Hope flickered across Sanjeet’s face. He hesitated, and then pulled a golden anklet from his pocket. “It’s all I have.”

“It doesn’t have to be the whole thing,” I said, removing a tiny bell from the chain. A memory passed into me—a woman’s foot beating rhythmically on a dust floor, and the ring of throaty laughter. I cast the bell into the lamp, watching as the metal curved and smoldered.

Nothing happened; the air in the playroom was stagnant. Sanjeet’s expression fell.

“Mbali said shades only visit if they aren’t at peace,” I said. “Or if they have to tell you something. So maybe it’s a good sign.”

He nodded woodenly. Desperate to feel useful, I taught him the blessing that Mbali had spoken over Ianthe. We stared into the dwindling lamp and spoke it together: You are immortal now. Immoveable, a thousand hills rolled into one. May you join Egungun’s Parade and pass into paradise at Core.

The lamp went out. When Sanjeet spoke again, his voice was chillingly calm.

“I’ve been planning to kill him,” he said. “All day, I’ve been trying to find a way to escape An-Ileyoba, leave the Children’s Palace, and infiltrate Father’s prison.” He gave a tight-lipped smile. “Then I realized, that’s the kind of stunt that would make him proud of me. I hope you never win the pride of a monster, Tarisai. It’s worse than their contempt.”

I rejoined him on the divan, and ran a thumb over his tear-stained cheek. “So make him ashamed of you. Stay here. Get anointed and be a protector instead of a killer. Dayo needs you, Jeet. He loves you, and you love him too. You passed his Ray test before any of us. That must mean something, right?”

Sanjeet grew very still. “Do you know why I was able to connect with Dayo’s Ray?” He gripped the edge of the divan, knuckles growing pale. “It’s because I had a younger brother just like him. I see people as a butcher marks an animal. Strength, weakness. Bones and flesh. But my brother, Sendhil … his Hallow was different. He saw weakness too, but in souls instead of bodies. He knew why people were hurting. Like Dayo, he knew just the right thing to say.”

I nodded, remembering how kindly Dayo had spoken to Zyong’o in court.

“Father thought my brother was too soft. He put Sendhil in pit fights, like me. Said it would ‘make a man out of him.’ But Sendhil lost every fight. He felt bad for his opponents, understood their pain too well. So Father sold him as a recruit to desert mercenaries. He was nine. Nine, Tarisai. And before the mercenaries came for him, Sendhil asked me to help him run away. But I … I refused. Scared of what Father would do if he caught us. And—” His face contorted with guilt. “I wanted Sendhil to enlist. I thought the mercenaries would make him stronger. He was too kind, I thought. Too naive. If he stayed that way, the world would eat him alive. I hated my father … But deep down, I was just like him.”

“You were just a child, Jeet. You did what you thought was best.”

“I betrayed my brother.” Sanjeet’s expression was hard. “And when Sendhil returned on leave a year later, he was different. He used to cry when Father beat Amah. Now he just watched, like … like he respected Father for it. And instead of using his Hallow to comfort, now he used it to destroy. He never lied, Sendhil, not ever. He didn’t need to. He could look at a stranger on the street and know the exact combination of words to reduce him to tears. Even Father was scared of him. So he returned Sendhil to the mercenaries, and soon after, Amah sent me away here. I never saw my brother again.”

“I’m sorry,” I whispered, placing my hand in his.

He stared into space, absently crushing my fingers. “Amah’s shade didn’t come,” he murmured. “Not even to give me advice. Maybe that means she’s at peace. That my place is here. You’re right, Tar; I can’t let Dayo turn into Sendhil. I won’t let him lose faith in the people he loves. I won’t let him know betrayal.” A chill chased up my now-numb fingers. He looked at me as though waking from a trance, expression softening. “You’ve helped me see my duty, sunshine girl.” His lips brushed the back of my hand. “Once you’re anointed, I know you’ll keep Dayo safe too.”

I extracted my hand, smiling at him nervously. “You can be more than the Prince’s Bear. You could use your Hallow to teach people how to heal. Kirah said you have theories on how to start someone’s heart again—pumping their chest with your hands. That’s amazing, Jeet. It could save lives.”

