My legs threatened to buckle. I had held court as empress already, but I had done so from one of the minor thrones. Until now, a very small part of me had still felt like I was pretending. That I would wake up and find myself in Yorua Keep, poring over court cases with half my memory gone, the Ray safely dormant in my chest, the last two years vanished like a feverish dream.

But there it was: a throne built for me. And a sea of voices, propelling me forward, filling every corner of my brain until every thought was obabirin, obabirin.

Me, me, me.

My heart pounded, drunk on the sound. The Ray crackled against my ribs like coals on a brazier. After a moment I realized I was laughing—or hyperventilating, it was hard to tell. Was this what it felt like to be a god? With thousands calling out in worship, as though my name were the only barrier between them and death? It was too strange for words, and yet . . .

I liked it.

I liked it a lot. And a manic thought passed through my mind: Why not believe them?

It had happened to Olugbade. Only a man who felt equal with gods would feel so comfortable ordering the death of his own sister. But I wasn’t like him, surely. I could bask in this heady, inebriating praise, and be better. Stronger . . .

Then a voice rose at my side, small and high and clear, audible only to me amidst the chaos.

Do you see her?
A girl in a mango tree, aheh—
Waiting for her mother.

I stared down at Adukeh, my manic self-obsession draining as she sang. Suddenly, I was small again. Not a glittering statue. Not a towering god. Dancers paraded before me, throwing fistfuls of petals in my path. A moment ago, they would have been faceless to me, mere ornaments in my parade. But now each person burned on my mind’s eye. Each was another life for which I was responsible. Another story entrusted to my protection.

Do you see her?
The girl on a castle floor.
Asleep in a dozen arms.

The loneliness of my childhood washed over me, a splash of cold water. I had been human once. Less so now, with every death I had conquered—but I was determined to remember. The feeling of being weak and voiceless. Of screaming, clawing at windows boarded shut. Not everyone was lucky enough to be a Kunleo, with privilege hidden away in their bloodline, waiting to whisk them away to palaces and Anointed Ones. My Ray may have empowered me, but I would not let it erase the past. The heat in my chest spread across my shoulders, a mantle as well as a burden.

Thank you, I mouthed to Adukeh, and she beamed, continuing to compose verses. I lifted my chin—not with pride, this time, but to gaze at the ocean of worshipping strangers, and to strike a silent pact.