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“Vanna—” begins Rongyo.

“Let me speak.” Vanna’s light dims to a less forceful radiance, and she dips her head respectfully at the queen, then at Rongyo. “Prince Rongyo,” she says, as gently as a tiger can speak, “I thank you for showing me kindness these past few days, but I cannot marry you. I do not want to spend my life pretending to love someone whom I do not. It would be a lie to both of us.”

Vanna backs up until she stands between me and Oshli.

Rongyo is staring at the shaman, a progression of realizations crossing his boyish face.

I expect him to become enraged, to throw a fit. After all, he is a king’s son. A prince, whose royal upbringing has probably instilled in him the expectation that he can have whatever—or whomever—he desires. His noble mien and robust build are exactly as Vanna would have conjured from her dreams, while Oshli…Oshli is like a copper coin next to a pile of gold.

He needs a moment to wrestle his pride, but in the end, he is more honorable than I’ve given him credit for. “Your heart is a special one, Lady Vanna,” he says at last. “I am privileged to have known it—and you.”

The queen exhales audibly, a sigh of relief. “We’ll have a ship for you within the hour. Guards, take them to the port—”

“I would see the Lady Vanna and her sister home,” Rongyo says over his mother. “If the Shenlani are coming, as you say, then Vanna and Channari will need the swiftest vessel in our navy, the best crew too.”

“You and your ship are not going anywhere,” the queen reminds her son frostily. “You are not king yet. You may not become king for quite some time, if you continue to challenge me thus.”

“I beseech you,” says Rongyo. “If I have brought misfortune upon Tai’yanan, let me be the one to do right by my country. Let me be the one to seek redemption in the eyes of the gods.”

At the mention of the gods, the queen hesitates. She actually is a pious woman. I can tell from her humble brown dress, her simple braid—tied with a lone gold pin—and the charms of protection she wears around her wrist and ankles.

If there’s one thing Oshli has inherited from his father, it’s knowing when to seize an opportunity. He says, “Shenlani is without king or queen. Their ships are the least of your worries. But Prince Rongyo is right about quelling the gods’ ire.” The metal rings on Oshli’s staff tinkle as he points skyward. “Look.”

At first, I don’t see anything. The lightning and the rain have stopped. But when I squint, there are strokes of orange between the clouds. They’re far away, gathering most strongly over Mount Hanum’anya.

I’ve not seen that before, murmurs Ukar.

My chest goes tight. “Angma is rallying the demons at Mount Hanum’anya,” I say. “If my sister and I don’t return to Sundau…”

I let my voice trail off, because truthfully I don’t know what will happen. But all of us have imaginations, and we know it can be nothing good.

The queen’s eyes linger on the burning sky.

She finally relents. “Take your ship, Rongyo. You will escort them home, but that is all. You shall not step upon Sundau’s shores. Both sisters are cursed. I shall not allow them to be the fall of our kingdom.”

“I understand, Mother,” says Rongyo.

The queen isn’t finished. Her gaze falls on me, so sharp I feel an imaginary pressure in my ribs.

“I’ve already lost my husband,” she warns me. “If I lose my son, there is nowhere in this world you will be able to hide from my wrath. Not even in the afterlife will you be safe.”

I believe her. A mother’s love is special; it is the purest love. Boundless, unconditional, unyielding. It is the love that I’ve missed most.

“Yes, Your Majesty.” I bow low.

The queen turns back toward the temple, followed by her retinue of guards. Once she is out of earshot, I grab Hokzuh by the wing and slice off the cord he’s re-knotted around his neck.

His moonstone falls neatly into my hand.

“What are you doing?” he snarls. “I helped you, I saved you from the temple—”

“Quiet!” I cut him off. “If you want your stone back, then come with me. You owe me answers.”

CHAPTER THIRTY-THREE

I don’t actually know where I’m going, only that I have an hour until the ship is ready and I’m not going to waste it sweltering in the middle of Tai’yanan’s royal garden.

I’m inside one of the most magnificent palaces in all Tambu: I have my pick of gilded pavilions, outdoor galleries depicting scenes from the epics of Gadda, and towering belfries with carved floral tiles. Such beauty is lost on me. I’m more interested in the thin jet of smoke trailing behind the temple. I don’t know much about palaces, but where there is smoke, there is fire. And where there is fire, there is oft a kitchen.