He nodded, but continued to smile at me with that restless, unsettling warmth. “I never let myself get attached to staying here, you know. While Amah was still alive, I couldn’t commit to any person, any place forever. But now …” He leaned toward me unconsciously, and my pulse quickened at his scent, earth and polished leather. His face glowed with an expression I had never seen on him before: joy.

“Let’s get anointed,” he murmured, breath tickling my face. “Right now. We’ll wake Dayo and connect with his Ray. Then—”

The door flap to the playroom burst open. “Unscheduled trial,” a crimson-robed testmaker said, brusquely beckoning us to the door. “All candidates are to report to the northern courtyard.”

“Courtyard?” Sanjeet raised an eyebrow. “But it’s the middle of the night. What test could we have out—”

“The trial is timed,” the testmaker snapped, herding us out of the playroom. Once we were in the corridor, streams of sleepy, confused children filed past, all headed for stairs leading out of the Children’s Palace. Sanjeet followed them, but to my surprise the testmaker held me back.

“The prince is being kept in a different location. He has requested your presence specially. You are to come with me.” Her hand closed around my wrist with surprising strength, and we charged in the opposite direction of the mass exodus, marching until we reached the abandoned back halls of the Children’s Palace. We turned the corner—and my heart stopped dead in my chest.

On the ground crouched a beast I had only ever seen in books. A spotted coat of black and orange shone lividly against the sandstone corridor walls, and heat radiated from its massive body.

Leopard, my mind’s library murmured.

Yet how could it be? Leopards were surely no taller than a man. This beast was the size of a horse, with wily yellow eyes that gleamed from yards away.

I screamed, but the testmaker’s hand clapped around my mouth. She leaned close to my ear, and when she hissed, she no longer sounded like a lady from Oluwan. “That’s enough from you, little demon.”

A lilting Mewish accent laced every word. I swung around and looked up: The testmaker’s face shimmered and melted away, leaving another one in its place.

“Kathleen,” I gasped.

In front of us, a man emerged from the shadows to stroke the beast’s enormous head. Shimmering amethyst birthmarks covered the man’s golden, sinewy frame.

“I see your years at An-Ileyoba haven’t taught you any manners,” Woo In droned. “Meet my friend, Lady’s Daughter. Hyung is my emi-ehran.” Woo In scratched the crest of the animal’s massive head, and it purred with pleasure, vanishing and reappearing repeatedly. “Am sends spirit-beasts to comfort Redemptors in their last moments of life,” Woo In explained. “But I refused to die in the Underworld, and when I escaped, Hyung came with me.”

“How did you get in here?” I faltered.

Kathleen smirked. “Woo In flew through a window. I became that boring Lady Adesanya, and then I made Hyung look like a lapcat.” She scowled at the beast. “It was a pain, throwing a glamor around something that big. But Woo In insisted …”

“You could have made Hyung invisible,” Woo In retorted.

Kathleen rolled her eyes. “Do you know how hard it would have been to convince thirty Imperial Guard warriors that they were seeing nothing? I’m Hallowed, but I’m not a god. Leave your pet at home next time.”

I had not seen Woo In and Kathleen in so long, I had half convinced myself that I’d made them up. For a disorienting moment, I wanted to hug them and cry. They were my sole connection to home, to Bhekina House and Swana. But their faces served as chilling reminders of who—of what—I was. Reminders of what The Lady had sent me to do.

“Have you been here the whole time?” I asked. “In the Children’s Palace—spying on me?”

“We visit often enough.” Kathleen sniffed and continued. “Enough to know you have neglected your duties.”

“You left for years,” I sputtered. “And you didn’t tell me anything. Not that Mother used to live here, or that the Emperor’s Council would try to poison me, or that …” I swallowed. “Or that the boy in Mother’s portrait was Dayo.”

Kathleen waved a dismissive hand. “If you had known more, the Emperor’s Council would never have let you near Dayo. Especially not Mbali. Her Hallow is discerning the truth, and so ignorance was your only shield. All in all, I’d say things have actually gone rather well. Barring the obvious.”

My mouth went dry.