because I’m half-ehru,” I insisted, but Melu shook his head while still hovering above the pool.
“The Lady has no special ability to protect anyone. And while your alagbato blood provided your ability to see memories, the rest of you is human.”
“There are no female Raybearers,” I repeated, and Sanjeet crossed his arms.
“What about Aiyetoro?”
“She was an exception,” I said, parroting the priests from Oluwan. “Am only chose her because the emperor’s son died, and Aritsar needed a leader …” My voice trailed off. Who could prove that Aiyetoro had not been born with the Ray? She had been sent away at birth, just like every other Kunleo girl. Doubt wormed its way into my mind, but I resisted it, stubbornly. “The Lady couldn’t be a Raybearer, because Olugbade already has the Ray. There can only be one per generation.”
“Why?”
“Because—because—” I quailed, trying to remember the careful lines of reasoning the priests had taught in our catechism. “Because that would mean war. A man and a woman couldn’t share rights to the crown. How would they rule?”
“Together,” Melu replied, and the answer’s simplicity unnerved me.
I scowled at the ehru. This was all wrong. There could not be two Raybearers. The empire could not have been mistaken for dozens, for hundreds of years.
“And if the two rulers disagree?” I shot back. “What then?”
The ehru shrugged. “Defer to their council. Flip a coin. Divide tasks according to their strengths. Compromise.” He sighed. “I’ve never understood why mortals make things so complicated. Am’s story for men and women has always been simple: You are equals, built to work side by side. But when it comes to power, mortals have always loathed simplicity.”
“Olugbade and The Lady could never rule together,” I insisted.
“On that point,” Melu conceded, “I’m afraid you are correct. Olugbade’s fear of The Lady has festered for too long, as has The Lady’s anger at him. She means to erase Olugbade’s entire legacy, including Ekundayo. But the prince’s story is yet unwritten—as is yours.” He descended, pool rippling in his wake. “You have seen the mask of the emperor, and the mask of your prince. They were forged by Warlord Fire himself, and the story of their creation is etched in the crypts of An-Ileyoba. Should a mortal translate those ancient words, she would see Warlord Fire created not two masks, but four. Four Raybearers. Emperor and empress. Prince and princess.”
“Then we can prove it,” said Sanjeet. “We can prove that Tarisai’s a Raybearer. If we present the masks to the priests, they’ll have to admit it.”
“For that very reason,” said Melu, “the other two masks have been lost. Aiyetoro was the last to see them. And as they were forged beyond this realm, I cannot track them through the earth. But you must find them, I think. I do not know Tarisai’s purpose, but she shall never obtain it without first claiming her name.”
“My purpose is Dayo,” I said. The world was spinning. Mbali’s voice in the Children’s Palace, the words I had repeated every day for five years, roared in my ears. Why do I live? So that I can serve the Prince, the Chosen Raybearer of Aritsar, and aspire to be one of his anointed. Because I love him more than life itself …
“Stories are meant to be shared,” Melu said gently, “but no one was made for another person, Tarisai.”
“No.” I remembered the moment I had pierced Dayo in the gut. I purposely resurrected my old panic, my armor of fear and self-loathing. You are dangerous, I told myself. Freedom for you will always mean harm for Dayo.
But the harder I tried to remember my treachery, the more I saw the tutsu. I saw them whirl around me, lifting the weight from my scalp and humming their choice.
“What’s a wuraola?” I asked Melu.
“Ah … I have not heard that name in many years.” He cocked his head. “A wuraola is a girl made of gold. A girl … full of sunshine.”
Sanjeet grinned. “Of course it is,” he said. “Tar, it all makes sense. This is what’s wrong with Aritsar. Why the Imperial Guard’s attempts at unity have always failed. This is why the empire never truly came together. Don’t you see? We were never meant to be ruled by one man. If you and Dayo—”
“I’m not ruling anyone,” I snapped. “I never said I wanted to be empress.”
“You’ve never said it,” he retorted. “But … I think you’ve always known.”