At these last words, Zuri’s face tightened, and his eyes glittered dangerously. After a dazed moment, I realized he wasn’t angry at me. He despised the nobles—he hated them for trying to kill me. But why? Why should the king of Djbanti care whether I lived or died?
His rage rendered him sloppy. I managed to duck under his guard, slapping his knees with the pole of my spear. He toppled, dropping his club. I kicked it away and stood over him, spear pointed at his face.
“Yield,” I said.
He stared up at me, inscrutable. “With all my heart, Idajo,” he said. “The moment you admit what you are.”
I sucked in a breath, knuckles clenching the spear shaft. “You won’t turn me into a monster,” I said. “I won’t be made into someone’s weapon. Not again. I lived that life already—for my mother.” Then I flung my spear to the ground and turned on my heel, heading back to the palace.
“And what of the innocents toiling in mills and quarries?” he called after me. “Are you too pure to help them?”
I froze, stunned. He clambered to his feet, reaching me in a stride and wrenching me to face him.
“One word,” he said, breathless. “One word from you, and every blueblood in this empire would relinquish Kunleo resources and abide by fair labor laws. You could be the heroine you were born to be. The one I know you are.”
He reached out to stroke my cheek. For just a moment, I let him touch me—then I seized his wrist, digging my nails into his skin.
“I will help the poor of Aritsar, Zuri Wanguru,” I said. “But I’ll do it my way.”
When I released him, he scoffed, “And what way is that? Scribbling more laws? Writing an edict on a calfskin and throwing a fancy high court where everyone agrees to obey it?”
“You’ll find out at the Pinnacle,” I snapped, giving him a taste of his own secret-keeping medicine.
“Why stifle your own power?”
“Because I want to be an empress, not a god!” My voice pinged against the courtyard walls.
His expression softened, and he regarded me gravely. “I understand you better than you know,” he said. “But I learned, Idajo—the moment those warlords stepped over the corpses of my parents and brothers and placed a crown on my head. None of us are gods. We are merely tools, wielded by the strongest system. I am giving you the chance to choose what that system is.” He retrieved my spear from the ground and held it out to me. “I can’t force you to accept your power. But if you do, you owe it to Aritsar, and to yourself, to be ready.”
After a moment, my fingers closed around it. The word—WURAOLA—glittered on the shaft, cold and bright, as the sun sank at last below the horizon.
CHAPTER 25
Two days before the pinnacle, fog hung in clouds over the frothing brown Olorun River, which curved like a serpent around Oluwan City. Dinghies and private barges, manned by chanting teams of rowers, emerged and vanished like shades into the night. Even at this hour, the docks bustled. When Adukeh, my attendants, and I stepped down from our palanquins, several dozen leering faces turned to stare.
“L-Lady Empress?” Adukeh asked, clutching her drum as we hurried along.
“Not so loud,” I shushed her.
The only people who sailed the Olorun at night were smugglers or nobility—and many who were both. Nobles liked to avoid the heat of day and could pay for the extra security that night travel required.
For anonymity I wore a linen cowl draped over my satin-wrapped hair. But my other clothing choices had been less prudent. My plain red wrapper, borrowed from a palace servant, was still much too fine, edged in gold thread that glistened in the dock torchlight. I had hoped to blend in with my attendants, but our escort of warriors betrayed one of us to be a noble, or at least, very well off.
Urchins and sailors grinned and licked their lips. I ignored them, hurrying Adukeh along. Better that men ogle our finery than look overhead, where one by one, hundreds of lavender sprites began to congregate, twinkling against the midnight sky.
“S-Sorry,” Adukeh whispered. “B-But why d-do we need a b-boat? Wouldn’t traveling by l-lodestone be f-faster?”
“Not where we’re going,” I muttered.
Somewhere in the dark, a vessel waited to carry us to the Wanguru Fortress of Djbanti, where I hoped to convince the empire’s nobility to relinquish the crown’s resources for good. I still wondered if accepting Zuri’s offer of a ride had been a mistake.
