smirked. Kirah had long ceased to quote her mother’s prim truisms. When we were younger, the other candidates had mocked her—Mama says, Mama says—until she turned pink with anger, and sealed her mouth shut. “They’re spoiled rich brats,” she had complained to me in private. “They’ve never seen a desert, or herded goats, or worked a farm. They were raised to be tested at the palace. They’ve never had a real family.”
“Neither have I,” I’d pointed out. Kirah knew about my lonely childhood at Bhekina House, though I had kept ehrus and wishes out of it. “Do you think I’m spoiled?”
“Well … yes.” Kirah had flushed, straightening her prayer scarf. “No one made you change soiled nappies. Or chase vultures for miles to find water. Or dry camel dung to fuel the cook fires.” She’d paused, considering me. “But your mother never sang to you, or made you cinnamon milk, or stroked your hair when you were sick. I guess there are different ways of being spoiled.”
Now, from the rooftop, we could see men and women dancing in the Oluwan City markets, paint shining on their glistening bodies as drums gave a low, infectious heartbeat.
“Mama believes what the priests say,” Kirah said, answering my question. “That people are like rocks stacked in a totem: men over women, women over children. We accept our roles, or the whole tower falls apart.” She watched the palace’s sun-and-moon banners twist in the wind. “A songbird was not meant to soar as an eagle.”
I frowned, remembering The Lady’s words on the day I had last seen her. You caged me like a bird, but you could not make me sing.
“What about Empress Aiyetoro?” I asked. She had surfaced out of the genealogies drummed into me by tutors. Her name was old Arit, and I faintly remembered what it meant: peace from shore to shore. “Aiyetoro ruled Aritsar for decades. She’s the reason women can join the Imperial Guard. She founded the Imperial College, and abolished the interrealm slave trade, and—”
“Wait.” Kirah held up a hand, cocking her head to listen. “Dayo’s wondering where we are. I’m telling him we’ll be down in a few minutes. Sorry—what were you saying?”
“Never mind.” I looked away, trying not feel resentful. Kirah was my best friend. The roof had always been our space, away from the spying walls of the Children’s Palace. But Kirah wasn’t mine anymore. She belonged to Dayo and her council siblings now, with their minds connected through the Ray.
My gaze fell on the Watching Wall, which cut through Oluwan City below. In a muraled parade of conquerors, rainbow plaster enshrined every Kunleo emperor and council. Someday, Dayo’s face would join that parade. And Kirah’s, and perhaps Sanjeet’s as well.
My brow furrowed as I counted the painted emperors, comparing them to the genealogies in my head. Edebayo the First, Oluwatoyin the Vanquisher, Edunrobo Imperion, Abiyola the Third, Adeyinka the Mighty …
“Empress Aiyetoro isn’t there,” I said at last, blinking with confusion. “They didn’t paint her.”
“Aiyetoro was an exception,” Kirah said. “I asked the priests about her. They say she was a fluke: Am only gave Aiyetoro the Ray because her father died without male heirs. An exception does not negate the rule.” She flicked a pebble over the edge of the roof, fidgeting with the tasseled edges of her prayer scarf. “You know—when I left home, I believed no place would ever be quite as beautiful, quite as right as the Blessid Valley.”
“I remember.” I grinned, imitating Kirah at age twelve. “Mama says the Blessid Valley sky was woven by the Pelican itself. A tapestry with no snags, floating over honey-colored mountains.”
The corner of Kirah’s mouth lifted. “Beauty and order were our idols. To Blessids, a pot is not finished until every lump is smooth. Our parties are always the same: the same songs, the same food. Stories we tell over and over again.” She sighed. “Don’t laugh, but when I first came to the Children’s Palace, I used to fantasize about talking to Mama. In my dreams I’d tell her, ‘Today, I learned how to use a spear!’ Or, ‘Today, I solved a logic puzzle faster than anyone else!’ And Dream Mama would say, ‘My wise and disciplined girl! See how my Kirah takes her good home training into the big wild world.’ But now when I dream of Mama … I say things that make her frown.” Kirah paused, watching a flock of synchronized swallows soar across the red-streaked sky. “I say, ‘Why