Jala looked at the figure standing before her and knew that it wasn’t Marjani behind the mask. The shape wasn’t quite right, the way the figure stood, everything was off. She felt something different. Something familiar, something she hadn’t dared to hope for.

It had to be a spy, or an assassin. One of Lord Stone’s devoted still fighting for a lost cause, or one of Lord Fire’s fanatics. Had he hurt Marjani? Lord Water’s mask hung on a belt around her waist. She would make him tell her, and then she would make him pay. She reached for the mask . . . and then she saw the eyes behind the mask.

She knew those eyes. Not even Lord Water could drive the memory of them out completely.

Her voice was barely a whisper. “Azi?”

“I love you,” he said. His voice, his words, his breath. He took off the mask, and it was him, it was Azi. He loved her. He’d come for her.

“I love you too,” she said. “But you can’t be here. You’re just a dream.”

Since she’d put on Lord Water’s mask, her dreams were filled with beautiful, horrible things she could never remember when she woke. Dreams that seemed to last for years, dreams of water and stone and changing seasons. Nothing like this. Nothing so human.

If this was a dream, it was all her own.

There were tears in his eyes. “Jala, I’m real. I’m here. I crossed the Great Ocean not even knowing if you were alive, and you are, and we’re going home.”

She had to shut her eyes to hold back her own tears. She couldn’t cry, not now. If she let herself go, she wasn’t sure she’d be able to stop. Then Lord Water’s dreams would fill her mind again. Or maybe this time it would be the other one. The Hashon called him Lord Fire, but his true fire was the fire of the mind, the fires of madness.

How long had she been sleepwalking through her days? Weeks? Months? How long had her mind been adrift on the thoughts of Lord Water? Even if Azi was a dream, a figment, she felt the bright, sharp ache of hope inside her. For the first time she felt awake. She felt alive. Painfully, wonderfully alive.

A small ember of her old strength stirred within her. If she could still dream her own dreams, if she could still hope for things like this, maybe she wasn’t completely gone.

Azi reached for her, but she held up her hands, palms out. He stopped.

“Wait,” she said. Her voice quivered, but it sounded stronger to her than it had for a long time. At least, when she wasn’t wearing the mask. “I have to say this first. If it turns out you aren’t real . . . I’m still leaving. Not just for you. For Marjani, because I can’t let her stay here with me. For my mother, who I want to see again even if she hates me. For—” Her voice caught in her throat for a moment, but she hadn’t let fear stop her yet, and she wouldn’t now. “For Mosi-No-Name, who still lives somewhere on the islands. For my cousins and my captains and what’s left of the Gana. For the Bardo and Kayet and Nongo and even the Rafa, because I’m still their queen, and maybe I can still do good.”

Azi started to speak but then shook his head. He took her hands and held them tightly in his own. Real hands. His hands. “If I turn out to just be a dream, you should go,” he said, and his breath was warm on her cheek as he leaned closer. “Find your way back to the First Isle and break my nose for leaving you here.”

She laughed at this, and some of the tears did come. But there were no dreams, and there was no fire.

“If you’re not a dream, kiss me,” Jala said. And then, not bothering to wait anymore, she turned her head slightly and pressed her lips to his.

The lips, and the man attached them, turned out to be completely real.

For a long, still moment there was no need for words. She lost herself in the kiss, in the heat of his body, in the touch of his hands holding her tight and in the feel of his skin and his muscles under her touch in turn.

Finally they pulled away, breathless and teary-eyed and trying not to laugh or cry and alert the palace—maybe all of the city, all of the Hashon—that they were here.

“There really are friends waiting for us,” Azi said. “So we should go now, while we’re still supposed to be eating dinner. How long do you usually take to eat?”

“Not that long. Not really long at all.”

“Then we have to leave. Do you think the guards will try to stop us?”

“I don’t know,” Jala said truthfully. “I hardly went anywhere without the mask. I hardly wanted to.”

“If you put the mask back on, they’d let us through?”

“No. I can’t. Not ever again.” He nodded, though it looked as though he wanted to argue. “Azi, if I put that mask on again . . . if I let Lord Water back in . . . I think I’ll lose myself forever. I’d rather take my chances with the guards. And before you suggest it, you’re not putting it on either. You’d be just as lost, and I’m not letting that happen.”

“All right. Then we have to leave as is. I’ll at least keep wearing Marjani’s mask.” He knelt and picked the reef-and-sand mask off the ground. He lifted it to his face, but a pang made Jala reach and put a hand on his arm. She kissed him again, quickly, once on the lips and once on the cheek.

