I grinned at him wickedly, filling his mind with the Ray. No shocks at all? You didn’t feel that way last night when we—

He smirked, cutting off the thought with a kiss on my lips. But I could feel his trepidation. Once I had returned from the Underworld, little more than a barely warmed corpse draped over Iranti’s back, Sanjeet had gathered me to his chest, sobbing tears of relief into my neck. Of course, Dayo and the others also celebrated my return, but for two whole weeks, Sanjeet had not let me from his sight, changing my bandages on the hour, spooning stew down my throat. Carrying me to the bathhouses each morning, and cradling me close at night. Even now, I could see, he couldn’t quite believe I’d come back. That unlike Sendhil, or his amah, or many others he’d held dear, I was his forever. I hadn’t disappeared, vanished into memory smoke. And I never would.

My attendants herded Sanjeet away, fretting he’d ruin my makeup. I didn’t blame them—the beauticians were artisans, and today, I was their masterpiece. After a few more finishing touches, they presented me to the floor-length mirror.

Dayo’s reflection appeared beside mine, and his heavily draped arm slipped around me, squeezing me tight.

“It’s how I’d always thought you’d look,” he whispered, tears sparkling in his pure dark eyes. “When you came back.”

For banquets, my attendants made me look warm and alluring, like a pretty flame. But today, for my coronation, I looked as untouchable as a star. Lovely and terrible: the glittering empress from the Watching Wall.

My arms, cheekbones, and clavicle glowed with gold powder, as though I were cut from polished stone. Crimson paint dotted the bridge of my nose and spiraled above each eye. A necklace of stacked metal rings glinted around my neck. Swirling cornrows decorated the front of my scalp, while the rest of my hair floated in a dark, ethereal cloud. The halo-crown of Aiyetoro shone against the coily mass—an upright disc of mirror gold, like the sun bursting from my scalp, restored from its two-hundred-year hiding place in the Oluwan crypts.

My garments matched the cloth of Dayo’s agbada: finely woven ashoke so purple, it was almost black, shot through with thread of gold. The crisp cloth furled around my body in a wrapper, sash, and jewel-studded train. But as Dayo watched me in the mirror, I knew which part of my outfit he liked best: the rainbow-striped mask on my chest, which he had fastened around my neck the moment I returned from the Underworld.

“You look beautiful, Lady Empress.” Adukeh’s reflection fidgeted behind us, though her stutter had grown almost imperceptible. “Did you still need a favor?”

I turned to face her, bangles clinking on my wrist as I bent to touch her arm. “Do you remember the memories I once showed you of my childhood? Of Bhekina House and the Children’s Palace?”

Adukeh looked offended. “Of course.” She tapped her temple. “A griot never forgets.”