The walls were round, dappled sandstone hung with mudcloth tapestry. The floor had been hastily swept and strewn with reed mats. Near the hearth lay a down-stuffed bedroll, clearly salvaged from another bedchamber. A table, two weathered chairs, and a mirror tinted with age comprised the furniture. Most important: The only entry was a wooden door that locked.

“We can remove that from its hinges,” Bimbola had suggested brightly. “Put up some pretty cloth flaps, perhaps—”

“The door stays.”

She tutted. “Well, we’ll at least make the place presentable. I’ll send for a chest, and a futon, or at least some cushions …”

I barely heard her while I stared through the single unglazed window.

It was a direct view of the Children’s Palace. The domes rose far away, on the opposite end of An-Ileyoba, but I could still make out the arched windows of the Hall of Dreams. Unable to resist, I drew The Lady’s mirror from my pocket.

Kirah had placed The Lady’s bust on a ledge overlooking the Hall. My breath caught: My anointed siblings, my best friends, were roughhousing and laughing, mouths open in jokes I could not hear. They retraced our old haunts, giggling at our cherished games and toys, checking furniture for initials we had carved underneath.

I considered sending a pulse through the Ray, tempted to watch their expressions as my voice sounded in their minds. Do you miss me? Do you hate me? I miss you more than you’ll ever know.

But I said nothing, and put the mirror back in my pocket. It was wrong to spoil their joy. The Lady’s curse was mine to bear alone.

Bimbola had promised to return with a second bedroll, since Sanjeet would be sharing my confinement. When knuckles rapped on the tower room door, I was at the window again. The sill was deep enough to make a seat as I watched the Children’s Palace. Still wearing my dusty wrapper from Tegoso, I hugged my knees as someone entered the room.

“You’re early,” I said without turning. “There isn’t a bed for you yet.”

A high voice cleared its throat. Bimbola, two palace attendants, and a female guard stood in the doorframe instead of Sanjeet.

“You’ve been summoned by the emperor, Anointed Honor,” said Bimbola, worrying her bangles with excitement.

My stomach turned to stone. “What does he want?”

Bimbola’s eyebrows shot up at my irreverent tone. “I was not told. But you can hardly meet him as you are. We shall accompany you to the bathhouse. Perhaps I can …” She looked askance at my hair. “Assist in your toilette.”

Several minutes later, I stood in a shallow, bubbling river that wove through a tiled floor. Stone hyenas perched on walls overhead. Water gushed from the beasts’ grimacing mouths, fed from a reservoir on the roof. The rainwater lapped at my bare hips, and sunlight warmed my back, streaming through unglazed windows shaped like suns and moons.

I had washed in the palace bathhouse before, a child splashing with dozens of other candidates. Now that I was anointed, the chamber had been emptied for my privacy.

My attendants had stripped to their shifts and waded in beside me, scouring my skin and coaxing tangles from my hair. “You’re feverish, Your Anointed Honor,” Bimbola tutted. “That’s council sickness for you. The sooner you’re back with your anointed siblings, the better.”

After my bath, the attendants buffed my limbs with shea butter until they glowed, and then swabbed my pulse points with fragrant bergamot. I refused to let Bimbola restrain my billowing hair, but consented to a thick crown braid at my hairline. My new clothes were an ochre blouse and azure wrapper, embroidered with raised yellow patterns. As a finishing touch, the attendants dusted my jaw and collarbone with shimmering gold powder, clucking with satisfaction.

We passed through the gilded halls of An-Ileyoba, deeper and deeper into the palace’s heart. My attendants grew quiet as we passed over the gleaming tiles, our faces reflected on walls of onyx marble. My feet were wedged in the latest Oluwan fashion: leather slippers with precariously high soles.

Someone rounded a corner of the corridor, nearly causing a collision. My attendants leapt to surround me, tutting with offense—then they recognized the stranger.

“Anointed Honor Mbali,” Bimbola stammered, sinking with the others in a curtsy.

I tried to bow as well, but Mbali grasped my shoulders. The pelican pendant on her breast rose and fell, and her priestess robes were rumpled, as though she had sprinted across An-Ileyoba. Her fingers dug into my sleeves.

