I waited until nightfall before making my way to Abankiti, a pouch of cowries heavy at my waist. The herb woman's hut sat where forest met settlement, much like how she herself existed between worlds – not quite respectable, not quite outcast.

Nne Ogwu they called her. Mother of Medicines. But I knew her by a different name, one whispered in darker circles.

"The prince's son graces my humble home," she said before I could even knock. Her voice rasped like dry leaves. "Or should I say, the farmer?" A low chuckle. "Come in, come in. The shadows have ears tonight."

Inside, her hut smelled of a hundred herbs and a thousand secrets. Strings of dried things I couldn't identify hung from the ceiling, and somewhere in the darkness, something chittered.

"Your best student is losing someone dear to her," I said, settling on a low stool.

"Ah, the little weaver." Nne Ogwu's eyes gleamed in the dim light of her palm oil lamp. "The one who coughs blood now."

My hand tightened on the pouch of cowries. Of course she already knew. "Can you help?"

"Help is such a simple word for such a complex thing." She stirred something in a pot I couldn't see. "You want to know who poisoned her. You want to know how. You want to know why." She clicked her tongue. "Many questions. Many doors to open. Many palms to cross."

I placed the pouch on her mat. The clink of cowries seemed too loud in the close air of her hut. "Name your price."

She lifted the pouch, weighing it with practiced ease. "Interesting. This is more than I usually charge for such information."

"I'm paying for speed," I said, leaning forward. "Rimi grows worse by the day. Whatever you need to do, whoever you need to bribe – do it quickly."

"Ahh." She set the pouch down and really looked at me then, her ancient eyes seeing too much. "You care for them both, don't you? The healer and her little weaver. Found yourself a new family, have you, prince's son?"

I met her gaze steadily. "Will you help or not?"

She smiled, showing teeth stained dark from herbs. "I have eyes and ears everywhere. Little birds who sing to me of palace secrets. It will take time to sort through their songs, to find the true notes among the false ones."

"How long?"

"A while," she said, and seeing my expression darken, added quickly, "But for this price..." She patted the pouch of cowries, "I will make my birds sing faster. Much faster."

"And you'll send word as soon as—"

"As soon as I know anything of worth." She stood, a dismissal. "Now go. The little weaver needs tending, and Mairo needs rest. She's been awake too many nights."

I paused at her door. "How did you—"

"I taught that girl everything she knows about healing," Nne Ogwu interrupted. "But not everything I know about watching. Go. I will send word when I have something."

As I walked home through the darkness, I couldn't shake the feeling that I'd just made a deal with a spirit rather than a woman. But deals with spirits, my royal father had once told me, sometimes brought the sweetest fruits.

Or the deadliest poisons.

Back at our compound, I found Mairo still awake, grinding herbs by lamplight. Rimi's cough echoed from the inner room, weaker than yesterday. We shared a look of understanding – whatever price I'd paid tonight, whatever dangers dealing with Nne Ogwu might bring, it would be worth it if we could save her.

Now all we could do was wait, and hope that money could indeed buy what we desired most – time, truth, and a cure.

Three more days passed, each marked by Rimi's weakening cough. Mairo barely slept, alternating between brewing remedies and holding Rimi through her worst fits. I'd catch her sometimes, in the deep hours of night, silently crying as she changed Rimi's sweat-soaked cloths. The bloodstains on Rimi's sleeping mat grew more frequent.

It was on the fourth night that Nne Ogwu's messenger came – a small boy with eyes too old for his face. He appeared like smoke at our compound's edge.

"Mother of Medicines sends word," he whispered, glancing furtively around. "Meet her when the moon touches the tallest iroko tree. Come alone."

I found her waiting in the darkness, her figure barely visible against the ancient iroko's trunk. She didn't waste time with greetings.

"Your little weaver was indeed poisoned," she said, her voice barely above a whisper. "But not in the way you think. Not in the way anyone would think to look."

"Explain."

"The princess's wedding gifts from the coastal kingdom – among them were special herb burners, carved from rare wood and filled with exotic herbs. They were meant to burn throughout the palace during the wedding preparations, to bring good fortune." She gave a dry laugh. "The coastal people are known for their... clever ways with such things."

My blood ran cold. "The herb smoke."

"Yes. Clever, isn't it? No food to taste for poison, no wine to suspect. Just sweet-smelling smoke that slowly, day by day, as Rimi worked on the princess's wedding clothes..."

"That's why none of the palace workers were affected," I realized. "They don't spend hours in the princess's chambers like Rimi did."

"Indeed." Nne Ogwu pulled something from her wrapper – a small parcel wrapped in leaves. "But here's what will interest you most. The order for these particular burners came not from the coastal prince, but from someone in Obiako. Someone who wanted to make sure any suspicion would fall on the coastal kingdom."

I took the parcel, feeling its weight. "You know who?"

"My little birds sing interesting songs about a certain noble lady who burns with jealousy. One who watches young men dance with pretty weavers and drinks too much palm wine to drown her rage."

"Who?"

"The daughter of the cowrie master."

"Nkili?" I breathed, the realization hitting me like a cold wave. The pieces fell into place—her status as a noble granted her unfettered access to the wedding preparations. But why would she harbor any ill will toward Rimi?

It didn't make sense.

Yet that wasn't even the biggest problem.

Her father was Ozo Ibezim. Everyone knew of him – the wealthy man whose compound rivaled the Igwe's palace, whose personal guards were said to be more numerous and better trained than the village warriors. His wealth and influence stretched beyond Obiako to the very heart of the Nri kingdom.

"And the cure?" I asked, though I already dreaded the answer.

"Only Nkili has access to the antidote." Nne Ogwu's voice held a note of something almost like pity. "It's a special poison from across the seas. The cure must be administered within seven days of the first blood cough, or..." She left the sentence unfinished.

I clenched my fists. "And we're on the fourth day."

"Indeed. Ibezim's compound is better guarded than the Igwe's treasury. Even for a prince's son trained as a shadow..." She shook her head. "It would be suicide to attempt entry."

"Then what do you suggest?" I demanded. "That I watch Rimi die while her poisoner sleeps safely behind her father's walls?"

"I suggest you remember that sometimes the direct path is not the wise path." She turned to leave, then paused. "And remember this – Nkili may have her father's protection, but she also has her father's pride. And pride... pride can be a weakness greater than any wall."

She melted into the darkness, leaving me with knowledge that felt more like a burden than a gift. I hurried back home, where Mairo would be waiting, where Rimi's cough echoed in the night. My mind was already racing, piecing together plans and discarding them just as quickly.

I had three days to either break into the most heavily guarded compound in Obiako, or somehow outmaneuver a noble's daughter who had already proven herself clever enough to arrange a nearly perfect murder.

Behind me, war drums continued their distant beat, and somewhere behind her father's high walls, I imagined Nkili sleeping soundly, unaware that she had just made an enemy of a farmer who could kill a man in seventeen ways.

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