Mongwe’s cracked lips spread in a grin. “Those are only spritelings. It is their parents you will have to persuade.” She cocked her head and sniffed the air, grimacing. “You smell like a frightened hare. Perhaps you should bathe first—”
“We don’t have time,” I said, standing. “Tell us where to go.”
She pointed beyond the house, where knee-high grass rustled in an airy field. I realized then that the constant, high-pitched humming in the compound was not wind.
“Let me go alone,” I told Sanjeet. “We wouldn’t want to spook them.”
When I crept into the soft, dense grass, the air throbbed with silvery voices, an army of mouths and wings I could not see. Specks of lavender light danced in intricate patterns above me. Some of them hovered close to my face, investigating my heavy braids, ash-covered arms, and borrowed imperial uniform. The tutsu whined and tittered, flying in circles until I felt dizzy.
I was being mocked.
“Understood,” I muttered. “I’m a mess. But I’m guessing you know why I’m here. Please, I just need to find Melu. Don’t you want Aritsar to be safe? I’m tired of being dangerous; help me be normal.”
The tittering increased in pitch, drowning out my voice. I bit my lip in frustration.
I tried again, struggling to be heard above the whining. “If I can break The Lady’s hold on me, then Melu will be free too. Don’t you care about him?”
The tutsu did not break their lazy patterns, continuing to swoop and dart as though I had not spoken. Even the few that hovered around me lost interest, going to join their brethren in the dance above my head.
I yelled and pleaded. I insulted. I even threatened to trap them in jars, like the merchants who sold sprites in markets. “You could be night lamps for all I care,” I said. But nothing worked. The tutsu ignored me.
Hot-faced, I stomped back to Sanjeet. “It was worth a try,” he said. “We can find Melu’s pool another way.”
I nodded grimly. “We’ll visit every puddle in Swana if we have to.” But my heart sank. Swana was the second-largest realm, bigger than Djbanti and Nyamba combined. It could take us weeks to find Melu’s pool on our own. Months. And if The Lady had as many spies as I feared … she would find me long before then.
“Back already?” said Mongwe when we returned to the courtyard.
“They didn’t care,” I said. “Not about Melu’s curse, or keeping Dayo safe—none of it. They don’t care about anyone but themselves.”
Mongwe laughed that dry, wheezy sound again. “Of course they don’t.”
“Then why did you let me try?”
Mongwe hummed, savoring the harsh, nutty smell wafting from her soap pot. “First lesson of growing tall,” she said. “People never listen to what you want. They listen to who you are.” She paused and cocked her head toward the house. “The tutsu are chanting about you, girl. They say there’s someone you are desperate not to hurt.”
I straightened, alert. “Yes, there is. Do they know how I can protect him?”
She listened. “No. They think your case is hopeless, for the most part, though the gem that he carries”—she pointed to Sanjeet—“will help.”
Sanjeet blinked in surprise, then shyly drew a small, fiery object from his pocket. The sunstone I had given him on Nu’ina Eve; he had kept it. Even after calling me a monster.
“Maybe that’s it,” I whispered. “Maybe the stone can cure me.”
“Of course it can’t,” Mongwe snorted. “I don’t know what ails you, girl, but I know a sparkly bauble isn’t medicine.” She frowned, considering. “Sunstones are known to strengthen the will, however. In some. If you are tempted to do harm, a sunstone will not protect you. But it may make it easier, just a whit, to resist.”
My heart sank, but when Sanjeet insisted, I took the stone, threading it through a leather tie meant for my hair and suspending it from my throat.
Mongwe smiled. “Now. Doesn’t a bath sound nice?”
She had arranged the washtubs on opposite sides of the linen screen. Still scowling, I stalked to one side and peeled off my grubby uniform, but I kept the sunstone on. Miles of dirt and dust chafed my skin, and when I lifted myself into the tub, my scowl melted away. The water was cool, and fragrant rosemary and neem leaves floated on the surface, clinging to my legs. I scrubbed with a lump of soap mash, still warm from Mongwe’s pot. At first, I held my braids atop my