Raybearer: Chapters 1–4

I leaned precariously over the sill, hoping to catch a fleck before a servant wrestled me inside.

Magic, I soon learned, was capricious.

When I squinted at the swollen trunk of our courtyard boab tree, a cheeky face appeared.

The tutors plied me with riddles, shoving diagrams into my hands.

Then the palisade gates of Bhekina House opened, and my mother glided inside, detached as a star.

“It was beautiful for the first few thousand days. After that, it grew tedious.”

But their dilated pupils and terse smiles told a different story.

As birthdays passed—eight, nine, ten—I shivered through Bhekina House, coddled by servants who never broke the surface of my bubble.

But Melu’s memory had awoken a hunger inside me, one the mango orchards of Bhekina House could not satiate.

I liked the ominous rhyme. I whispered it around the manor like an incantation until a tutor overheard me.

The word permanent piqued my interest.

Tawny brown skin contrasted with hard green eyes.

His voice reminded me of a spider’s web, soft and gossamer.

He gave a sardonic bow, straight jet hair shining over his shoulder.

A gilded oval frame was placed in my hands.

A boy stared back at me, with tightly curled hair and the brightest smile I’d ever seen. Naive brown eyes shone from a dark, broad-featured face.

When the roads grew too crowded for our mule-and-box, we switched to a tasseled palanquin. I peered, breathless, through the gauzy curtains as runners carried us through the gates and into the city.

Murals of crowned figures stared imposingly from the plaster, one of whom I recognized: Enoba Kunleo, the handsome, broad-nosed hero of whom statues were sculpted all over Oluwan.

“This is Ileyoba,” Kathleen murmured, both reverent and wary. “District of the emperor and all who can afford to live near him.”

The flags were emblazoned with the imperial Kunleo seal: a swirling gold sun encircled by eleven moons.

Some even preened before hand mirrors, smiling and simpering, “An honor to meet you, Your Imperial Highness.”

Palace servants in brocaded wrappers supervised the children’s preparations, and once each boy or girl was deemed suitable—for what I didn’t know—guards ushered them into a line, which wound dizzyingly around a stone spiral staircase.

Kathleen prodded me in the back, and I yelped and berated her.

“It is not fair! It is not fair—unhand me!” the boy railed in a thick Nontish accent, gargled and breathy.

Within the last month, dozens of other Swanian children had worn the sash, donning and removing it with shaking fingers.

A cluster of men and women sprawled on divans and high-backed chairs, murmuring softly.

There was something familiar about his voice: a melodious timbre that drew me to obey without question.

Emperor Olugbade leaned forward, his tone ominously calm.

After my reluctant attack, one of the stripes in the lion’s mane had begun to pulse with lurid light.

“If Ekundayo anoints this brat onto his council, his Ray won’t be able to protect him. We might as well sign his death warrant.”

“If we deny her a chance, we profane holy rites. Dayo’s council could be cursed forever. Is that your suggestion?”

Dots of white paint adorned the bridge of her nose and arched above each eyelid, and the pelican pendant worn by priests of Am twinkled on her willowy neck.

I touched her tentatively, hoping the next memory would not include the strange games adults played.

“The girl does not have power,” Olugbade insisted. “And neither does her mother. That woman is an imposter. I will not hear any speculation of her legitimacy.”

“No, you don’t have these in Swana. But in Oluwan City, we eat delicacies from all over the empire. This is called an apple. They grow far to the north. Won’t you take a bite?”

It would be best, Tarisai, if you do not speak of your mother while at An-Ileyoba. Few people are old enough to remember when she lived here, but those who do may not look...kindly on your connection. If anyone asks, your parents are middling gentry, prosperous farmers from the Owatu region in Swana.

It would be best, Tarisai, if you do not speak of your mother while at An-Ileyoba. Few people are old enough to remember when she lived here, but those who do may not look...kindly on your connection. If anyone asks, your parents are middling gentry, prosperous farmers from the Owatu region in Swana.

Rays glinted off a mountain of toys and a menagerie of rideable wooden animals from every Arit realm.

At last, I lingered in a large, airy room with a dais in the center.

Murals of long-dead councils glittered overhead, depicted as flower-crowned children, smiling beatifically as they danced in a circle.