we’ll at least make the place presentable. I’ll send for a chest, and a futon, or at least some cushions …”
I barely heard her while I stared through the single unglazed window.
It was a direct view of the Children’s Palace. The domes rose far away, on the opposite end of An-Ileyoba, but I could still make out the arched windows of the Hall of Dreams. Unable to resist, I drew The Lady’s mirror from my pocket.
Kirah had placed The Lady’s bust on a ledge overlooking the Hall. My breath caught: My anointed siblings, my best friends, were roughhousing and laughing, mouths open in jokes I could not hear. They retraced our old haunts, giggling at our cherished games and toys, checking furniture for initials we had carved underneath.
I considered sending a pulse through the Ray, tempted to watch their expressions as my voice sounded in their minds. Do you miss me? Do you hate me? I miss you more than you’ll ever know.
But I said nothing, and put the mirror back in my pocket. It was wrong to spoil their joy. The Lady’s curse was mine to bear alone.
Bimbola had promised to return with a second bedroll, since Sanjeet would be sharing my confinement. When knuckles rapped on the tower room door, I was at the window again. The sill was deep enough to make a seat as I watched the Children’s Palace. Still wearing my dusty wrapper from Tegoso, I hugged my knees as someone entered the room.
“You’re early,” I said without turning. “There isn’t a bed for you yet.”
A high voice cleared its throat. Bimbola, two palace attendants, and a female guard stood in the doorframe instead of Sanjeet.
“You’ve been summoned by the emperor, Anointed Honor,” said Bimbola, worrying her bangles with excitement.
My stomach turned to stone. “What does he want?”
Bimbola’s eyebrows shot up at my irreverent tone. “I was not told. But you can hardly meet him as you are. We shall accompany you to the bathhouse. Perhaps I can …” She looked askance at my hair. “Assist in your toilette.”
Several minutes later, I stood in a shallow, bubbling river that wove through a tiled floor. Stone hyenas perched on walls overhead. Water gushed from the beasts’ grimacing mouths, fed from a reservoir on the roof. The rainwater lapped at my bare hips, and sunlight warmed my back, streaming through unglazed windows shaped like suns and moons.
I had washed in the palace bathhouse before, a child splashing with dozens of other candidates. Now that I was anointed, the chamber had been emptied for my privacy.
My attendants had stripped to their shifts and waded in beside me, scouring my skin and coaxing tangles from my hair. “You’re feverish, Your Anointed Honor,” Bimbola tutted. “That’s council sickness for you. The sooner you’re back with your anointed siblings, the better.”
After my bath, the attendants buffed my limbs with shea butter until they glowed, and then swabbed my pulse points with fragrant bergamot. I refused to let Bimbola restrain my billowing hair, but consented to a thick crown braid at my hairline. My new clothes were an ochre blouse and azure wrapper, embroidered with raised yellow patterns. As a finishing touch, the attendants dusted my jaw and collarbone with shimmering gold powder, clucking with satisfaction.
We passed through the gilded halls of An-Ileyoba, deeper and deeper into the palace’s heart. My attendants grew quiet as we passed over the gleaming tiles, our faces reflected on walls of onyx marble. My feet were wedged in the latest Oluwan fashion: leather slippers with precariously high soles.
Someone rounded a corner of the corridor, nearly causing a collision. My attendants leapt to surround me, tutting with offense—then they recognized the stranger.
“Anointed Honor Mbali,” Bimbola stammered, sinking with the others in a curtsy.
I tried to bow as well, but Mbali grasped my shoulders. The pelican pendant on her breast rose and fell, and her priestess robes were rumpled, as though she had sprinted across An-Ileyoba. Her fingers dug into my sleeves.
“I looked—the Children’s Palace,” she panted. “You weren’t there. Thank Am I found you before—” She glanced behind her, where the wooden doors to Olugbade’s chambers loomed. “Remember the mango tree.”
I shook my head. “Anointed Honor, I don’t under—”
“When you first came to the palace, you stole a story from my head.” Mbali’s grip on me tightened. “Remember what happened when the boy grew afraid of his tree. He cut it down. He burned the branches. But as long as the tree stays in its pot—as long