“Nope,” said Dayo, looking up from cutting grapes in half to feed Ae Ri, who babbled on his lap. “I tried that once when I was little. You won’t die, but you will vomit salt water for an hour.”

More laughter around the table, genuine this time.

“I’ve always wondered what it was like for you,” Ai Ling said, drawing thoughtful circles on Dayo’s shoulder. “Growing up, knowing that someday you’d be—well, almost a god.”

Absently, he leaned his cheek against her hand. “It still hasn’t sunk in for me, really. And I don’t think it ever will. Still . . . it’s no wonder people worshipped our ancestors.”

Ae Ri made an insistent grunt toward the orchard pen, where my birthday present from last year—the pale pink baby elephant—placidly rolled a log in the grass.

Ai Ling pulled the little girl from Dayo’s arms, and together, they took Ae Ri to pet the elephant’s trunk. I smiled as I watched them, thinking just how much they looked like a family.

“You know,” Dayo told me over his shoulder. “You never did name your birthday present.”

But before I could respond, Ae Ri wrapped her arms around the animal’s muddy trunk, and lovingly cooed her first word.

“Dog,” she said, with finality. “Dog.”

I nodded solemnly. “Dog it is.”

My gaze traveled to the massive black tapestries on An-Ileyoba’s walls, which blazed with Dayo’s and my new seal: dual Kunleo suns. I wondered, as I often did, what Zuri had made of the empire. He had spoken so glowingly of the way things were before in Aritsar—the days of elected nkosi chiefs, giving both poor and rich a say. Often, when I slept in my pile of council siblings, lulled by their soft, synced breaths, his words about the Raybearer echoed.

The Raybearer has never been about a person—not really. It’s about an idea.

But that idea, whatever it was, had always been bound to the Kunleo bloodline. What happened when that ended? After all, Dayo and I still didn’t have a plan to make new Raybearers. And even if we did . . . what would stop our heirs from being selfish, like Olugbade, or manipulative, like The Lady? Why did the health of the empire, the lives of millions, have to depend on a tiny subset of wealthy people being kind?

Unworthy, hissed the chorus of treble voices. Unworthy, pay the price—

My heart hammered. But before my distress could seep into the Ray bonds of my siblings, I stood suddenly. “Theo, Adukeh—did you bring instruments?”

“Always,” said Theo, untying the harp strapped to his back. Adukeh patted her drum primly, as if insulted I’d even ask.

“Good,” I said. “Because I have a birthday wish.” I gulped, holding out my hands to Sanjeet. “A dance.”

Again, the table went quiet.

“Tar,” said Sanjeet slowly. He rose from his seat, looking like he wanted to scan me for a fever. “You . . . don’t dance.”

“Exactly.” I placed his hands on my hips, smiling up at him wryly. “So after this, the Underworld should be easy.”