Page 65 of Firstborn of the Sun
Tofa frowned, ‘I don’t.’
‘You could’ve fooled me,’ K?ni scoffed.
Tofa sighed. ‘Our father summoned me, and I’m here. What politics is there?’
‘So wearing that has nothing to do with wanting him to see you as his son and heir and not a warrior? So he doesn’t send you to bring back the runaway Àlùfáà?’
‘You can say his name, you know? He’s still our friend,’ Tofa said, not meeting her gaze. ‘Anyway, this meeting could be about anything.’
K?ni scoffed again. ‘He’s your friend.’
Tofa sighed, unwilling to argue the point with her. She and Alawani had their own odd kind of feud that he never got in the middle of. ‘I wouldn’t have to resort to coy politics if our father could simply realize that I shouldn’t have to go. He shouldn’t be asking me to do that.’
‘If I were you, I would go after the intruder and the deserter and bring them back here to face the council.’
‘Why? Unlike Father, my position on the throne doesn’t include any priestly duties. My duty is to the crown and not the Sun Temple. Following his own orders, I’ve spent the last six blood moons travelling every state in this kingdom, and I can tell you there are bigger problems than temple politics.’
K?ni shook her head. ‘You should go.’
‘Why?’
‘At the next First Sun festival, you will become the Aláàfin,’ K?ni said in her usual whispering tone. ‘This kingdom will be yours to rule and protect. This incident at the Sun Temple makes you look incompetent. And apart from all that, one of these chosen ones could be your successor. The kingdom needs Àlùfáà. You know that.’
‘I didn’t know you were planning my death,’ Tofa said jokingly, then immediately hated himself.
K?ni’s mouth parted, and her gaze fell. She stiffened, and her hands balled into fists.
How could he be so callous? His death was the one thing they never spoke about.
‘I’m sorry. That was stupid,’ Tofa said, reaching for her, but she slid out of his grasp.
‘It’s fine,’ K?ni said, straightening her sandy brown outfit and adjusting her turban.
The red string around her wrist caught Tofa’s attention, and a pang of familiar guilt ate at him. The way the midwife who attended to their mother told the story, at birth, K?ni had put her hand out first into the world, and the midwife had tied the red string around her wrist, but K?ni had pulled back her hand. That single move changed the fate of their lives as Tofa was then born first and named the heir.
Tofa straightened too, instinctively mirroring her movement, adjusting his agbádá again. As heavy as the crown he was about to inherit felt in his heart, he knew it was nothing compared to his sister’s burden. He couldn’t imagine being forced to remain as small and restrained as was required of her. When he shone, they expected her to hide. Few people outside the palace ever saw her face. It had taken years of his begging for the mask she’d worn across her nose and mouth to be taken off. She couldn’t ever leave the royal island. When she had seen about twelve first suns, their father sent her to be trained by the general of the army in Ìlú-Òdì at the edge of the kingdom. His best friend returned a stranger. The part of her that wanted a life untethered to him was gone. Everything she was – her person, her strength, her agbára – was all in service of her brother. Now she permanently stood by his side, waiting and watching. His life was in her hands, and he knew no one could get close enough to harm him except her.
‘Sorry, I shouldn’t have said that,’ Tofa apologized again.
‘Don’t be daft. I’m not an egg. And you’re right. The only way anyone from this stripping would inherit this throne is if you die. And since I have to die with you, I won’t allow it.I intend to see a hundred first suns, brother,’ K?ni said with a smile that didn’t reach her eyes.
When the time was right, Tofa planned to convince Àlùfáà-Àgbà to remove the rule and separate her life from his. He hoped that he could, and yet a small part of him knew that he was being naïve.
The gilded doors to the courtroom cracked open, and Tofa heard the tune of the drum announcing him. K?ni let him lead the way. Tofa felt the beat in his bones, like a voice singing in his head.
The drum said, ‘Welcome, Táíwò Tofaratì Aládé Adékùgbé, crown heir of Oru, firstborn of the sun, the one whose agbára rivals the gods, protector of the six rings, light of the continent and Supreme Lord of sun and sands. May the sun find you even in the dark of night. May your heart burn like the sun, bright, hot, and undying.’
After repeating this three times, the drummer changed the rhythm, and the drum said one time only, ‘Khìndé Ab’bakú.’
The room fell silent. Tofa marched past the tall pillars and empty marble steps that surrounded the courtroom and moved through the curtains into the inner chamber where the Lord Regent sat atop an elevated dais. Using his agbára, he cooled his body temperature, drying off the sweat beading across his forehead. No need to appear any more nervous than he was. He’d hoped this meeting would be a private audience with his father, but seated along both sides of the rug were the last three remaining members of the late king’s high council, some priests of the Holy Order, and, of course, Àlùfáà-Àgbà. Next to the former High Priest was his maiden and former High Priestess, Ìyá-Ayé – the mother of maidens. Up on the dais, one step below the Lord Regent’s throne, were two golden chairs. Tofa’s mother, Aya’ba Oyíndà, sat onthe left, and High Priestess À?á, the Lord Regent’s maiden, sat on the right. Tofa’s other sisters, Àríké, Àník and Àbní – who would soon comprise Tofa’s own high council – sat at the base of the steps. The girls wore multicoloured àdìr? fabric sewn in different styles, each with a nod to their mothers’ home states of Ìlú-Oní?nà, Ìlú-p? and Ìlú-Idán. Like the other women in the room, they adorned their hair with coral beads and were bathed in gold from their wrists to their ankles.
The precious stones and jewellery of the court’s outfits glittered in the light. Everyone had the same idea as him: one’s outfit, when chosen carefully, relayed messages that didn’t need to be spoken out loud.
Tofa prostrated himself before his father. Behind him, K?ni knelt and bowed. Tofa held the position with his forehead on the ground until his father asked him to stand. As he stood up, his eyes met his father’s and his heart ached the way it did every time he was in his presence. Tofa missed him. The Lord Regent’s downturned brown eyes peered back at Tofa. His white crown emphasized his round features, making him look less intimidating than he was, despite his sunken cheeks and well-moulded beard. The crown had taken much from his father.
The Lord Regent’s parents had died, last laying eyes on their son the moment he left for the Sun Temple at sixteen. Tofa’s father had now seen forty-four first suns and four blood moons. That was a long time to be without one’s family. But the law was the law, and it decreed two things: that all must bow to their knees before the ruler of the land and that parents must never bow to their children. And so, in a wicked twist of fate, his parents lived and died without seeing the man he’d become.
Soon, Tofa would be king and never again fall before hisfather, never again set eyes on him, never again be near him as he was now. So even though his father was right in front of him, Tofa couldn’t shake the feeling of missing him, of grieving him, as though he were already dead.
