was. He hadn’t budged even when the bedroom doors slammed behind Kirah. But I lay quietly, afraid of spooking him.
Then pressure weighed on my bladder. I winced; I hadn’t relieved myself for hours. Come to think of it, I was hungry too. I wriggled from the pile of panther skins and stood. The pressure intensified. After a fruitless glance around the room, I cleared my throat.
“E-excuse me,” I said. “Do you ever … I mean … Do you know where they keep the chamber pots?” My face heated. The figure tensed, as though surprised I had addressed him. “Never mind,” I mumbled. “I’ll just—”
“The pots are kept in the corner.”
I froze in surprise. The boy had not moved, but his voice filled the room, soft and implausibly deep.
“Put it back when you’re done. Servants take them away in the morning.”
“Oh. Thank you.” I crept to a corner and retrieved a brightly painted clay pot. I paused again. “Are the privy screens outside?”
The boy made a growling sound, almost a laugh. “Privacy is illegal here, new girl. Council members aren’t allowed to have secrets. Most candidates relieve themselves in the morning or late at night, when the gender screen is still drawn.” His Dhyrmish accent slid in a musical scale. Plosive consonants skipped across the boy’s tongue, like stones on a pond. He added, “Don’t worry. I won’t look.”
I did the deed as quickly as possible, stashing the pot in one of the window alcoves. My stomach gurgled. I remembered the feast I had seen in the dining hall earlier, and asked, “Where can I find food?”
“I wouldn’t know,” the boy replied. “I missed dinner hours ago.”
“My servants tied me up like you once,” I blurted awkwardly. “They were afraid I would steal their memories while they slept. I always give memories back after I take them. But they didn’t trust me.”
For the first time, the Dhyrmish boy turned.
Due to his size, I had expected him to look older, but a startlingly young face flickered in the candlelight, with a heavy jawline, reddish-brown skin, and steeply slanted eyebrows. His ears stuck out, as though he’d yet to grow into them, though the idea of him growing more was hard to imagine. “Stealing memories,” he said. “That’s your Hallow?”
I nodded. “Like this.” Feeling a strange urge to impress him, I placed a hand on Dayo’s dais. The marble groaned as my mind invaded its pores. The stone remembered a boy who had slept there decades ago. Over and over, he had rasped into the blankets: The Lady … The Lady … The Lady.
I snatched my hand from the dais as if it had burned me.
The Dhyrmish boy raised an eyebrow. “Something wrong?”
“Emperor Olugbade slept here before Dayo,” I explained. “When the emperor was young, he had bad dreams. I think Dayo gets bad dreams here too.”
“You see all that?” asked the Dhyrmish boy. “Just by touching things?”
“People leave stories everywhere. It’s easier to take them from living things. Trees, soil. Objects and dead things don’t have very clear memories.”
The boy ran a hand through large, soft curls. “When you take memories, could you take them for good?” The chain on his arm rattled. “Could you make someone’s memories disappear forever?”
“No!” I said. “I mean, I don’t know. I’ve never tried that before.” To my surprise, the boy looked disappointed. “My name’s Tarisai of Swana,” I said. “What’s yours?”
“Sanjeet of Dhyrma.” He tensed when I came near, hiding his shackled arm. “Aren’t you afraid of me?”
“Should I be?”
“You heard the Blessid girl,” he said dryly. “I’m the ‘Prince’s Bear.’”
I looked down, sheepish that he had overheard us. “Kirah said you were able to connect with Dayo’s Ray. That means you love him. So you can’t be all bad.”
“Bears are dangerous, even if they don’t want to be.” He stared hard at his calloused hands. “It’s in their blood.”
I remembered what Nawusi had said about me: Murder is in that child’s blood.
“Nobody has to hurt people if they don’t want to,” I snapped. “Nobody. They can’t make us.”
“Of course they can,” Sanjeet said evenly. “If we’re anointed, we serve at the pleasure of Prince Ekundayo. It’s the council vow: We shine as moonlight; we reflect the morning star.”
I frowned. “Why would anyone want to be moonlight? It’s white and cold. I’d much rather be sunshine.”
For the first time, Sanjeet’s lips twitched in a smile. His eyes, I noticed, were the color of long-steeped almond tea. Curiosity crept into his gaze, and I returned it.