“The emperor summoned them from Yorua. They would have wasted no time,” Sanjeet said. “After all the riots, he’ll want the Prince’s and Emperor’s Councils to show a united front.”
It had now been over two months since I had seen Dayo and my other council siblings. Sanjeet’s and Kirah’s presence had slowed the symptoms of council sickness: As long as I had at least one anointed sibling with me, the illness was mild, and I would never go completely mad. But the Ray still bound me to the remaining members of our family. I ached, like a body functioning without all its parts.
But if they knew what I had done to Dayo, would they still love me? Mayazatyl, and Ai Ling, and Umansa, and the rest? Would they even want to see me? My stomach churned as Sanjeet and Kirah flashed our seals, and the palace guards hurried us through the gates.
“It’s good to have you back, Anointed Honors,” sang a palace attendant as she led us through the polished stone halls. I remembered her well—Bimbola, one of many Children’s Palace maids who had cared for us as candidates. She could not be more than ten years my senior. When she took my hand to kiss it, a memory passed into me: her plump, gentle fingers weaving my hair into neat cornrows. She had been kinder than the other maids, who would smack my head with the comb when I squirmed. “The palace has been so lonely since the trials ended,” she sighed. Bangles rang on her arms as she walked. “I have a child of my own now. Sometimes I take him to the playroom and say, ‘See? That is where the crown prince played tag with Anointed Honor Tarisai. Yes! She was small once, just like you. And look, this was Anointed Honor Sanjeet’s favorite playsword. Shall you grow big and defend the prince, just like him?’” Bimbola smiled warmly. “The chambers are just as you left them—before the fire, anyway. His Young Highness and council have just sat down for luncheon. They will be so excited to see …”
Kirah noticed my wooden steps and sweaty palms. They’ll understand if you explain, she Ray-spoke, guessing my fears. They’ll forgive you. I’m sure of it.
But she could not be sure. My council could shun me forever. They could want me killed. Besides—how was I to explain The Lady’s actions? It’s not my fault I stabbed Dayo, I imagined saying. The Lady thinks I’m a Kunleo and that I deserve Dayo’s throne. My shoulders hunched around my ears. That explanation was worse than none at all.
I stopped in the middle of the hall, and Bimbola paused in surprise. “Is something the matter, Anointed Honor Tarisai?”
“I’m not coming,” I said.
Kirah smiled briskly at the attendant and took my elbow, turning us away and lowering her voice. “Our council needs to see you,” she said firmly. “If you keep hiding, they’ll start to wonder—”
“I won’t put Dayo’s life in danger again.”
“Then where will you live while you’re here? A locked prison tower?”
“That’s not a bad idea.”
Despite Kirah’s and Sanjeet’s protests, I asked Bimbola to prepare the farthest possible room from the Children’s Palace. Bemused, she bowed and hurried away.
“Someone will have to guard me at night,” I told Sanjeet. “Are you up for the job?”
He nodded reluctantly, though Kirah groaned. “Come on, Tar. You’re not a wild monster.”
“No,” I retorted. “I’m a quiet, clever one.” I handed her the bust of The Lady. “I won’t miss you all terribly,” I lied. “I can watch the Children’s Palace through Mother’s mirror. Don’t let me miss too much.”
An hour later, I stood alone in a chamber with close walls and a high, shadowy ceiling. Bimbola had shown me multiple bedrooms throughout the central wing of An-Ileyoba, each grandly furnished, with direct access to the courtyards. I had refused them all. The exasperated attendant had finally found a tower in the southwest wing: the farthest possible building from the Children’s Palace.
The walls were round, dappled sandstone hung with mudcloth tapestry. The floor had been hastily swept and strewn with reed mats. Near the hearth lay a down-stuffed bedroll, clearly salvaged from another bedchamber. A table, two weathered chairs, and a mirror tinted with age comprised the furniture. Most important: The only entry was a wooden door that locked.
“We can remove that from its hinges,” Bimbola had suggested brightly. “Put up some pretty cloth flaps, perhaps—”