alone,” he barked. “Not now. It’s not safe.” I ignored him, not stopping until we both reached my room in the north tower.
Aiyetoro’s drum lay by the window, next to The Lady’s mirror. I snatched it up, then looked around wildly. “I need something sharp.”
At my own request, I had not wielded a weapon since the night I had stabbed Dayo. Puzzled, Sanjeet unsheathed a dagger from his belt and handed it to me. Then he watched as I sliced open the head of Aiyetoro’s drum.
Several pieces of crumpled journal paper, thick with the rounded handwriting of Old Arit, toppled out … and then two objects clinked onto the stone floor.
Hands shaking, I picked up the jewel-toned masks and turned them in the light. They were shaped like the heads of lionesses, and each was carved with a word: Obabirin. Iyaloye. Empress. Crown Princess. Both masks roared with the memories of beating hearts, the strident voices of Kunleo girls, of Raybearers who refused to be silenced.
The obabirin mask had several stripes, representing the council members anointed by The Lady and her birth immunity. The iyaloye mask had only one stripe. Bright red, for the immunity I had been born with: burning.
“There have always been four,” I whispered. “Two rulers and two heirs. Raybearers. All of them.” An image flashed in my mind: the mural in the ceiling of Aiyetoro’s library. Overlapping gold discs. Two suns, surrounded by linking hands—a united Aritsar.
Sanjeet’s expression was calm. “After what just happened in that hall,” he said, leaning down and pressing his lips to mine, “if anyone doubts you, they’re a damned fool.”
“You shouldn’t kiss me,” I giggled, manic with nerves. “I’m still cursed. Still dangerous.”
“Very,” he said. “Very, very dangerous. And all of Aritsar knows it.” He kissed me again, and I trembled with laughter, heart thudding in my chest.
“Thaddace will challenge my ruling,” I said when we parted for air. “It’ll take him a while, but he’ll find a way to reverse it. I haven’t accomplished anything.”
“You’ve won the people’s hearts.” Sanjeet traced my brow, where my cloud of hair, unfettered by the ivory crown, now sprang around my face. “Not to mention the Imperial Guard. They remember what you did for Captain Bunmi, and they were miserable enforcing Thaddace’s edict. No matter how the emperor sullies your name, Aritsar won’t give up the hope you gave them today. Not without a fight.” He smiled and touched the crown princess mask with its mark of iyaloye. “You should call it. Say its name.”
I sucked in a breath, remembering how Dayo’s mask had flashed with light. It was the last test: the ultimate proof of a Raybearer.
“All right,” I murmured. “Iyalo—”
Then footsteps padded on the tower landing. Sanjeet held me close, putting a hand on his scimitar hilt—but it was Kirah who burst through the door.
“The emperor,” she panted. “He’s sentenced The Lady to death. He’s taken her back to Heaven, where she’ll be executed on the hour.” Her pupils were dilated, and tears spilled on her round cheeks. “I’m sorry, Tarisai.”
A warrior blocked our way at the bottom of the staircase to Heaven. “Pardon, Anointed Honors,” he stammered at me, Sanjeet, and Kirah. “I have orders from the emperor. Everyone authorized to facilitate the execution is already upstairs. If you like, you can watch downstairs from the courtyard, with the rest of the court—”
Arm darting out like a snake, I clasped the warrior’s neck, releasing him just as quickly. He stumbled back, brandishing his spear.
“Anointed Honor. Why did you—”
“What were your orders?”
He blinked and frowned, rubbing his head. “I … I’m sorry, Anointed Honors. I don’t remember.”
“Then let us pass,” I snapped, and the three of us pushed past him and launched up the stairs. There were more guards on the landing; I took the memory of one while Sanjeet and Kirah restrained three more. “We’ll hold them,” Sanjeet told me. “Go.” Then I charged through the iron door into the brow-beating sunshine of Heaven.
Olugbade and his Eleven stood in a semicircle around The Lady, who stood as tall and impassive as the tower itself. All except the emperor held bows, cocking arrows at The Lady’s heart. A warrior beat a mallet drum, counting down.
“No,” I screamed. Only the drummer flinched. Olugbade’s Eleven remained perfectly still, letting the emperor’s Ray unite them in focus. Hundreds of feet below, spectators filled the courtyards, squinting up to view the execution.
“You should have stayed away.” When Olugbade turned to face me, his tone was maddeningly