know what it meant to have a family. Looking in from the outside, I would have banished that girl to the traitor’s block in a heartbeat. My palms beaded with sweat. But I wasn’t pretending.
Was I?
Every mask, every Tarisai I had ever been scattered in the dark, puzzle pieces on a vast floor. The recluse of Bhekina House, willing to kill for her mother’s touch. The Prince’s Favorite, meddling in the minds of other candidates. The protector, carrying Dayo from the burning Children’s Palace. The High Lady Judge, making empty promises to Ye Eun. The lover, crossing a fiery pit for a brown-eyed boy.
They were all true. All of them. How could I pick which one to believe? I was a monster, yes—but I could not let that be all that I was. Not now.
I dried my hands on my wrapper. “I never stole your memories,” I corrected Sanjeet. “I only took your bad dreams.”
“You should have let me keep them,” he said. “You are the only nightmare.”
Kirah left Sanjeet’s side. She searched my face, looking for the Tarisai she knew: the girl who had giggled with her on the Children’s Palace rooftop. The girl who had cornrowed stories into her hair.
I’m still here, I Ray-spoke.
Kirah placed her cool, soft palm over my bloody one. She seized Sanjeet’s hand too, so he was forced to listen. My story poured into them both like rain, making up for lost time in rivers and floods. When they had seen all my memories—the ehru, The Lady’s murderous wish, my self-inflicted amnesia—Kirah was still frowning. But she didn’t stop holding my hand.
“Can you control it?” she asked. Bags puffed under her eyes, and her face was wan in the morning light. “Be honest, Tar. Can you keep yourself from making The Lady’s wish come true?”
“I’m not sure,” I admitted. “I could make myself forget again. But that only worked until Mother found me.” And she would find me again. She would always find me. My temples grew clammy as Melu’s voice echoed in the air: Until you grant her third wish, neither you nor I will be free.
Melu’s name jarred in my thoughts, awakening after so many years. My father, the ehru. Bound to that savannah until I killed Dayo.
“I have to go back to Swana,” I gasped.
“Why?” Kirah asked, frowning. “Won’t your mother find you there? Isn’t that where she lives?”
“Yes. But only Melu would know how to break the curse. He can’t free himself; he can’t leave that grassland. But maybe I could free us both.”
Kirah’s lips pressed together. “I’ll come with you.”
“You can’t. What if Dayo needs you to sing? He barely made it through the night.”
“Swana’s four lodestones away,” Kirah countered, “not including the time you’ll have to rest in between. You’ll be feverish with council sickness by then. Suppose you don’t make it back?”
“Then our problem’s solved.”
Kirah glared at me, bottom lip trembling. “Don’t you dare. Don’t you dare take the easy way out, Tar. What would Dayo do if you died?”
“Live,” I spat. “He would live!”
“No. You’d just be killing him another way.”
“I’ll go,” said Sanjeet.
Kirah and I turned to stare at him. He was expressionless, a soldier volunteering for a thankless duty. I could no longer envision the tenderness with which he had fastened a gift around my ankle. The cowrie shell still dangled against my foot, cold as bone.
“You don’t have to,” I said.
“I know,” he growled. “But I will. For his sake.”
He lifted Dayo onto his shoulders and disappeared down the passageway. Before they vanished, I memorized the curl of Dayo’s hair, the breadth of his nose, the slope of his narrow back.
“I may never see him again,” I whispered.
“Maybe not,” Kirah said. “But you aren’t a monster, Tarisai. No matter what Sanjeet says.”
I sobbed as she stroked my back, rearranging the heavy yarn braids that hid my face. “I don’t deserve you,” I said.
“Too bad.” Kirah gave a tired smile. “Because none of us will give you up without a fight. Dayo’s probably forgiven you already. He doesn’t know how to hate anyone. Not even a murderer.”
“But do you think the rest of our council will?”
She chewed her lip. “I think it would be best if they didn’t know. Not right away, anyway. But they’ll understand. Well, everyone except …” She looked wearily in the direction Sanjeet had gone. “You know what happened to Sendhil.”
I nodded, swallowing hard. Sanjeet had almost lost his little brother for good, again.