brow: Oloye. Crown Prince. I shuddered, remembering my first day at An-Ileyoba, when Olugbade taunted me to kill him. Olugbade’s mask was identical to Dayo’s, except that his was marked Oba for emperor, and its mane boasted all twelve colorful stripes.
“This is the only place I can look at it,” Dayo said, then stared over the window ledge at the blackness below. “It’s hard to believe, sometimes. I could slip over the edge—fall ten stories down to the courtyard—and nothing would happen. I wonder if other princes have ever tried.”
“Don’t talk like that,” I said, eyeing the mask warily. Nine stripes colored the obsidian mane, jewel tones glittering in the moonlight. For each person Dayo anointed, a new color would appear, representing the immunity that Dayo had gained, in addition to the one with which he was born. Raybearer princes wore the mask around their necks, hiding it always beneath their clothes. They showed it to no one, lest an assassin discover the kinds of death to which they were not yet immune. Only when a Raybearer’s council was complete did he wear the mask openly, displaying his deathless power to all the world.
Three colors were missing from Dayo’s mask—one for a Djbanti candidate, one for Sanjeet, and one for me.
“Orange, purple, and red,” Dayo murmured. “Gluttony, contagion, burning.”
“Shh!” I hissed, slapping his knee. “You want all of Oluwan hearing how to kill you?”
Dayo didn’t answer; instead he stared longer at the mask before replacing it on a gold chain that hung around his neck and slipped it beneath his tunic to rest with his vial of pelican oil. “Why won’t you let me anoint you?”
I shrugged, avoiding his gaze. “The Ray doesn’t work on me. It gave me a headache. You know that.”
“That was four years ago. Before you knew me. Before you—” He broke off and stared hard at the moon. The words he did not say, loved me, hung between us. “I was a wreck in court today. I had no idea what to tell Zyong’o … But you did.”
I flinched. He crossed his arms, raising an eyebrow. “You had a better ruling,” he said. “I could tell. You were scowling into space, like you do when you’ve solved one of the testmaker’s hardest riddles. Am’s Story, Tar—why didn’t you say something? Why didn’t you correct me, like you did when we were little?”
I shrugged. “You’re the Raybearer. It’s not my place to make rulings.”
“Even if I’m a buffoon at making them?”
The question made me squirm, but I set my jaw and said, “Oloye.” When nothing happened, I waited for emphasis and repeated, “Oloye.” Still nothing. “Now you say it,” I pressed him.
He frowned. “You’ve made your point, Tar.”
“Say it,” I insisted.
“Oloye,” he sighed, and through his tunic, the eyes of the mask flashed.
“See?” I said, once the stars stopped spiraling in my vision. “It’s like the stories say. The mask only responds to its rightful owner: a Raybearer of Aritsar. Am chose you for this, Dayo. You don’t need me.”
“But I do—”
“Well, you shouldn’t,” I snapped, then winced, regretting it. It wasn’t Dayo’s fault he trusted me so blindly. For four years I had protected him, resisting Mother’s wish by refusing his anointing. But if I’d had any shred of a spine, I would have left him years ago. I would have found a way to escape the Children’s Palace, keeping him safe forever, instead of staying to bask in his affection.
As if reading my thoughts, Dayo said, “Promise me you won’t leave.” His voice was quiet. But his gaze was dilated, volatile with fear. “Promise you won’t abandon Aritsar.”
I tried to laugh. “Don’t be dramatic.”
“I can’t explain it, Tar,” he whispered. “But the moment I first saw you, I knew we were linked. We’re beans in a pod, you and I. I think it’s both of us … or neither.”
My blood ran cold. I didn’t understand. They were words a lover would say, but that was not how Dayo meant them. All I wanted was to be gone from that alcove, away from the raw vulnerability in those dark eyes.
“Fine. I promise,” I said, wriggling off the ledge and opening the curtain. “Get some sleep, Dayo. And for Am’s sake—stop taking out that mask.”
I returned to my mat on the girls’ side of the hall, carefully wrapping my hair in its sleeping scarf. Then I lay on the ground, hands folded stiffly beneath my cheek. For what felt like hours, I fought sleep—until at last,