The music’s tempo increased. My muscles loosened; we revolved like moths in firelight. Dayo’s long, lean form grew suddenly unfamiliar as I tried to imagine it near mine, closer than we’d ever been: a promise beyond council vows. I heard the question buried beneath his words. Look at me.

I had always felt close to Dayo in a way I couldn’t explain. We knew the rumors surrounding us, the public expectation that I would bear Dayo’s heir. But the intimacy we shared had never invoked the heat between our legs. I loved him—would die for him—but this new language, the message we sent with our bodies as we danced, felt … insincere. Staged. As though we were acting out parts that the world expected us to perform.

I found my mind slipping away, gone to those shadows beyond the festival grounds, where another man waited in the welcoming darkness.

When the song finished, I backed away from Dayo, letting the revelers form a river between us. He looked on, confused, craning his neck to find me. But I turned and ran from the festival.

Like hurling a stone into a well, I sent the Ray into the darkness. After several moments I found Sanjeet; he had walked half a mile from the village, to where the Obasi Ocean lapped at the mouth of the valley.

When I arrived, the tide was low, revealing a patchwork of pools that winked with shells and sand dollars. The waves crashed like soft cymbals. Blue sprites hummed in the balmy night, winking in Sanjeet’s shadow.

He didn’t look up when I approached. He was leaning against a boulder jeweled with barnacles, his hands busy with something I couldn’t see.

“You sure made a lot of villagers happy,” I said. “They lunged for those jewels you threw away.”

“Good for them.” He still did not look up.

I swallowed and changed the subject. “Why do we give village elders so much power, anyway? What right do they have to say who you are—who anyone is? It’s a dumb tradition.” I scowled at my reflection in a tide pool. “When I’m High Lady Judge, I’m going to change it. Don’t let me forget.”

“And off she goes,” Sanjeet murmured. His voice was cavernous, even against the roar of the waves. “Bent on winning freedom for the entire world. Tarisai of Swana.” He laughed, a gentle growl that made my insides restless. “She would have us be masters of our own fates, whether we like it or not.”

“You think I’m naive.”

“No. I think you’re Aritsar’s best hope. I think there are people in power who see what I see, and they are scared witless. And I think I’ve loved you,” he said, “since that night you pulled a shackle off my arm.”

Sanjeet crossed the dappled mirror of tide pools, and my heart raced, but not with shame or fear. I reached for his cheek, and he leaned into my hand, lips brushing my palm.

“Which laws would you break for me?” I asked.

“Your pick.” His jaw ticked with humor. “You’re the High Lady Judge.”

I flushed. “I want to be responsible.”

“We’ll be careful.”

“No, I meant … I want to be responsible for you. For your good dreams. Your nightmares, Jeet. I want to know them all.” My hands fell to his chest, where solid muscle warmed through black linen. “I won’t always know how to help. But I want to be there for all of it.”

“As my council sister?”

My nose wrinkled with distaste, and he chuckled. “I’ve come,” I said, gripping the front of his tunic, “to claim that cowrie shell.”

Suddenly I was airborne; Sanjeet had swept me up, and I laughed as his burly arms wrapped around me. He placed me on the barnacle-covered boulder, and revealed what he had been working on when I arrived: an anklet of tiny gold bells, the same one he had shown me that night his mother died. Sanjeet had linked the cowrie shell onto the chain.

“I kept Amah’s anklet with me to remember. But it’s yours now.” He insisted when I hesitated: “You let me carry your story. I trust you to carry mine.” His hands cupped my foot, dusting off sand and red earth from the festival grounds. The cream-colored shell winked against my ankle as he clasped the chain. The faint sensation of another woman’s fingers pricked in my thoughts. I heard her laugh, bells shivering against her heels as she danced and sang.

“I want to give you something too.” I fumbled with the folds of my wrapper and held out the fiery sunstone.

“You shouldn’t,” he said. “That’s special.”

I snorted. “I have no plans to ‘bear the fruit of dominance.’”

He chuckled and accepted the stone. “But this isn’t a token for trading.”

“No. But the cowrie shell is,” I intoned in my best impression of the solemn village elders. “You must take something in return.”