Zuri’s home court, the Wanguru Fortress, lay at the intersection of Oluwan, Swana, and Djbanti. Any stop on the continent’s chaotic network of lodestones would place us too far away . . . and leave it to Zuri to own the largest smuggler’s barge this side of the Olorun.
“Why can’t you just whisk us to the fortress with those stones in your arm?” I’d asked him.
He had winced and smiled. “Because unlike the Crocodile, Zuri of Djbanti is not a dashing sorcerer, and must be seen traveling like a mortal.”
I glanced at the scrap of calfskin in my hand, scrawled with his clipped, elegant handwriting: Seventh boardwalk. The Tsetse Fly shoves off at midnight.
I counted the rickety docks, arriving quickly at the right one. A long, low vessel floated in the murky water, lamps and oars dangling off the sides. A shirtless man, dark and ripple-backed, waited in plain trousers near the gangplank. He turned, and his slow, broad smile flashed in the gloom.
“Glad you made it, Idajo.”
I swore under my breath. Even in peasant clothes on a foggy, brine-covered dock, Zuri of Djbanti was maddeningly beautiful.
“Put a shirt on,” I grumbled. “The mosquitos will eat you alive.”
“I’m wearing salve,” he countered, leaning his neck to my nose. “Eucalyptus. Can’t you smell it?”
I could. It smelled delicious, which made my scowl deepen.
He laughed, and then raised his eyebrows. “You brought guests.”
“Adukeh’s the opening act of our Pinnacle,” I said, patting her shoulder. “As for the guards and attendants . . . well. I’m not passing into your clutches without backup.”
His smile widened. “Smart decision. Welcome aboard.”
The Tsetse Fly appeared to be a sleepy cargo barge, deck filled to bursting with barrels of oranges, kola nuts, and palm oil. When I squinted, however, iron objects glinted from beneath the piles of fruit: weapons for Zuri’s secret army of commoners. I quickly looked away, ordering my entourage belowdecks.
“Aren’t you going below too?” Zuri asked as the ship shoved off, deck thrumming rhythmically beneath us. Drummer boys played at the ship’s bow, syncing a team of muscled rowers. With a groan, the Tsetse Fly embarked into the night.
“I need to practice my Pinnacle speech,” I said, then cringed as needles shot between my eyes. “Besides . . . I don’t sleep much these days.”
He nodded with approval. “Oppression doesn’t rest. So why should we?”
I snorted, thinking he was joking . . . but his mouth remained serious. “I mean”—I smiled uncertainly—“you know we have to sleep sometime, right? We’re not immortal.”
“You will be,” he reminded me, nodding at where the empress mask lay concealed beneath my clothes. “Almost, anyway. And when that day comes . . .” His expression grew starry. “You’ll be able to accomplish more than ever. Always running, working, plotting. Fighting for the lowly and voiceless, from sunrise to sunrise. I envy you, Idajo.”
My stomach sank at his words, but immediately I felt guilty. Zuri was right. Of course I needed to work more, work harder. How could I do otherwise, with a gift like immunity? Even now, I wouldn’t die without sleep. Eventually I’d go mad—well, madder—but not for a while.
Zuri squeezed my shoulder, winked, then wandered away to speak with the bosun. I paced the deck, muttering my ruling for the Pinnacle until my tongue grew leaden. Both wired and exhausted, I leaned over the ship’s braided rope railing and closed my eyes as the night wind blew back my cowl. Very faintly, the Ray hummed from the general dire
ction of Oluwan City, which had shrunk to a smudge in the distance.
Miss you already.
It was Dayo. I didn’t respond, feeling agitated from the last conversation we’d had before I left.
“Why now?” he had asked, looking forlorn in the Imperial Bedchamber as attendants bustled to pack my belongings.
I had blinked at him. “What do you mean?”
“All of this.” He had waved at my desk, where a sea of notes, edicts, and Pinnacle invitation lists had gathered from the last few months. “Why try to solve these huge problems—poverty, trafficking, corruption—when you’ve got so little time to prepare for the Underworld? Why not just focus on that, and . . . well—enjoy life with me and the others? With what time you’ve got left?”
At his wide, guileless stare, I had suppressed a wave of anger, swallowing my loneliness. Of course Dayo wouldn’t understand. No one would. Those who fought for justice were always alone—the ghosts who haunted me had made that clear.
