Page 114 of Firstborn of the Sun
L’?r? brought out the hourglass; the sand remaining would not last two full days. It was unlikely to last even one before the storm arrived. They needed to be at the last wall of Oru before then. She tucked it back into her pocket. ‘We need to keep moving.’
In the days before the Day of the First Sun, kings birthed heirs who took their thrones and from father to son, the crown passed down a single lineage.
Then came the gift of agbára oru and the curse to keep it strong in our blood.
Then came the need for High Priests and stripping ceremonies.
Then came what is now and what will always be.
35
The Royal Palace, Royal Island, Kingdom of Oru
TOFA
Tofa had not left his sister’s side from the moment the knife went into her until now. Many light beads passed, and there he lay next to her body, speaking to her to keep her mind alive while her flesh weaved back together. He told her stories from when they were young; he reminded her of their love, and their promise to each other – before the world tried to separate what the gods had bound at birth. In truth, he begged for forgiveness he did not deserve. Her breaths came slow and shallow and he knew, even if she could hear him from the deep slumber she was in, she wouldn’t respond. It wouldn’t surprise him that even if she woke, she would never again utter a single word to him.
Tofa rose from the bed and looked around K?ni’s room. It looked as bland as a dungeon cell. The dry grey stones had no cover, no curtains, just a single bed and a piece of rug on the floor. He’d tried many times to make it more like his, but K?ni always refused. She spent her life determined to prove to the crown and order that all she wanted was life. Tofa strolled towards the flimsy wooden shutters that opened into the balcony. K?ni’s room was high enough that the kingdomspread out before him and he could see past the river and into the first ring.
The wind blew in his face, the light air cooling the nervous sweat that had built up as he waited for K?ni to wake. On the ground below him, people moved around with purpose, the guards, the maidens, the rest of the court, all going in separate directions, doing different things but all in service of the crown. Every so often someone would look up high enough to catch a glimpse of him and kneel to the ground in respect before moving on.
There was a feeling of safety, of purpose and destiny when one knew who they were, what they were born for and how they would die. Tofa had grown up believing three things to be true. He was born to be king, his purpose was to rule, and he would die as king. Thoughts of the bastard daughter his father revealed threatened to waive his conviction. But no. The crown was always his. There were no games to be played in pursuit of the throne. It was his. And he was a fool to have not wanted it.
Now he was starting to see the truth. The crown did take, and it would continue to, but he could take from it too. Without it he was powerless to save those he loved, to defend himself against anyone and anything that crossed his path. He had been too meek, he saw that now. Floating through the palace like a ghost instead of the king he was destined to be. Pleading and begging for the things he wished for instead of demanding what was already his.
He turned back to see K?ni’s body lying still on the bed. He couldn’t imagine ever again being in a position where he didn’t have the power to protect her. To free her from the curse she was born into. At that moment Tofa knew he didn’t have the privilege of backing down from this fight. Nor did he want to. For a moment, he worried that he was being wipedfrom the history books in a single swipe of ill fate. But then he remembered who he was. Who his mother always told him that he was. Àkbí Oru. Raised for a single purpose. To rule the six rings of the great kingdom of Oru and nothing would stand in his way. The crown was his, and he would not yield. Not to this girl from the north, not to his father or the Elder Priest, and not even to the gods. He knew what he had to do and he knew exactly who he had to speak to.
Tofa chose a disguise as he walked out of the palace, across the golden bridge and into Ìlú-?ba – the first ring of Oru. The home of the rich and poor alike. Long lines of royal families that yielded the throne of inheritance to the Holy Order as was demanded by the gods. Most importantly, it was here the mother of maidens built her home, and that was where he was headed.
Ìyá-Ayé had never knelt before Tofa before. At most, she’d do something that looked like a curtsy but wasn’t. It never bothered Tofa in the past; after all, he wasn’t king yet. So when he stood in the middle of her makeshift throne room, surrounded by a dozen maidens, and said in a low gritty voice, ‘Kneel,’ the old woman’s brows rose in defiance.
Tofa often wondered what kind of king he’d become. He was sure that he was nothing like his father. He had promised himself and his sister that the crown would not strip him of his humanity. Yet at that moment, his agbára flared out of him so brightly that his next breath could have burned the maidens’ home to ash. ‘Kneel before your king, mother of maidens,’ he said again, and this time, the woman went down quick, bowing low but keeping her eyes fixed on his. Her maidens fell in unison, heads bowed and hands outstretched, shining their agbára upon his feet. Submitting to him.
Tofa didn’t have to prove to Ìyá-Ayé his power or authority, but he knew that when he became king, he’d need themaidens to fear him just as much as they did their mother. A few days ago, when he was still young and foolish, he had thought that he’d win their love and respect. But what did that get his father? No matter what the Lord Regent did, Àlùfáà-Àgbà all but spat in his face every time he spoke. Tofa finally saw their spats as they were: a defiance and ridicule of the crown. Something he would not accept from anyone in his kingdom. He would show no weakness.
He dismissed the maidens and Ìyá-Ayé rose to her feet, a wry smile on her face. Tofa didn’t know what she was up to but no one in the kingdom was more cunning, more ruthless or had as many lives as Ìyá-Ayé and all the mother maidens who came before her.
Ìyá-Ayé straightened finally and said, ‘If I had known that all it would take for you to see that you are king was putting a knife in your sister, I would’ve done it myself.’
‘You had something to do with this. You reported K?ni’s friend, didn’t you? You knew how much she loved that girl and would want to protect her. You forced her hand.’
‘I did what I had to, for my kingdom, your kingdom. We are on the brink of collapse, infiltrated by the enemy, the girl from the north is claiming your throne and you were spending your days doing what? Nothing. Waiting for the crown to come to you. We do not have that kind of time. Nor do we have the time to wait until you realize what it means to be king. Something had to wake you up. If I didn’t make you see what it was that you were giving up so easily –’
‘And hurting my sister was the only way to get my attention?’ Tofa shouted.
‘My king, did it not work? Even with all your power as crown heir, you couldn’t save the girl from the law. I knew K?ni would beg your father for mercy and when he said no, she would turn to you, and you would know what it meantto be without power. Now imagine if this L’?r? takes the throne from you. You’ll have nothing. You’ll lose even –’
‘How did you do it?’ Tofa said, cutting her off.
‘Khìndé made it easy. Too easy. Making friends was already against the rules of her life sentence. Then she befriended a child of Ìlú-Idán. All I had to do was wait to catch her in the act. Scions of the old gods can’t help themselves but tap into old magic.’
‘I could kill you here and now.’ Tofa ignited his agbára and the room flooded with heat.
‘You could kill me, or you could ask for whatever brought you across the river,’ Ìyá-Ayé said, stepping back, and Tofa welcomed the fleeting spark of fear that flashed across her face. ‘I’m the reason she’s alive. I saved her. Despite the fact she broke the rules when she lunged at you with her agbára. It doesn’t matter whether she’d have hurt you or not. The law is the law and she broke it.’
‘She would never have hurt me!’ Tofa shouted and flared his agbára.
Ìyá-Ayé fell to her knees again, ‘Your sister will wake up, my king. I will make sure of it.’
