“I’m fine,” I say.

“No child,” Amah whispers, “who has been forced to kill is fine.” Sendhil’s name hangs unspoken between us. “What do you want to be, my son? A blacksmith? A healer? I have seen you set bones before. You sense alignment, find bruises before they appear. You have a gift, Jeeti. Tell Amah what you want.”

Her arms wrap around my torso. I long to hug her back.

“Let go,” I say, not moving an inch. “I could hurt you by accident.”

“You will learn to control your strength. Prince Ekundayo is building his council, and they need candidates from Dhyrma. Your Hallow means a path to Oluwan, my son. A way out.” Her eyes gleam, and I notice a dark purple mark on her shoulder.

“What’s that?” There are daggers in my voice.

She pulls away, hastily covering the mark with her shawl. “An accident. Nothing.”

“Father,” I growl.

“Nothing,” she repeats, fixing me with a gaze feral in its protection. “I will get you out. Away from this house, from this city. You will not become the man I married. I am sure of it.” She stands on her tiptoes, and kisses my cheek. “You will never make your living by causing pain.”

Knuckles rapping on wood roused me from Sanjeet’s memory-dream. We sat up, squinting blearily as an imperial warrior marched into the bedroom and bowed. Bimbola and my other attendants scampered in after him.

“Apologies, Anointed Honors,” Bimbola panted. “We told him you were still sleeping.”

The warrior handed one calfskin to me and another to Sanjeet. The messages bore the emperor’s seal.

My summons was from Thaddace. I was to present myself at the Imperial Library, where I would begin my research for The Lady’s trial. When I read the summons aloud, Bimbola made protesting noises.

“She’ll burn with fever,” she pointed out, confronting the warrior with her hands on her hips. “You expect an Anointed One to spend hours without a member of her council?”

The warrior inclined his head. “The Prince’s Council will be studying in the Imperial Library today. Anointed Honor Tarisai will have company.”

“I’d rather study alone,” I blurted, then added, “Or with Jeet.”

But Sanjeet shook his head. His face had been soft with sleep just moments before, free of shadows and lines. Now, after reading his summons, the stone mask had returned. “The High General requires Dayo and me to drill with the Imperial Guard.”

“Drill?” I frowned. “For what?”

“The ‘suppression of dissent.’” He contained a grimace. “We’ll be practicing riot control.”

Remembering the boy in my dream who had feared his own hands, I stroked Sanjeet’s arm. The attendants noticed and giggled, chattering behind our backs as they brought our trays of breakfast. After we ate, they dressed us in matching outfits, humming with pride when they finished. Apparently, even the Unity Edict couldn’t convince palace courtiers to exchange their finery for empire cloth, though I wondered how long until the request was mandatory. Over his sparse imperial uniform, Sanjeet wore a black robe of crisp jacquard, woven through with gold patterns. I wore a mantle of the same fabric, draped over a silk halter gown the same hue as my skin. The gown’s earth-colored train whispered behind me as I walked, balancing on high-soled slippers. I continued to hide the sunstone beneath my clothes.

The Imperial Library lay just outside the An-Ileyoba gates, a castle in its own right. Orbs of captive sprites lit the cavernous, muraled ceiling, and the walls blazed with wax-dyed tapestry. Black, brown, and scarlet books towered down the aisles, titles tanned on calfskin spines. Boughs of palm fronds and pear blossoms spilled from vases, filling the air with their perfume. A griot’s pure tenor floated above the hush of studious whispers.

Every family in the empire received library ribbons after paying the imperial tax. Scholar-class ribbons were black, good for five visits a week. Noble-class ribbons were blue, and good for three. Gray-ticketed merchants and peasants were allowed one visit a month. When I flashed my seal, the guards waved me in without a word. There was no limit on knowledge for an Anointed One.

The central hall ceiling was one of the oldest in Oluwan, with a mural commissioned by the first Imperial High Priestess. It was unusual: Most murals portrayed a story, usually a battle or a coronation. The Imperial Library ceiling, now heavily faded, portrayed two overlapping gold discs, bordered by a multicomplexioned circle of linking hands.

“Who painted that?” I asked the chief librarian, trying to remember where I’d seen the image before. “Do you know what it means?”

The heavily robed man frowned, scratching his graying head. “I’m afraid not, Anointed Honor. The mural was commissioned by Aiyetoro, back when the Imperial Library was first being built. Most of the relevant documents vanished over centuries ago.”

“Aiyetoro?” I echoed. I remembered then where I had seen the symbol of discs and linking hands: tanned faintly into the border of Aiyetoro’s drum. “She built the Imperial Library?”

The librarian frowned more deeply, nodding. “Yes. Making knowledge accessible to the public was very important to Aiyetoro Kunleo. Too important, in my frank opinion. Knowledge, after all, is dangerous in the hands of the wrong people.”

“Like an empress who isn’t supposed to exist?”

“Beg pardon, Anointed Honor?”

“Never mind.” From somewhere in the vast building, I heard a familiar ring of voices that filled me with longing and dread. They were here: my anointed siblings, chattering and laughing. I prayed they wouldn’t see me as I followed the chief librarian, who ushered me to a private study.

The cramped room was lamplit and strewn with lion pelts. In the center, a mahogany kneeling desk curved around a large red seat cushion.

“His Anointed Honor, the High Lord Judge, has been so considerate as to assist you in gathering sources,” said the librarian, gesturing to the books and papers piled on the desk. “He sends his regrets that he cannot join you. Complications regarding the Unity Edict’s enforcement have kept him … occupied.” The librarian bowed smartly and instructed my attendants to wait outside my study door, and fetch more dusty tomes if I needed them. Then he left me alone.

With a sigh, I knelt behind the cold desk on the stiff tasseled cushion. The stacks of books and records had been neatly labeled. I peered at the note on the first pile: Treason laws, Enoba era to present. Books lay beneath with binding so thick, it had been fortified with leather string. The next pile was shorter, but the label made me uneasy: Disorders of the mind. Case studies: madness and acts of violence. Case studies: delusions of grandeur, belief in self as god; belief in descent from royal blood. The last stack was made entirely of scrolls and letters—and labeled with four words:

Lady X: exile years.

I tore into that pile, devouring the scrolls, hungry to fill in the gaps of my mother’s story. But even after hours, it felt even more piecemeal than before. The documents were varied: half-burnt letters, spy logs, pages from decades-old diaries. One sheet appeared to be a portrait of The Lady above a manifesto in Songul, the prevalent tongue of Songland. The paper was water-damaged, and my Songul was remedial, but I recognized the Arit words divine right and liberator. When my stomach gurgled for lunch, the palm oil lamp wicks now half their original length, I had more questions than when I began.

Council sickness made my vision blur. I had not seen Sanjeet for hours, and nausea threatened to blossom into a headache. But when someone cleared their throat behind the study’s woven door, the pain between my temples mysteriously faded.

“Come in,” I said, and my spirits rose when a round, cheery face peered around the frame.

“Heard a rumor you were hiding in here,” Kirah announced, teetering beneath the weight of several books as she burst through the door flap. She wore a gauzy priestess’s kaftan, and looked well rested. Reuniting with Dayo and our council siblings had agreed with her. She dumped the books into a pile, dusted off her hands, and collapsed beside me at the desk. “Thought you could use some reinforcements.”