“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