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.”