the edge. I wanted to scream when village children peered into the pit, throwing bits of goat fat and giggling when the flames crackled and popped. Didn’t they know how dangerous fire was? How evil and treacherous?
No. Those children are normal. You’re the crazy one. I stuffed my mouth with fried plantain, wishing for more honeywine to dull my frayed nerves. My scalp still ached from the tight yarn-plaits, throbbing every time I moved my head.
As the irubo ended to cheers and applause, the musicians struck up a mischievous tune on bells and shaker gourds. Children flocked to the festival clearing and took turns doing the worst dances they could imagine. They pursed their lips and pulled faces as they chanted, Brother-sister do as I do; don’t laugh as I do; don’t laugh as I do … Each child had to copy the leader’s dance without smiling or falling out of step, or else lose the game. My council tried to keep dignified faces, but within minutes our cheeks smarted from laughing. Dayo jumped off the front of our dais, dancing into the circle of children. With mock gravity, he pulsed his hips to the beat, shaping his arms in a tangle of poses.
The village watched, speechless. Then a little boy dared to giggle. Then, an old woman—and in a tidal wave, the crowd was copying their future emperor’s ridiculous dance, helpless with laughter.
Dayo grinned. He reminded me of a pool in a savannah, drawing creatures of every stripe to quench their thirst. He made people love him: naturally, permanently. And the brighter he glowed, the more fragile he seemed to me. He was everything our empire hoped for, and everything we had to lose.
I jumped as the pit flared up again. Someone had tossed a bowl of perfumed oil onto the flames, signaling that it was time for the choosing of tokens. Village elders disguised by large wooden masks chanted over vessels of honeywine. The vessels’ tapered necks shielded the tokens inside from sight. One by one, the masked elders called us to dip smooth-handled drinking gourds into the vessels. We were each to drink until we found a token.
Dayo went first, fishing a smooth cocoa bean from his gourd. The token had a well-known meaning: a future bitter and sweet. “That is a token you may trade,” intoned one of the elders. “Shall you keep it, Imperial Highness?”
Dayo’s slender fingers closed around the bean. “Of course,” he said, raising the token above his head and making the traditional speech. “I will swallow bitterness so the lives of my people may be sweet.” The villagers cheered as Dayo chewed the raw bean, and my stomach churned for reasons I could not name. A young village girl crowned Dayo with a wreath of woven grass, and then trembled before him with an unspoken request. He knelt to hear it, and the girl pointed shyly to his mask.
“Make it sparkle,” she lisped.
Dayo grinned, then cried the word emblazoned on the mask in old Arit, calling its power as only true Raybearers could. “Oloye!”
The mask’s eyes burst into scintillating light, making all who watched gasp and shield their faces. Then the villagers whooped and burst into applause: To be touched by the divine light of a Raybearer, many believed, meant a year of splendid luck.
Thaddace and Mbali claimed their tokens and festival crowns next, then my council siblings, until only Sanjeet and I remained. When I drank from the gourd, something hard clicked against my teeth. I spat the object into my palm.
It was a small sunstone, erupting with fiery light. A small hole had been bored into the gem, as if meant for a chain. The heat of skin seared deep in its memory, along with the pound-pound-pound of a strong, stubborn heart.
The elders seemed confused for a moment, their immense wooden masks bobbing in conference. “Dominance,” one of them intoned at last. “That is the traditional meaning of such a token, as sunstones rest on the brows of Arit emperors. But you are a girl, and so the meaning refers to your proximity to greatness. You shall, perhaps,” said the elder, bowing his head coyly, “bear the fruit of dominance.”
My face burned. A murmur rippled through the village crowd, peppered with stifled giggles. Apparently the rumors about me and Dayo had spread farther than Oluwan City.
Kirah gave an irreverent snort. My gaze met hers. She rolled her eyes so hard, laughter bubbled in my throat, and my shame fell away.