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hungry beasts. Was Zakiti awake by now? She would be crazy with rage if she knew I was missing.
    I raced along the backs of the buildings and onto the quiet streets. Through open windows I saw rumpled sacks inside the abandoned houses—the poor and neglected, Nabu-na’id’s Nobodies. As I approached Zakiti’s, I saw that the place was already lit by several lamps, which was odd for the early hour. I sneaked around back, assuming Zakiti was setting up for the day’s work in the shop.
    Frada was alone, lying on her pallet between two casks of wine. “Hello?” I said.
    Her back was to me, and she turned slowly to reveal her face. Her eyes were shut, her features twisted, her hair matted by sweat. “Something . . .” she murmured “. . . approaches.”
    I crept closer. Nico was nowhere to be seen. “Not something—someone!” I said cheerily. “It’s me! Daria. How are you feeling?”
    â€œ. . . Not now, but in our lifetimes . . . we must not let it disturb our city . . .” Frada moaned. “The pomegranate brings . . . great change to us all.”
    I crouched beside her, brushing the salt-encrusted hair from her forehead. The fever had broken. Her eyes blinked. “Frada,” I said gently, “it’s all right. . . .”
    As Frada stared at me, I could see fear draining from her eyes. “Daria . . . was it real? Was it real?”
    I smiled. Her voice was stronger. I no longer heard a rattling in her lungs. “I don’t know what you mean, dear Frada. You were dreaming. How do you feel?”
    She sat up slowly, stretching her arms and legs, her joints popping. As her eyes darted around the room, I fought the urge to shriek with joy. Even these simple movements had been so far beyond her only hours earlier. “I feel . . . better.” A smile of disbelief spread across her face as she braced herself against the wall and slowly rose to her feet.
    â€œFrada, look at you!” I said, wrapping her in a hug.
    With a sharp bang, the alley door slammed open. I pulled away from Frada, nearly causing her to topple back onto the pallet. Zakiti hobbled in, sweating and breathing heavily. She had been out in the streets—during the day? It wasn’t like her to leave the store after it had opened.
    Her eyes bore into mine. “You did this to him!” she growled.
    My heart dropped into my stomach. Nico. “Where is he?”
    â€œWhere were you?” Zakiti snapped. “Out getting ingredients—for the entire night? The boy was worried. He said he had fallen asleep, and when he woke you were gone. Impulsive fool!” As she paced the floor, I could hear her ancient joints cracking rhythmically. “He barely reached the end of the street when the king’s guards took him. I followed. I told them I could not afford to lose a worker of his strength. I pleaded—”
    â€œBut why did they take him?” I asked. “He did nothing!”
    She grabbed my hand, lifting my own fingers to my face. They were still stained bright red from the magic juice. “This is what they saw, you fool—evidence of the stolen pomegranate on his hands!”
    I felt my knees buckle. They thought Nico had stolen the pomegranate!
    He would be hauled to the dungeons. Common thieves had their hands cut off. But someone who had broken into the King’s Grove and stolen from his prized possession—this was worse than treason. This was like slapping the king’s face. Nico would be executed. Painfully. Publicly.
    â€œThis is my fault,” I said. “I’ll go to the captain of the guard and tell him that I was the one who stole the pomegranate. Nico is innocent.”
    â€œYou are a worse fool than I thought!” Zakiti shot back. “They’ll just arrest you, too—then both of you will be thrown before the king. I