“Sire? What’s wrong?” Likotsi asked, breaking his reverie.

“Last night, I learned a little about Naledi’s life after she came to the States.”

“You know the location of the traitors Libiko and Kembe? I had no luck finding them during my search, and she had no information listed on the genealogy site.” Likotsi’s eyes narrowed the way any good Thesoloian’s would when Ledi’s parents were discussed. It had never bothered Thabiso before, but he hadn’t known Naledi then, or what had happened to her parents.

“They are walking with the ancestors,” Thabiso said. “They died when she was very young, perhaps not long after they arrived here. She was placed into the care of the state, raised by strangers.”

Likotsi gasped, her eyes wide and suddenly glossy with emotion. The reverence of the ancestors was ingrained into every Thesoloian, whether they were a beggar or a king. The remembrance of those who came before you and the passing on of familial knowledge was something sacred. To not even know one’s parents or one’s roots . . .

Thabiso understood Likotsi’s sudden upset—it was horrifying to think of someone being denied that birthright.

“Highness, does she know who she is?” she asked in a low voice. “Where she’s from?”

Thabiso looked over at her, feeling the weight of Ledi’s loss as if it were his own. It was, in a way. “I don’t think so.”

The vestibule was suddenly stifling. Likotsi swung the door open, as if she sensed it too, and let in some fresh air. Fresh by New York standards.

“If her parents died soon after they arrived . . .” Likotsi looked anguished. “This changes everything. This means they never returned because they did not have the opportunity. This means they never communicated because they could not. This means . . .”

Likotsi’s expressive face contorted in confusion.

Thabiso nodded. “She says she does not remember her family at all. I assumed her parents had changed her name to Smith to avoid detection, but it could have been done by the state if they did not know who she was. It is a very common name here.”

“I will look into it, sire.”

Likotsi had a determined look in her eye, and that usually boded well.

“Just—perhaps you should tell her who you are now?”

“How was the penthouse?” Thabiso asked, changing the subject. “And I believe that you never wear the same suit twice in a row, but what have we here?”

He tugged at her lapel, which bore a red stain of some sort. Lipstick?

“There is a term native to this region. I learned it last night. ‘nunya.’”

“Nunya?”

“‘Nunya business’ is the full colloquialism.” Likotsi got a faraway look in her eye and smiled as she said it, as if there was some joke in the words that Thabiso couldn’t decipher.

“I understand. I think. I will stay out of your affairs, but I’m glad to see you smiling like a schoolgirl.”

Likotsi was quite the bachelorette back in Thesolo, though she, too, had lost her taste for dating of late. Many disappointed mothers hoping to have the prince’s right hand, and eventually the King’s right hand, as a daughter-in-law had been sorely disappointed.

“Bah,” she said, brushing past him to step outside. “There are matters of more import than my love life.”

He was going to point out that love was a rather strong word to use so quickly, but then he saw how grave her expression had become.

“What is it?” he asked as he stepped outside behind her. A group of teenagers bopped past the front of the building, their posturing reminding Thabiso of the students who attended the high school that bore his name. Youthful braggadocio was the same worldwide it seemed.

She sighed and shook her head. “There has been a report from Lek Hemane. The wife of one of the elders has fallen ill.”

His stomach lurched. “Who?”

“Annie,” Likotsi whispered. Annie Jarami was a legend in Thesoloian politics, and her husband, Makalele, was just as respected. They were keepers of knowledge, those who had lived through generations of change in the kingdom and who told tales at times of festivity. They’d both been old for as long as Thabiso could remember, but Annie was hardy, like the twisty trees that sprout on the windiest mountain and bear the brunt of the gale, leaning but never falling.

Annie was also Ledi’s grandmother.

“Ingoka makes no mistakes, Highness. For Annie to become gravely ill now? You must tell Naledi who you are, and who she is, soon,” Likotsi said. “In case the worst comes to pass.”

Thabiso gave a quick nod. The burden of the secret he was keeping seemed to grow heavier by the hour, but there were other issues at hand. “Will Annie’s sickness impact the tribal representation at the land stewardship meeting?”

“Yes. Makalele refuses to leave Annie’s side, so Finance Minister Alehk is going to represent them. He is . . . cut from a different cloth than his parents, as you well know.”

That was Likotsi’s delicate way of saying the man was greedy, stubborn, and didn’t care about the well-being of his tribe, only about lining his pockets. He was the primary push for the Omega Corp deal, which was reason enough for Thabiso to distrust the company. Alehk had convinced the majority of the other ministers though, forcing Thabiso’s hand. He had always wondered why the goddess had punished Annie and Makalele with not one dishonorable child, but two; though now everything he thought he knew about Libiko might be wrong.