My hands flew up to my throat, seizing the sunstone. His broad features were still smooth and unlined, but somehow he looked older. Wiser. He wore only his bedclothes, laces undone at the collar to reveal his obsidian mask. He had been dressed the same way my last night at Yorua, when I’d lured him to that cliff.

“I’m sorry,” I said, choking through the flood of violent urges that still controlled me, and thanking Am for the locked wooden door. “I’m so sorry.”

“You haven’t been reading my messages.”

“You shouldn’t be here.”

“Because you’ll try to kill me again?”

His matter-of-fact tone made me shiver. As I watched his face, I realized with slow, pressing discomfort that I had no idea what Dayo was thinking. The sensation was foreign. From the moment we met, Dayo’s features had been a page for me to read as I liked. Even when we stood apart in a room, the warmth of his Ray glowed at the edges of my mind, relaying his emotions and fleeting desires. His Ray did not reach for me now.

I searched his pure black eyes in the dark, smarting at the caution I saw there. His former trust had seemed like weakness to me, a folly, not a gift. Now I knew that trust was a privilege. Suddenly, I regretted burning his letters.

“I only came back because of your father’s summons,” I mumbled. “I didn’t want to put you in danger again.”

Dayo considered me, grave and guarded. “Sanjeet told me about Melu’s pool. He said that The Lady’s hold over you will end if you find a purpose. Or if—”

“If I sentence her to death,” I finished. “But it doesn’t matter if I break The Lady’s curse, Dayo. You don’t have to take me back. I know I’ve lost your trust.” I shifted, wondering how he could look so calmly at someone who had slid a knife into his gut. “I’ll leave after the ruling. Forever, if you like.”

“Leave?” For the first time, his features gleamed with pain. “So you would break your promise again.”

“What promise?”

“The night of the fire in the Children’s Palace, you said you’d never abandon me or Aritsar. We made a pact.”

“You should never have anointed me,” I said. “We both know that. If I had told you from the beginning—what I was, what I’d been sent to do—”

“I knew, Tarisai. I knew the whole time.”

Speech deserted me.

Dayo shrugged, playing with the strings of his nightshirt. “Do you remember when we used to share my pallet in the Children’s Palace? When we were little—Once, after you fell asleep, you put your hand on my face. And I saw everything. The alagbato, The Lady. The day she showed you my picture, and wished for you to kill me. You didn’t mean to share that memory, I think. But you wanted to. Looking back, you tried to warn me a million different ways. Even while you slept.”

“‘You remembered,’” I murmured. “That’s what you said when I stabbed you.” Suddenly I was kneeling beneath the quiver tree again, Dayo’s voice rasping in my ear. You missed my heart. That means you’re stronger than her.

“I tried to help,” he said. “I thought I could keep you from remembering, so The Lady couldn’t control you.”

“That’s why you always kept me from thinking about Swana,” I said slowly. “And why you never let Mbali tutor me. You were trying to protect us both.” My head spun. “If you knew what I came to do, then why not have me killed? Why anoint me?”

“Because you could have let me die so many times. When you saved me from that fire, I knew you weren’t The Lady’s pawn. I needed you. More importantly … I knew Aritsar needed you.” He swallowed hard. “It’s hard to explain. When I woke up after Enitawa’s Quiver, and you were gone, it felt like being stabbed again. Losing you wasn’t like losing a friend, Tarisai. It was like … being erased. Like losing half of myself.”

“I tried to kill you. It didn’t make sense for me to stay, not then and not now. It isn’t safe.”

“What if you found the empress and princess masks?”

I froze, and my throat went dry. No. He couldn’t. He couldn’t possibly know unless—

“Don’t be angry at Kirah,” he said slowly. “She confirmed it when I asked, but I’ve always known you had the Ray. I could feel it when we were children. And I’ll admit: It scared me, Tar. I had trained my whole life to be emperor, but deep down, I knew you could do it better.”

