Slowly, every other blueblood in the chamber sank to their knees, babbling as they pressed their brows to the floor.

Forgive us, Lady Empress . . . my family had nothing to do with it . . . we’ll make amends. More riches than you could ever . . . promise, just let us . . . don’t take my brothers. They’re all I have—

I pressed my fists to my pounding forehead, leaning against a wall for support. “You’re dismissed,” I rasped. “All of you.”

If they heard me, they did not react, continuing to beg and wail.

“Please be quiet,” I groaned, and when that didn’t work, anger surged through me. “I said be quiet!”

My mask thrummed with heat, and the room fell deathly still. Breathing hard, I regained my balance, staring down at the crown of dumbstruck ladies.

“Adebimpe,” I said, my voice still resonant with power, “if you are to attend me, you must change your reputation at court. No more tricks. No more coalitions with other bullies. Instead . . .” I sighed, gazing at the trembling girls behind her. “Find the weakest players at court. The ones that are poor, or plain, or unpopular. Lift them up, just because you can. For Am’s sake—it shouldn’t be so hard to be kind now and then. Can you handle that, Adebimpe?”

She nodded woodenly, as if in a trance. The mask on my chest cooled.

“Then you may attend me,” I said. “But for now . . . you are all dismissed. I need to rest.”

Reluctantly, the courtiers wobbled to their feet, backing out of the room in a hushed exodus. But Adebimpe paused at the door, meeting my eyes with a deep, terrible emotion I’d never seen on her before.

Reverence.

“Thank you for letting us cleanse our names, Lady Empress,” she said. She sounded almost childlike. “For letting us please the gods. If we ever doubted that you had the Ray before . . .” She swallowed hard. “Well. We don’t doubt it now.”

CHAPTER 19

“Too tight, your imperial majesty?” Adebimpe asked A week later.

We sat side by side on my sleeping dais, as the moon cast silvery light into the bedchamber. For the past hour, her fingers had danced across my scalp, sectioning the hair in neat rows and saturating each tuft with soothing aloe water. Now she applied a fragrant pomade, twisting strands together with blurring speed.

“It’s fine,” I mumbled. “Thank you.”

“Your curl pattern will be exquisite when we take these out,” she sighed. Then, to my surprise, she picked up a wooden brush to tidy my edges . . . and snapped the brush, one-handed, in two. She tsked, tossing away the pieces. “Silly me. Sometimes I don’t know my own strength.”

I turned to stare at her. “Does that happen . . . often?”