tremble as she wraps the bruises and wipes away the blood dried on my knuckles. She curses the money that falls from my shirt. Coins thrown at me after each victory. Coins that Father missed. I am a prize bear: a hero in this city that bets on boys like horses.
“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: