opening, a narrow beam of light cut across the floor. I approached slowly, raising my arm to knock on the door. My hand froze midair.
On a dust-covered divan, Mbali straddled Thaddace, clasped to his lean chest. Clothing littered the floor. He buried his face in her neck while their bodies entwined beneath the slanted light of shuttered windows.
I did not blink. If my eyes stayed open, I told myself, what I had seen would evaporate, like water from stones. I spun on my heel and swept back down the corridor. I was going to my room. I had always been going to my room. The salons had been empty, and I had seen no one.
My slippers were mercifully noiseless on the rough tiles. I stepped from the corridor, nearly escaping the secret—and collided with a scullery man.
“Anointed Honor.” Bobbing, the servant gathered up the rags and bucket I had made him drop.
“Where are you going with those?” I asked. The question came out shriller than I had intended.
“Dusting, Anointed Honor. Sorry. I’ll just—”
I stood in his way and asked loudly, “Are you looking for Anointed Honor Thaddace?”
“No, Anointed Honor. I was going to—”
“Anointed Honor Thaddace is in his chambers,” I continued, my voice carrying down the corridor. “On the other side of the keep. He told me to take a message to Anointed Honor Mbali. Return to the kitchens and take each of them some palm wine. In fifteen minutes,” I finished slowly, “I am sure you will find Anointed Honor Thaddace in the western guest chambers, and Mbali in the eastern garden.”
Behind me, I heard a faint scuffle from the salon. I smiled manically at the servant. “Off you go.”
He bobbed again and retreated the way he had come. The smile remained on my face as my feet carried me back to the study. I laid the court cases neatly on the desk, sank onto the divan, and plopped face-first into the cushions.
My sleeping chamber in Yorua Keep scarcely deserved the name. It was used only to store my possessions: my spear, piles of handmade gifts from commoners, and a daunting collection of tunics and wrappers. I stood naked as I sorted through piles of memory-soaked fabric. The musical din of markets rang in my ears, and my skin pricked with the acrid heat of dye vats. My body was suddenly made of fibers, letting the skillful hands of weavers press me together. Inanimate object memories were bewildering, and I usually avoided them—but today I welcomed the distraction.
It had been hours since I’d walked in on Thaddace and Mbali. Water still beaded on my skin from the keep bathhouse, where my council had freshened up for Nu’ina Eve. In a marble chamber partitioned by gender, we had scrubbed with cocoa ash soap and swum in orchid-scented pools, careful to keep our yarn braids dry. Over a wall, I had heard my council brothers splashing and roughhousing. My ear had tuned to a voice deeper than the others: a laugh that rumbled like thunder across the echoing marble tiles.
I ran agitated fingers over gowns and wrappers. I told myself I wanted to impress villagers at the festival. A future High Lady Judge should be seen at her finest. My indecision had nothing to do with a pair of broad shoulders and tea-colored eyes, nothing at all.
I rubbed my skin with shea until it glowed. Rainbow beads stacked in towers on my arms and neck, in the Swana style. Most Arit fashion mixed elements from all over the empire, but Anointed Ones were encouraged to represent their home realms through their clothing. I wondered if this would change after Thaddace’s Unity Edict.
The Nu’ina Eve festivities would be conducted by priests of all four Arit religious sects—including priests of the Ember. I shuddered, steeling myself in advance for copious displays of fire. Unable to extinguish the thought of flames from my mind, I held up a wrapper of red and cardamom yellow. I had designed the pattern myself; the Yorua village women had taught me how to make my own wax-dyed cloth. In the keep courtyard, my council sisters and I spent hours using beeswax to draw patterns on yards of fabric. Once we finished, we plunged the cloth into vats of dye, and then into boiling water. The wax would melt away, leaving our intricate designs behind.
I wound the garment around my body. Across my hips, a huntress and heavy-maned beast repeated in a pattern, silhouetted in ochre and crimson. The