I concentrated on the heat in my chest, letting it congregate at the sunstone around my throat pendant. Focus. It rose, a pleasant, sweltering haze at the base of my neck, sending invisible tendrils across my scalp.

“Ekundayo of Oluwan,” I whispered, “receive your anointing.”

Then I joined the tendrils into a single beam, aiming it at Dayo. He inhaled sharply, as if pierced . . . then relaxed.

Well, he laughed in my head. That was easy.

I jumped. His voice vibrated through every bone in my body, louder than it had ever been. It sounded . . . doubled. As though he spoke with two sets of vocal cords, the second one strangely feminine.

You’re speaking with my voice, I told him, wide-eyed.

Then he was his turn to look rattled. And you’re speaking with mine, he said. I guess this is what happens when two Rays coexist in a body. Does it . . . bother you?

No, I said after a moment. I think it feels . . . nice. I shivered with pleasure at my new, multitoned voice. Very nice.

Me too.

Then I flinched, watching in fascinated horror as lacy patterns grew up my arms and splayed across my chest, azure glyphs glistening against my dark skin. My Redemptor map had grown. Once I anointed a full council, I suspected, no inch of me would be left uncovered.

The crown of banquet guests gasped, then lapsed into fearful awe. Ai Ling took control of the room’s mood, clapping her hands. “All hail Ekundayo,” she declared, raising a chalice and grinning at us both. “Anointed One of the Empress Redemptor, first of many! To peace in Aritsar!”

The hall surged into applause, first stunned, then manic with enthusiasm, and many raising chalices in toast. The musicians struck up a triumphant phrase, and my sprites pulsed to the rhythm. With a signal from Ai Ling, servants in the lofty rafters rained down petals and bits of shining cloth—the finale of our banquet’s spectacle.

Dayo lifted me off my feet, spinning me in a hug until laughter bubbled from my lungs, and the joy I felt then could have given me wings. Then he set me down—

And the hall vanished.

Or rather, all the people in it. And I was standing in a cavernous, silent room, every coronation guest replaced with a small, unsmiling child. The smell of death rose from two thousand dirt-covered bodies, blank eyes fixed on mine.

My heart slammed in my chest. “What are you?” I rasped, clawing at my skin, on which glyphs now burned in patterns like streams of fire ants. “Where did you all come from? What do you want?”

The children regarded me, expressionless, for a long moment. Then they spoke in a monotone, words overlapping in a treble din.

Justice—no one cared—should have saved us—gone, all of us gone—why don’t you care?—do more—do more—pay for all our lives—justice—have to pay . . .

I covered my ears, but it made no difference. The glyphs on my arms gleamed, threatening to melt my skin to the bone. “What do you want?” I asked again, growing shrill. “For Am’s sake, just tell me what you want!”