SANJEET AND I FOLLOWED THE TUTSU FOR what must have been several hours, though it seemed like minutes. My head floated on my shoulders. I realized then that I had suffered from a headache for days, and only now had it vanished.

As the tutsu swarmed above us, a low, rippling cloud across the savannah, I found myself babbling to Sanjeet: a side effect of my new, weightless freedom. I told him the stories I had made up when I lived in Swana, as a child forced to watch the world through a window.

“This savannah might as well have been Biraslov,” I said, catching a jewel-toned dragonfly as it hummed past. I cupped the annoyed creature in my hands, drinking in its memories of sparkling ponds and seas of grass. “I’d never gone farther than the Bhekina compound. I forced my tutors to describe things I couldn’t see—villages, markets, weddings. I’d make a picture in my mind, and put myself inside. My favorite story was called school. I made up six brothers and sisters, and an evil school mistress who paddled us. I’d never been spanked before. I thought it sounded exciting.” Sanjeet laughed, and I let the dragonfly escape. “My tutors wouldn’t dare touch me. They were too afraid I’d steal their memories. I would have been spoiled rotten, if The Lady hadn’t sent me away.” I glanced dubiously at Sanjeet. “Were you ever naughty as a boy? I can’t imagine it.” Sanjeet had more self-control than anyone I knew. Even now, as we walked, he was shortening his stride to match mine, every movement a conscious decision.

Sanjeet looked thoughtful. “I was taller than my mother at eight years old,” he said after a pause. “By eleven, I’d passed Father. They forgot that I was still a child, and so I stopped being one. Mistakes were expensive. I broke things all the time, awkward with my own strength. And once I figured out my Hallow, well.” He grimaced, then shrugged. “Emotions were expensive too. I could see any person’s weakness, and so revenge was … easy for me. Effortless. I realized it was safer not to feel. If I was never too happy, then no one could make me sad. And if I was never sad or angry, then I would never hurt someone. Except in the fighting pits, of course. When Father made me.”

He spoke casually, as though recounting someone else’s life instead of his own. Sadness welled in my stomach as I examined him anew, remembering every time I had watched that face smooth into passive stone. I had always assumed he was shutting the world out … not shutting himself in.

I slipped my hand in his. “We were both of us raised in cages.”

His fingers curled slowly around mine. “I guess that’s how we survived the Children’s Palace.”

The sun was low in the sky, dyeing the savannah in red and gold. The tutsu were slowing down, congregating over a scatter of trees in the distance.

“That’s it,” I muttered. Then I laughed, breaking into a run. “We did it! That’s it—that’s Melu’s pool.”

When we arrived, the clearing was just as I remembered. The sighing brush, the purple and white river lilies, bobbing on their tall, slender stems. The amber pool was mirror glass, reflecting the tutsu, who hung like stars against the reddening sky. Far off, the rooftops of Bhekina House smoldered in the setting sun. I shivered. Did The Lady know I was here?

I remembered the man with cobalt-fire wings, bending over me with those warm, slanted eyes, placing a finger on my brow: I bargained with The Lady for the privilege of naming you.

I had missed Melu, I realized with a pang. I had never craved a father, at least, not as I had craved The Lady. But that night in the savannah, the ehru had made me feel … seen. Had he missed me too?

I scanned the clearing eagerly—but instead of a blazing man, a dark, narrow form rested on its side by the pool. It did not move as we approached. Blue wings lay dormant in the dust, smoldering like a waning fire.

“Melu,” I breathed. I rushed to his side, not daring to touch the long, shimmering limbs. “No. Don’t be dead. Please don’t be dead.”

Silence. Then a dry chuckle. “Alas,” Melu said, “death is a wish I may not grant. No matter how deeply I long for it.”

I blinked, taken aback. Laboriously, the ehru roused his pole-like body and stood, wings twitching as they shook off dirt. The Lady’s emerald cuff still glinted on his forearm, and the whole savannah seemed to shudder as Melu gazed down and sighed.

“Oh, daughter. Why did you have to come back?”

It was not the greeting I had imagined.

I stammered after a pause, “You know why, Melu. To break The Lady’s bond. To free us from the curse.”

“And how do you propose to do that here? The Kunleo boy is miles, leagues away.”

I glared. “You know I refuse to hurt him.”

He turned away. “As long as you keep running from him, you will always be The Lady’s plaything. And I will always be her caged bird.”

My hands clenched into fists. Sanjeet, who stared up at the ehru with horror and wonder, placed a restraining hand on my arm. “Tar.”

I had heard once that alagbatos were difficult to persuade. They were wary of sharing secrets with mortals, even in the direst of circumstances. But I had seen deep into Melu’s gold-flecked eyes, gazing at a spark identical to one in myself. Melu had given me his pride: a trait as old as the Swana sky, and as deeply rooted as the grasslands.

“Are you telling me,” I said coolly, “that the mighty, all-knowing guardian of Swana has no idea how to free himself?” Sanjeet’s grasp tightened, but I shook him off and stalked after Melu, refusing to let the ehru turn his back on me. The sunstone warmed on my chest. “Are you telling me that hurting an innocent person—killing Dayo—is the only way for an alagbato to be free of a human’s whim?”

Melu stiffened.

“You’re too strong to let a mortal decide your fate,” I told him. “And you sure as hell aren’t going to decide mine.”

Sanjeet swore and fumbled for his weapon halter as Melu began to glow, radiating blue heat like a smoldering coal. The ehru hovered closer, closer, bending down until his shimmering face was level with mine.

Then he smiled, giving a deep-throated chuckle.

“Put away your sword, Dhyrma boy,” the ehru said. “My daughter has nothing to fear from me.” He touched my brow with a long, slender finger. “You were well-named, Behold-What-is-Coming.”

“Then tell me,” I demanded. “How do I break The Lady’s hold on me?”

Melu considered. “Only one thing is more powerful than a wish, and that is a purpose.”

“You’ll have to be more specific than that.”

Melu’s wings stirred with agitation, as if he struggled for the right words. “Every creature has a purpose. A place in a grand story, a tale as old and pure as life, and stronger than any mortal’s wish. To diverge from the path your mother has set, you must find your place in that grand story. Otherwise, The Lady will decide your place for you. That is all I know.” Melu paused, looking ashamed. “Killing the Kunleo boy was a simpler solution, and that is why I urged you to do it. But I see now that your fate will never be simple, and if you are ever to find your purpose, then you must know who you really are. You must know who The Lady is.”

My pulse quickened. “Tell me everything.”

Melu rose again, ascending until he hovered over the smooth amber pool. “I will tell you, and show you.” The pool’s surface rippled, and from its depths a young face appeared.

It was Dayo. No—a boy who looked like him, playing with wooden spears in the Children’s Palace. The pool rippled again, showing a council woman who had just given birth, cradling a baby girl. A barrage of moving pictures illustrated Melu’s words as he spoke.

“An emperor sires many children in his lifetime. But you only ever hear of one: the Raybearer. Any other heirs are considered irrelevant. As a result, Kunleo daughters—and Rayless sons—are born without fanfare, sent away after weaning, adopted by nobles who raise them away from court.

“By custom, Kunleo girls are not christened. But when a daughter was born to Olugbade’s father, the young crown prince took a liking to her. Prince Olugbade’s sister was so beautiful, clever, and precocious, he gave her a nickname: The Lady.”

Cold washed through my veins and froze, rooting me in place. I shook my head, slowly, and did not stop shaking it until the story was done.