“Why? Is he mean?”
“Mama says it’s unholy to gossip,” Kirah said primly. “But … they say he’s killed people. A pit fighter. The others call him the Prince’s Bear, because he’s very protective of Ekundayo. Also, he’s been here longer than any of us. When Ekundayo tried the Ray on him, it worked immediately.”
To my surprise, jealousy pricked. “So the Bear’s already anointed? He’s the first of Dayo’s Eleven?”
“No. He refused the prince’s offer. Refused to be anointed, can you believe it? But the Emperor’s Council still won’t let him leave. They think he’ll change his mind.”
I frowned. What sane child would turn down a permanent family? I could not imagine a rosier life. “I wonder why he said no.”
Kirah tossed her head. “Thinks he’s too good for us, probably. That’s what kids from rich realms are like, you know. I mean … not all of them,” she added awkwardly. “You’re different, I guess.”
“I’m not rich.”
She snorted. “You’re from Swana. Mama says Swana has more maize than blades of grass. Or at least, it used to. A powerful alagbato used to guard your savannahs, so the harvests never failed. But he disappeared some ten, eleven years ago. No one knows why.” My skin ran cold; Melu was trapped in his grassland, unable to serve as Swana’s guardian until I fulfilled The Lady’s wish. I bit my lip with guilt, but Kirah didn’t seem to notice. “You’re lucky to come from fertile land instead of desert. I bet you’ve never gone hungry a day in your life.”
“I haven’t,” I admitted. “Where’s the Prince’s Bear from?”
“Dhyrma,” Kirah whispered. “Where they ride elephants in the streets, and the roads are paved with coins.” She slipped off the bed and fussed maternally over my bedding. “If you’re feeling better, I guess I should go join the others.”
“Maybe I should come too.”
“No; the healer said you should rest. Besides, you’re already the ‘Prince’s Favorite.’ Give the rest of us a chance, huh?” She winked, then jerked her head over at the Dhyrmish boy. “And don’t worry about the Bear. We’ve chained him to the bedpost.”
Alarmed, I squinted at the boy’s gloomy corner of the room. Something silver glinted in the sconce light—a chain of metal links, wrapped around the pillar and ending in a cuff on the boy’s burly arm. “It was a joke,” said Kirah, looking sheepish. “The other kids started it. He’s the ‘Prince’s Bear,’ and bears are baited, so …”
My brow knit. “Doesn’t seem to very funny to him.”
“He could have stopped us if he wanted to. Besides, Mama says Dhyrmish people are like rabid dogs. I’m not going near him.” She refilled my goblet from a pitcher—Mama says sick children ought to drink lots—patted my arm, then hurried from the room.
I watched the figure in the far corner, unnerved by how still he was. He hadn’t budged even when the bedroom doors slammed behind Kirah. But I lay quietly, afraid of spooking him.
Then pressure weighed on my bladder. I winced; I hadn’t relieved myself for hours. Come to think of it, I was hungry too. I wriggled from the pile of panther skins and stood. The pressure intensified. After a fruitless glance around the room, I cleared my throat.
“E-excuse me,” I said. “Do you ever … I mean … Do you know where they keep the chamber pots?” My face heated. The figure tensed, as though surprised I had addressed him. “Never mind,” I mumbled. “I’ll just—”
“The pots are kept in the corner.”
I froze in surprise. The boy had not moved, but his voice filled the room, soft and implausibly deep.
“Put it back when you’re done. Servants take them away in the morning.”
“Oh. Thank you.” I crept to a corner and retrieved a brightly painted clay pot. I paused again. “Are the privy screens outside?”
The boy made a growling sound, almost a laugh. “Privacy is illegal here, new girl. Council members aren’t allowed to have secrets. Most candidates relieve themselves in the morning or late at night, when the gender screen is still drawn.” His Dhyrmish accent slid in a musical scale. Plosive consonants skipped across the boy’s tongue, like stones on a pond. He added, “Don’t worry. I won’t look.”
I did the deed as quickly as possible, stashing the pot in one of the window alcoves. My stomach gurgled. I remembered the feast I had seen in the dining hall earlier, and asked, “Where can I find food?”
“I wouldn’t know,” the boy replied. “I missed dinner hours ago.”
“My servants tied me up like you once,” I blurted awkwardly. “They were afraid I would steal their memories while they slept. I always give memories back after I take them. But they didn’t trust me.”
For the first time, the Dhyrmish boy turned.
Due to his size, I had expected him to look older, but a startlingly young face flickered in the candlelight, with a heavy jawline, reddish-brown skin, and steeply slanted eyebrows. His ears stuck out, as though he’d yet to grow into them, though the idea of him growing more was hard to imagine. “Stealing memories,” he said. “That’s your Hallow?”
I nodded. “Like this.” Feeling a strange urge to impress him, I placed a hand on Dayo’s dais. The marble groaned as my mind invaded its pores. The stone remembered a boy who had slept there decades ago. Over and over, he had rasped into the blankets: The Lady … The Lady … The Lady.
I snatched my hand from the dais as if it had burned me.
The Dhyrmish boy raised an eyebrow. “Something wrong?”
“Emperor Olugbade slept here before Dayo,” I explained. “When the emperor was young, he had bad dreams. I think Dayo gets bad dreams here too.”
“You see all that?” asked the Dhyrmish boy. “Just by touching things?”
“People leave stories everywhere. It’s easier to take them from living things. Trees, soil. Objects and dead things don’t have very clear memories.”
The boy ran a hand through large, soft curls. “When you take memories, could you take them for good?” The chain on his arm rattled. “Could you make someone’s memories disappear forever?”
“No!” I said. “I mean, I don’t know. I’ve never tried that before.” To my surprise, the boy looked disappointed. “My name’s Tarisai of Swana,” I said. “What’s yours?”
“Sanjeet of Dhyrma.” He tensed when I came near, hiding his shackled arm. “Aren’t you afraid of me?”
“Should I be?”
“You heard the Blessid girl,” he said dryly. “I’m the ‘Prince’s Bear.’”
I looked down, sheepish that he had overheard us. “Kirah said you were able to connect with Dayo’s Ray. That means you love him. So you can’t be all bad.”
“Bears are dangerous, even if they don’t want to be.” He stared hard at his calloused hands. “It’s in their blood.”
I remembered what Nawusi had said about me: Murder is in that child’s blood.