“I’m doing it because—” The truth stuck like thorns in my tongue.
Because I’m the only one willing to feel guilty.
Because our ancestors killed children, and their ghosts are thirsty for blood.
Because if I don’t give the voices in my head what they want—if I don’t achieve justice for Aritsar—I might never come back from the Underworld.
But I’d given a half-truth instead. “Because I want a legacy,” I had told Dayo, kissing his scarred cheek. “I’m not immune to death yet—not until I anoint Zuri. And if I die, I want to have made a difference. I want . . .”
“To have meant something,” I murmured now, words lost in the Olorun fog.
A soft chuckle warmed my neck. “Done with speech making?”
I hunched my shoulders. “What is it with you and lurking? You’re a king, not a drooling hyena.”
“In due time, I hope to be neither.”
I crossed my arms, appraising Zuri. “The abiku require that I anoint twelve rulers, you know. So if you’re going to dismantle the Djbanti monarchy, I’ll have to anoint you while you’re still king.”
He raised a suggestive eyebrow. “Then we’ll have to fall in love rather quickly, Idajo.”
My face heated, but I didn’t break his gaze. “If you succeed in dismantling the Djbanti monarchy . . . what next? You won’t have the resources of a king anymore. Will you travel? Learn a trade?” I smiled ruefully. “Between playing the fop for your warlords and razing markets as the Crocodile, I can’t imagine you’ve had time for fun since . . . well. Ever, really.”
To my surprise, Zuri’s self-assured features grew uncertain. “Haven’t thought much about it,” he said after a pause, face going carefully blank. “Don’t need to. That’s the price of ibaje magic. Once these stones have done their work . . . well. Let’s just say I won’t be in a state for touring the empire.”
I looked with horror at the cuff on his bicep, noticing the raised, sickly veins that had begun to spider across his dark skin. “It’s killing you,” I whispered.
“Maybe,” he muttered. “Maybe not. You never know with Pale Arts. It could be changing me into something else—perhaps one of those ghastly Underworld creatures you see scrawled in temple murals. I’d have to hide then, I suppose.” He nudged my side. “Maybe I’ll retire to where you grew up—if I can find it. Spend the rest of my days haunting the mango-scented orchards of Bhekina House.”
I started. “How do you know about Bhekina House? Did Woo In tell you?”
He paused, gave a maddening shrug, and then smoothly changed the subject. “If you don’t convince my warlords to stand down at this Pinnacle, I won’t be retiring anywhere. Have you practiced wielding your Ray against any more bluebloods?”
I frowned. “I told you. I’m not touching the warlords’ okanoba. I’m not an ehru-master, Zuri—we’ve had enough of those in my family.”
His full lips pressed together. “You should be ready to use it. What if there’s an emergency and you have to protect—Adukeh?”
“Don’t use my akorin to manipulate me,” I shot back, but the bait had worked. Adukeh was only a girl and we were headed for a coalition of nobles who might still want me dead. Was I putting her in danger?
“Practice on me,” Zuri pressed. “Right now, while we’re alone.”
“We aren’t alone.” I shot a nervous glance at the drummer boys and bosun. “They’ll see us. It’ll look . . . well, unnatural. What if they start a rumor that I’m a witch?”
“You’re a woman who rules equally with a man,” he said dryly. “They’ll always call you a witch. And if you beat me up, the sailors will be too frightened to gossip.” He spread his chiseled arms, bearing his chest. “It’ll be easy, Idajo. My father was king of Djbanti. My mother was a Nyamban princess. I’m brimming with okanoba. Command me, my great obabirin.”
“A handstand,” I bleated, hoping the indignity would make him resent me. But when the mask flashed beneath my wrapper, he grinned, immediately teetering upside down.
“Good,” he panted. “Now make me do something hard. Something I don’t want to do.”
I gulped and shook my head. “Get up. And I’m not going to hurt you.”
“Come on,” he goaded, upright again. “You hate me. So why not show it?”
“Stop being stupid. I don’t hate you.”
“No?” He cocked his head, locs falling in thick strands. “Could have fooled me.”