Warmth spread like butter over Sanjeet’s face. He pulled me to the boulder’s edge, bracing my hands on his shoulders. “I choose the girl who walks through fire,” he said. “I choose sunshine.”

I had kissed boys before. We all had, at the Children’s Palace, in the games children play when they’re bored. Every touch had been a dare, a cheap thrill, a way to flaunt our developing bodies and to sample adulthood.

This kiss was different. As his mouth pressed into mine, there were no games or experiments. Just a silent pledge that shook the earth beneath me.

When his tongue grazed my bottom lip, the kiss deepened. I ran my fingers through his hair, and his hands tightened on my waist. He still tasted of honeywine, heady and sweet. When we parted, his face remained close, lashes brushing mine.

“There’s a tree,” I said after a moment. “Enitawa’s Quiver. Mayazatyl … she told me it’s where …”

“I’ve heard of it.” He raised an eyebrow, searching my face with surprise and amusement.

“I’ve never been before,” I said quickly, feeling flustered. “But maybe that’s where we can go later. To talk. And … be like this.”

The stubble on his jaw tickled my neck. I shivered. “When?” he asked.

“Tonight,” I said. “Tonight.”

We both stiffened. A barrage of distant voices echoed in our minds, vying for attention. The Ray.

Sanjeet groaned. “Our council’s worried.”

I nodded, resting my head against his. “We’d better go back. You don’t suppose they’ve guessed?”

“They can’t read our thoughts unless we let our mental guards down,” Sanjeet said. “I’ve got nothing to hide if you don’t.” Dayo’s forlorn expression after the dance flashed in my head. Sanjeet read my features, guessing correctly where my thoughts had gone. “We’ll keep it between us, then.”

“For now,” I said.

“For now,” he agreed.

We held hands until the festival grounds were in sight, then reluctantly walked side by side, keeping space between us. We fooled no one, of course. Once our council siblings saw we were safe, they nudged each other and threw knowing smirks in our direction.

Well, well, if it isn’t the Judge and the Bear! Found a better party than this one, eh?

I avoided looking at Dayo. He could never hide pain, and never had the pride to try. But when I gave in and peeked, his face merely shone with relief. We grinned at each other, sheepish. Dayo had not wanted to be my lover any more than I had wanted to be his. I wondered, then, about the bond between us, different than what I felt for my council siblings. In some ways, it was even stronger than the spark between me and Sanjeet.

Before I could return to the Prince’s Council dais, an Imperial Guard warrior stepped into my path. She bowed to me, then pointed at Thaddace and Mbali’s dais across the festival grounds.

“Their High Anointed Honors have summoned you,” the warrior said.

I gulped. Had they disapproved of my disappearance from the festival? I sighed and slunk obediently to the far dais, bracing for a reprimand.

Mbali and Thaddace stared down at me from their tasseled cushions, looking resplendent in their festival wear. Mbali represented Swana, like me, and wore stacks of rainbow bangles on her willowy arms and neck. Thaddace was swathed in green Mewish tartan. I knelt on the dais steps, staring nervously at their gold-trimmed sandals.

“I’m sorry I left the festival,” I babbled after an unnerving silence. “I know it’s unseemly for Prince’s Council members to travel alone. But we’re so close to the keep. And I was worried about Sanjeet, and—”

“We’ve put you in a difficult position,” interrupted Mbali.

I opened my mouth to bleat out another apology, then closed it. “Anointed Honors?”

“We know what you saw in the keep, Tarisai.” Mbali waited until I could have no doubt about what she meant. My face heated.

“I assume,” Thaddace intoned, “that you have told your council.” He stared over my head, and I realized that he was embarrassed. Poor Thaddace. I had seen him naked, and he still had to be my law tutor.

“It’s only natural if you told them,” Mbali added kindly. “They’re your council siblings. But our secret is very dangerous, Tarisai. It could threaten Aritsar’s stability. Your discretion is essential.” I nodded, but she continued in a neutral tone. “In his letters to the emperor, I hope you will encourage Dayo to be discreet as well.”

I gaped like a fish out of a stream. Mbali and Thaddace wanted me to keep a secret.