“I looked—the Children’s Palace,” she panted. “You weren’t there. Thank Am I found you before—” She glanced behind her, where the wooden doors to Olugbade’s chambers loomed. “Remember the mango tree.”

I shook my head. “Anointed Honor, I don’t under—”

“When you first came to the palace, you stole a story from my head.” Mbali’s grip on me tightened. “Remember what happened when the boy grew afraid of his tree. He cut it down. He burned the branches. But as long as the tree stays in its pot—as long the boy believes it will never grow—the boy is happy. Remember, Tarisai.”

My heart hammered. She did not release me until I nodded. Then she stepped aside and let us pass, and when I looked back, Mbali was gone.

We entered the imperial antechamber, a round, gilded room leading to the personal wing of Olugbade and his council. My attendants bid me farewell, and two Imperial Guard warriors replaced them to march me into a small, warmly lit apartment. Then the door flap was shut behind me, and I was left alone with the emperor of Aritsar.

He faced away from me, stirring the chamber’s small firepit with a poker. He was smaller than I remembered: broad but of short stature, with thinning gray curls, and robes that would blend easily into a crowd. The room had modest tapestries and no windows—a former servant’s quarters, converted into a study. A conspicuous display of humility.

Quietly, I lifted the sunstone around my neck and concealed it beneath my blouse. Then I knelt to the man’s back and murmured, “Your Imperial Majesty.”

When he turned, I clasped my hands to hide their trembling. I had forgotten how strongly the emperor resembled Dayo. The same full mouth and sudden, infectious smile, though his lacked the glow of innocence. “My son’s favorite,” he greeted.

I remembered the mango tree.

“The Crown Prince of Aritsar has no favorites, Your Imperial Majesty,” I replied, reciting the catechism I had memorized as a candidate. “A Raybearer loves his council with equal favor, and governs Aritsar with equal justice.”

“You have learned well,” he replied, and I glanced up just in time to see that his jaw had clenched, and a vein pulsed in his forehead. But the expression vanished, replaced by the jovial, fatherly face beloved by all the empire. “Rise, child,” he said. The lion mask shone on his chest, its striped mane glittering in the firelight. “And tell me why you left Yorua Keep the day after Nu’ina Eve.”

“Research, Your Imperial Majesty,” I said, rising. “I felt stifled in Yorua. I wanted to see how our laws affected our people.”

“A natural desire,” Olugbade said, “and one that does you credit. But you must know how your actions appear. My forces arrested The Lady on Nu’ina Eve, and you left the next morning. I am not angry. I know it must have been hard to remain at the keep, knowing that your mother was in danger.”

His voice was so kind with pity, I almost nodded. But Mbali’s hunted gaze was too fresh in my memory. “When I left, I did not know that The Lady had been captured, Your Imperial Majesty,” I said, neatly dodging the trap in his words. “Kirah brought word to me in Swana.”

He cocked his head. “Your mother has many friends in that realm.”

“I would imagine so, Your Imperial Majesty. She raised me there for many years. Was Swana where she was born?”

“No, she—” Olugbade stopped, and his calm facade slipped as he tried to determine how much I knew. I blinked, doing my best to look insipid. At last he asked, “Why do you think your mother is in prison, Tarisai?”

I pretended to consider. “I heard she was caught near Yorua Keep, trying to trespass. Perhaps she wanted to visit me. She should have known better,” I added. “Everyone knows that members of the Prince’s Council aren’t allowed to see their parents. No one is above the law.”

“No one indeed.” Olugbade nodded. “Which is why you will condemn The Lady to death at your First Ruling, in one month’s time.”

The blood drained from my face. “I …” My mouth was dry. “Anointed Honor Thaddace means for me to give a different ruling, Your Imperial Majesty. He thought—a festival. For orphans …”

“Thaddace is aware of the change,” said the emperor. “If Arit citizens are to accept you as their High Lady Judge, you must demonstrate that your loyalty is not compromised. That your allegiance to the empire is complete. But perhaps your love for The Lady is too strong. I would understand, Tarisai. Any parent would. You must tell me if this task is beyond your capability.”