“That isn’t true,” I snapped. “To be as kind as you are—to see the best in everyone, the way you do every day—that takes more courage than I’ll ever have. You’re exactly what this empire needs, Dayo. Aritsar would be heartless without you.”

“But it would be weak without you,” Dayo retorted. “You see a mural where I see fractured pieces. You see systems. I only see people.”

“Am didn’t give you the Ray for nothing. You were meant to rule.”

“We were meant to be a team. And you made a promise.” Dayo reached through the grate. Shaking, I released one hand from the sunstone, and let him entwine my fingers with his. “Swear you won’t break it again, Tar. This isn’t our parents’ story. Swear on our blood bond that you’ll do whatever it takes to stay.” His grip tightened, and his expression was bright, desperate. “Whatever it takes.”

I closed my eyes. In that moment, my hours of meditation with Kirah came to a crystal clear solution.

My bellysong was to protect Dayo. And the only way to ensure his safety—the only path to my freedom—was to kill The Lady.

My heart sank to my sandals. I knew what I owed Dayo. I had failed him once already, and no matter how his father had wronged The Lady—no matter how that girl in the Bhekina House study still longed for her mother—I could not fail Dayo again.

I gripped his fingers in return. “Tomorrow,” I said quietly, “I will be who the empire needs me to be.” I kissed the seal of his imperial ring and added, “That’s a blood promise.”

I twisted the gold cuffs on my arms, rubbing the scarlet marks they had dug into my skin. The sun had barely risen over An-Ileyoba, and thousands of Arits—including the kings, queens, and chieftains of twelve realms—were filling the Imperial Hall to witness my First Ruling. From the corridor where I listened, floors above, I could hear them: a dull echoing roar.

Sanjeet stood beside me at the double woven door flaps of a dressing lounge, where our council awaited my entrance.

“Mayazatyl will be disappointed you aren’t pregnant,” Sanjeet observed. I laughed so I wouldn’t cry. His hand closed around mine. He looked magnificent in the sweeping, pearl-studded black kaftan of Dhyrmish nobility. Waiting to be ceremonially dressed before our council, I wore nothing but a silk robe and the sunstone.

“I should have found a way to visit them,” I said. “I should have been braver. Now I won’t have time to explain.”

After the dressing ritual, I would enter the Imperial Hall in a grand procession, flanked on all sides by my council siblings: a display of empire unity. The whole continent would be watching—but in this moment, I only cared about my council siblings. Would they forgive me for staying away all these months? How would I ever explain?

The double doors opened, and ten pairs of eyes turned to me. I found Dayo’s, and Sanjeet’s hand formed a viselike grip on mine. The sunstone burned on the bare skin of my chest, and I steeled my limbs, restraining the beast. You can’t kill him here, I reasoned with the monster inside me, using her devilish logic against her. Everyone in this room has a Hallow. They would kill you before you could finish the job. Wait.

Utter silence. Then Ai Ling crowed at Mayazatyl, “You owe me seven gold coins. Tar doesn’t have a pikin, after all.”

Then everyone except Dayo engulfed me with hugs, teasing and bombarding me with questions. Kirah forced them to give me air, but I didn’t want it. I wanted nothing more but to be buried in my siblings’ chaos, deep within their love where I belonged.

“You look amazing,” I hiccupped, swiping at tears. “All of you.”

They truly did. Attendants had dressed each of them in the clothing of their home realms: individual creations of silk, wool, or wax-dyed cloth. In tribute to the emperor, however, all of them wore elements of Oluwan. My brothers looked imposing in onyx circlets emblazoned with the Kunleo seal, and my sisters towered in Oluwan geles, starched pieces of fabric that bloomed around their heads in bright folded patterns.

“You look like you’re about to fall over,” Kameron snickered at Emeronya, who scowled, adjusting the massive cloth headdress on her small head.

“Mayazatyl’s just as short as me,” Emeronya pointed out.

“The difference,” Mayazatyl sighed, “is that I look splendid.”