can’t live without the Ray. Even my singing can’t cure council sickness.” She took in my blank expression, then dimpled again. “I forgot you were raised under a rock. When you’re anointed, the Ray binds your body to the council. So if you ever get separated—or abandon the council—you get sick. Sweating, fever. Eventually you go mad.” Her voice dropped to a murmur. “That’s why no council has ever committed treason. And that’s why the Emperor’s Eleven are always together, touching and kissing like that. If they stay apart for long, they get the sickness.”
I shuddered, remembering my feverish sleepwalking through Bhekina House. Did I miss The Lady because I was her daughter, or because I was her ehru?
Maybe all love was a bit like council sickness.
“It’s a great honor to try the Ray,” said Kirah. “If you succeed at uniting minds with the prince, you’re sure to be one of his Eleven. Well. Unless you’re him.” She pointed at a shadow across the room.
I realized with a jolt that we weren’t alone after all.
A tall, broad-backed figure leaned against a pillar, so still that I had mistaken him for a piece of furniture. He faced away from us, hunched, as if in a vain attempt to look smaller.
“What’s a man doing in here?” I whispered.
“He’s not a man.” Kirah snorted through her nose. “He’s just big. I heard he’s only thirteen, a year older than me. Some boys get their grown‑up legs early. It happened to my brothers; their voices got all cracked and funny …” She shot a glance at the hunched boy, then shivered. “I’d feel sorry for him, if he didn’t scare me so much.”
“Why? Is he mean?”
“Mama says it’s unholy to gossip,” Kirah said primly. “But … they say he’s killed people. A pit fighter. The others call him the Prince’s Bear, because he’s very protective of Ekundayo. Also, he’s been here longer than any of us. When Ekundayo tried the Ray on him, it worked immediately.”
To my surprise, jealousy pricked. “So the Bear’s already anointed? He’s the first of Dayo’s Eleven?”
“No. He refused the prince’s offer. Refused to be anointed, can you believe it? But the Emperor’s Council still won’t let him leave. They think he’ll change his mind.”
I frowned. What sane child would turn down a permanent family? I could not imagine a rosier life. “I wonder why he said no.”
Kirah tossed her head. “Thinks he’s too good for us, probably. That’s what kids from rich realms are like, you know. I mean … not all of them,” she added awkwardly. “You’re different, I guess.”
“I’m not rich.”
She snorted. “You’re from Swana. Mama says Swana has more maize than blades of grass. Or at least, it used to. A powerful alagbato used to guard your savannahs, so the harvests never failed. But he disappeared some ten, eleven years ago. No one knows why.” My skin ran cold; Melu was trapped in his grassland, unable to serve as Swana’s guardian until I fulfilled The Lady’s wish. I bit my lip with guilt, but Kirah didn’t seem to notice. “You’re lucky to come from fertile land instead of desert. I bet you’ve never gone hungry a day in your life.”
“I haven’t,” I admitted. “Where’s the Prince’s Bear from?”
“Dhyrma,” Kirah whispered. “Where they ride elephants in the streets, and the roads are paved with coins.” She slipped off the bed and fussed maternally over my bedding. “If you’re feeling better, I guess I should go join the others.”
“Maybe I should come too.”
“No; the healer said you should rest. Besides, you’re already the ‘Prince’s Favorite.’ Give the rest of us a chance, huh?” She winked, then jerked her head over at the Dhyrmish boy. “And don’t worry about the Bear. We’ve chained him to the bedpost.”
Alarmed, I squinted at the boy’s gloomy corner of the room. Something silver glinted in the sconce light—a chain of metal links, wrapped around the pillar and ending in a cuff on the boy’s burly arm. “It was a joke,” said Kirah, looking sheepish. “The other kids started it. He’s the ‘Prince’s Bear,’ and bears are baited, so …”
My brow knit. “Doesn’t seem to very funny to him.”
“He could have stopped us if he wanted to. Besides, Mama says Dhyrmish people are like rabid dogs. I’m not going near him.” She refilled my goblet from a pitcher—Mama says sick children ought to drink lots—patted my arm, then hurried from the room.
I watched the figure in the far corner, unnerved by how still he