“I’m glad you turned out to be real,” she whispered. Then she let go of his arm and let him put the mask back on his face. “Try not to kill anyone if you can help it. This isn’t their fault.”

“Not until they try to stop us and there’s nowhere to run,” Azi said, his voice muffled slightly by the mask. “I didn’t come here for a fight. There’s more of them than there are of us, and I don’t even have a proper sword, just one of their knives.”

Jala nodded, and in spite of her request she grabbed one of the knives off the table and slid it up the sleeve of her dress. It was better than nothing, probably, though she wasn’t sure she could actually kill any of the Hashon. Not just because she couldn’t shake the feeling that these were her people still, even if they’d become the enemy. That was part of it. But those were Lord Water’s thoughts, and Lord Water wouldn’t hesitate to kill any one of them. Hundreds had died as part of his plan. Individual lives meant little to the Hashon lords.

But she didn’t want to be Lord Water anymore. She was tired of blood and fire.

There was one last thing she had to do. She steeled herself and pulled Lord Water’s mask off her belt. She held it for just a moment, repeating to herself all the same reasons she’d given Azi why she couldn’t wear it. Then she tossed it onto the dinner table and sighed.

“Now I can leave,” she said.

They stepped through the door into a circular room with walls covered in elaborate etchings. More stories, this time cut into marble instead of written down in a book. The part of the wall that told Lord Stone’s story had been removed.

“Where are the guards?” Azi whispered.

“Nearby somewhere, waiting to be called. Throwing bones in some side room, probably. We’re not exactly prisoners, you know. Marjani has nowhere to go, and I’m . . . their job was to take me where I wanted to go.”

“Would they take you to Marjani, then?” Azi asked.

Jala shrugged. “I never asked. I’m not even sure how to ask. Their words get all jumbled in my head without the mask. Ordering them around might work, but it might only work once. I don’t suppose you know how to get to Marjani?” Jala asked.

“She had me memorize the way,” Azi said. He didn’t seem surprised that she didn’t know, though it was hard to tell when he was wearing the mask. “I think I can do it.”

“Then let’s go,” she said.

Jala closed the door behind her. It blended into the design etched into the wall, so that it was impossible to tell a door was even there if you didn’t know already. The palace was filled with nooks like this, and she’d only seen a few.

Azi started walking.

“Don’t walk so fast. I shouldn’t look like I’m following you,” Jala said. “We need to look like we belong. Not too fast, and not too quiet, either. I’ll keep talking, as if we’re having an important conversation. They can’t understand our language anyway.”

Azi counted off turns under his breath. They turned once, passed several corridors, turned again.

“As if? Our lives are important, aren’t they?”

“I talk. You stay quiet,” Jala said. “You don’t sound anything like Marjani.” Though he did kiss like Marjani. Like he loved her. “It seems so long ago that we stood on the beach on the Second Isle.” Years. Decades. Did he feel the same way, or was that Lord Water’s influence on her? He stayed quiet this time. “All the things that kept us apart, they don’t really seem important anymore. I can barely remember what they are.”

He touched her hand briefly, squeezed it, then hid his large hands from sight again.

“Maybe when we get back we can—”

But Jala didn’t get to finish her thought. From behind them they heard shouts and the pounding of many running feet. Azi swore under his breath and drew his knife, and Jala did the same. They ran.

Jala focused on the feeling of her feet hitting the marble floor as she ran. What would they do when they found her? Kill her? Or put the mask back on her face? A part of her still felt like it wouldn’t be so bad. She ignored it. That wasn’t what she wanted; it was what Lord Water told her to want.

“There,” Azi hissed, pointing toward an open door. “Marjani. Come on, we have to go.”

As they reached the door, a guard stepped out, dragging Marjani by the arm.

“What are you still doing here?” the guard was saying. “You were summoned.”

“Let me go,” Marjani said in his language, though she sounded more scared than commanding. “I wasn’t feeling well and she sent me back. Let go.”

“Marjani,” Jala shouted.

Marjani and the guard both stopped and looked at them. At Jala without her mask, at Azi still wearing his. She could see the confusion on the guard’s face as he tried to figure out who was in Marjani’s mask if Marjani had been in her room the whole time.

Then everything happened quickly. The guard’s hand had loosened on Marjani’s arm for just a moment, and she yanked her arm away and ran toward them. The guard sprang after her. Jala tried to stop him, but Azi was faster. He barreled into the guard from the side and slammed him into the wall. Azi tried to pull away, but in the struggle his mask had come loose, sliding down so he couldn’t see.

The guard hit Azi once in the gut. Azi’s knife clattered to the marble floor. With one motion the guard ripped the mask off Azi’s face and drew his own knife, pressing the steel against Azi’s throat.