in his youth, and had a tendency to ramble. But when The Lady opened her mouth, entire rooms hushed to listen.
“The prince began to shun The Lady. Confused by her brother’s growing coldness, the girl threw herself into her studies even more. Surely, she thought, being useful would win her brother’s love again. She haunted the halls of the Children’s Palace like a charming ghost. She befriended the candidates who vied for Olugbade’s council, slipping them hints on how to pass each trial. Olugbade had tried the Ray on many children. But the test always failed.
“Prince Olugbade was an intelligent boy, thoughtful and quiet. But behind his gentle manner, he had one weakness: a crippling fear of intimacy. With inferiors, Prince Olugbade was kind and generous. But with equals, he was closed and paranoid. He required constant proof of their love and loyalty, recoiling at the slightest hint of criticism. All but the most patient children found him exhausting. The Lady understood Olugbade better than anyone, and would have loved him, if he had let her. But for reasons that Olugbade could not put into words, The Lady’s effortless charisma filled him with rage.
“Months passed, and The Lady’s friends tripled. From her divan in the playroom corner, always crowded with giggling candidates, she watched her lonely brother with pity. If only he would look at her. If only he would see her: the real Lady, a partner, not a pet. She could make up for all his weaknesses. They would be a team, a family, and everything would go back to the way it was before.
“So The Lady plotted. A spark had nestled in her breast from the moment she was born, an ember she had never dared coax into flame. According to the priests, her spark should not exist. Its presence was impossible; an arrogance, an abomination, and so for years she had suppressed the ember out of shame. But now, she thought, perhaps that spark was just what she needed.
“‘I want to show you something,’ she told Olugbade at supper. The Lady was ten years old, and her brother, fifteen. Around them, candidates laughed and chattered. She sat at his side as he reclined in the Children’s Palace banquet hall, letting servants feed him grapes and plantain.
“‘Another of your dolly plays?’ Olugbade smiled down at his sister. ‘I’ve told you, Lady. Princes don’t have time for toys.’
“‘I don’t write dolly plays,’ The Lady snapped. Then she exhaled, determined to keep her temper. ‘I write debates. About the empire. I do act them out with my dolls, sometimes, but I wouldn’t need to if you read them, brother—’
“‘Don’t call me brother,’ Olugbade chided patiently. ‘Raybearers have no blood kin, only council. Remember that, Lady.’
“‘I wasn’t going to show you dolls.’
“‘What, then?’ Olugbade sighed. ‘Will it take long?’
“The Lady knelt close to him, heart pounding with excitement. The banquet spread out before them at a long, low table. ‘Tell me what you want to eat. Anything you see. Whisper it in my ear.’
“Olugbade rolled his eyes … but his expression grew soft. He liked his sister this way: anxious, desperate for his attention. It felt much better than when she beat him at chess. ‘Very well,’ he said, patting her beaded braids. ‘Bring me some moi moi pudding.’
“She focused for a moment, then looked up, grinning. A child at the far end of the dinner table rose and came over, offering the prince a wobbling cake of moi moi bean pudding.
“Olugbade blinked. ‘How did you …’
“‘Ask for something else,’ The Lady said, clapping her hands.
“Olugbade’s jaw ticked. ‘Saltfish. Yam stew. Fried chin chin.’ He barely spoke above a breath. But around the room, two more children shot up and hurried over with the dishes.
“By now, the other candidates were watching, curious. The Lady gathered her courage. She drew herself up and announced, ‘I told them with my mind.’
“The room fell deathly still.
“‘These three candidates’—she gestured at the food-bearing children—‘are my friends. More than friends, brother. They can be yours too.’
“‘Impossible,’ rasped Olugbade.
“‘Don’t you see?’ The Lady said. ‘I can do it again—’
“‘You can’t have that power. You don’t. It’s not the will of Am.’
“‘I don’t know what Am wants,’ said The Lady. ‘But I know my friends can hear me. Maybe they could hear you too.’ The Lady swallowed hard. ‘Maybe we could share a council.’
“Dishes crashed in every direction as Olugbade leapt to his feet. His nostrils flared—and then he inhaled, arranging his features in a fatherly smile. ‘I