked objections from every direction, crowded around something I couldn’t see.

“That’s not fair—”

“… older than the empire—”

“How dare you erase our griots’ legacy—”

I gasped as an imperial crier yelled above the din, reciting words I recognized: Thaddace’s Unity Edict. I hadn’t known it would be enforced so soon. Sanjeet stood head and shoulders above the crowd, and grew rigid as he watched the square.

“What do you see?” I demanded. When he didn’t answer, I elbowed my way through the angry citizens.

A towering bonfire burned in the square. Imperial Guard warriors wrestled drums and scrolls from a trembling line of griots. The stories—some no doubt hundreds, thousands of years old—were cast into the flames. The imperial crier thanked each griot curtly, and handed them new drums and crisp imperial scrolls.

My face grew wet with tears, and I stepped back into the crowd, back, back, until strong hands found my shoulders.

“We should go,” grunted Sanjeet.

“Why take their drums?” I asked dazedly. “Isn’t taking their stories enough?”

“The drums carry their own stories,” Sanjeet reminded me grimly. “I guess Thaddace and the emperor didn’t want to risk it.”

We found an inn several streets away. When night came I tossed and turned, though this time our room had wood floors, and sweet-smelling down pallets instead of straw mats.

Thaddace had made the Unity Edict sound so reasonable. He had been right—the disunity at Ebujo had been disastrous. If the realms had only put aside their differences and worked together, fewer people would have died. But …

I remembered a griot from the town square, an old woman with sad, sunken eyes, wailing as her drum was wrenched away.

“That can’t be right,” I mumbled. Could it?

We were supposed to wait a month before traveling via lodestone again. We waited only a week. I was eager to find Melu … and to leave Kofi-on-River. When at last we left the town, the smoke of griot drums still stained the horizon.

The lodestone to Swana was ten miles west of the city, in a lush Nyamban valley. My stomach lurched as we crossed into Swana. When we came to a stop, I crawled across the lodestone and vomited over the edge.

“Names and reason for travel,” came the expected demand.

An eerie feeling crept over my spine as I took in the lodestone port. I had been here only once before: when strangers had taken me from Bhekina House. My palms began to sweat. This was her turf. Her domain of power. Already I could see the walls of Bhekina House rising around me. I was a child again, friendless, windowless, trapped—

“Tar.” Sanjeet was crouching beside me with a hand on my trembling back. “Your home realm is beautiful.”

I blinked, staring dumbly at him, and then looked around.