I chewed my lip, wiping sweat from my brow. “Fine,” I huffed at last.

Zuri retrieved his spear and club from the ground and resumed a sparring stance. I nearly refused to fight him, but my nerves were so wired from that strange, foreign energy, I couldn’t keep still. I mirrored his stance, and our weapons clacked and swung. The more effort he put into the fight, the more his smooth black skin seemed to glow with power—a subtle, midnight blue. Should it ever strike an assassin to try, Zuri of Djbanti would be very, very hard to kill.

“Enoba the Perfect, first emperor of Aritsar, gave a gift to the empire’s gentry,” he panted. “Okanoba: a blessing on their bloodlines, giving them strength and longevity. This allowed them to subdue their native provinces, securing tributes for the emperor. Some nobles are aware of okanoba, though they do not speak of it often. For they know that just as Raybearers give okanoba . . . they can also take okanoba away.”

I frowned with disbelief, but then I remembered Adebimpe, nonchalantly snapping a brush in two with one slender hand.

Okanoba also explained why my power had no sway over Songlanders. They had never sworn fealty to Enoba. My heart raced with the possibilities. Could I really turn anyone into a blueblood? Give them the gift of strength, health, longevity?

“The gift comes with a price,” Zuri continued. “If anyone receives okanoba, their will is tied to the Raybearer’s. The stronger the noble bloodline, the more the Raybearer could control them. So past Kunleo emperors struck an unspoken truce: They would allow bluebloods their freedom, so long as they stayed in line. The nobles at An-Ileyoba must have guessed that you and Dayo were unaware of your power,” Zuri said, “or else they never would have tried to kill you.”

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.