“I can’t stand you,” I said, flushing. “There’s a difference.”
He smiled, leaning close. Eucalyptus and peppermint washed over me in a cloud. “Still,” he said, “haven’t you wanted to see me squirm? What about when my agents covered you in blood at that market? Or the time I tricked you into dancing at your Peace Banquet? Or—” He paused, as if considering whether to cross a line. “Shall I tell you a secret? I know what High General Sanjeet has been up to.” I started, but before I could interrupt, Zuri continued, “And no, it isn’t searching for alagbatos, or even finding the new entrance to the Underworld. My spies keep me informed—he finished with all of that over a month ago. Now he’s doing something new . . . almost as if he’s trying to stay away from Oluwan. Funny—I used to be jealous, watching the two of you. I could have sworn you two were in love. But he’s been away so long, I must have been mistaken—”
“You shut up,” I snapped, heat surging through the mask. Before I knew it, Zuri was clutching his neck, eyes wide as he doubled over onto the deck, seeming to gag on his own tongue.
The bosun hurried over in alarm, and for half a second, I watched, fascinated and horrified. Then I snapped back into sanity, kneeling by Zuri’s side.
“Breathe,” I yelped. “For Am’s sake, Zuri. Breathe, I command it.” Only then did his rasping ease, and his hands dropped from his throat . . . but it didn’t end there. When I commanded him, a fleeting thought had overcome me: Okanoba is more trouble than it’s worth.
And though I had not directly commanded that thought—my will took shape in Zuri. I could sense the power fading from his body, leaving him alive, but weakened. Smaller. Even his muscles seemed diminished. Panicking, I willed the reverse . . . and Zuri grew vibrant again, his breaths strong and even.
The bosun stared daggers at me, but Zuri only laughed, waving the man away.
“Admit it,” he croaked, “that was fun for you.”
I collapsed against a barrel of oranges, feeling sick. “It wasn’t.”
“Not even a little?” He rolled onto his stomach, propping his chin in his hands.
“I took it,” I breathed. “Just now. I took your okanoba away.”
He nodded slowly. “Yes. Then you gave it back. I told you that was within your power. You could try it again.”
“When Blessid Valley freezes over.”
“Make me tell you things.” He used his wheedling courtier voice. “How I know Prince Woo In. Where I found out about the power of okanoba. Why I won’t let you see my memories.”
&nb
sp; “You’ll let your guard down eventually,” I countered. “I have to anoint you, and for that, we’ll need to share memories with kuso-kuso.”
“No,” he sighed, scooting over and plopping his head onto my lap. His locs splayed across my thighs. “I’ll only need to love you.”
I cursed my stomach for fluttering. “Does your neck hurt from carrying an ego that big?”
“Sometimes. It’s exhausting.” He reached to chuck me under the chin. “I’m comforted that no matter how much I irritate you, you still need me alive.”
“Not forever,” I replied dryly. “I promised the abiku I’d anoint a council, not retain a living one. I could anoint you, then kill you after. I’d still have met the Underworld’s requirement.”
“Mm. Guess I’d better stay charming, then.” He waggled his eyebrows at me, then frowned up at the sky. “Those sprites are a hazard, you know. Won’t be long until people figure out that purple ‘stars’ follow wherever the empress goes. Your days of anonymous travel are numbered.”
As if with a life of its own—my hand rose to trace Zuri’s hairline. He relaxed beneath my touch, smiling as though familiar with it. As though embracing me beneath the moon was a long-cherished memory.
“To be fair,” I said, glancing up at the lavender whirls of light, “they have tried to be more discreet.”
We laughed quietly as the sprites arranged themselves like constellations, twinkling in a desperate imitation of stars. The bosun squinted at them doubtfully, rubbing his eyes.
“Brats,” I sighed. “But I think I’d miss them if they left.”
“I envy them. They get to hover at your side without getting slapped.”
I glowered down at him, chewing the inside of my cheek. His gaze was distant. Again, I felt the strange sensation that he was lost in a memory.
“I wish you’d just let me use the kuso-kuso,” I said at last. “What if I can’t anoint you in time?”
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