The throne room smelled of incense and fear. The Oba sat carved from ebony, his coral beads clicking with every breath. Flanking him stood Aruosa and the council, their faces painted white for judgment. Efe knelt, the ivory fragment hidden in his fist.
"Speak, apprentice," the Oba commanded. His voice was the sound of bronze bells. Efe told of the grove, of Osaro, of masks that drank madness. When he finished, silence fell heavier than gold. Then Aruosa laughed, a sound like breaking pottery. "A banished boy's tale. Where is your proof?"
Efe opened his hand. The ivory fragment gleamed. The Oba leaned forward, eyes narrowing. "This carving is guild work, but not Odion's. Seize the master until the carver is found." Guards dragged Odion away; his eyes met Efe's with pride and sorrow.
That night Efe was locked in the palace guest quarters, a room of silk and suspicion. He lay awake listening to the city's grief—women wailing, dogs howling, the endless drums. At midnight the door creaked open. Mama Izu slipped inside, her face painted with protective ash.
"The Oba doubts you," she whispered, "but the queens believe. They remember Osaro's mother, a priestess who cursed the guild when her son was banished." She pressed a small clay pot into Efe's hands. "Rub this on your eyes. It will let you see what masks hide."
Efe obeyed. The world shifted; colors bled into shadows, and every face in the palace wore a second mask of fear or guilt. He saw Aruosa's scar twitch when Osaro's name was spoken, saw the Oba's coral beads pulse like living things. Sleep came at last, haunted by wooden smiles.
Morning brought execution drums. Odion was to be beheaded at noon unless the true carver was produced. Efe slipped from the palace with Mama Izu's help, smearing ash on his face to blend with the mourners. He ran to the guildhall, where apprentices whispered of a secret cache beneath the floorboards.
Beneath Odion's workbench lay a bundle wrapped in red cloth. Inside: sketches of masks Efe had never seen, each marked with Osaro's twisted grain. And a letter in Odion's hand: If I die, know the betrayal began with Aruosa. He paid Osaro to destroy me. Efe's blood ran cold. The chief had orchestrated everything.
He raced toward the execution ground, sketches clutched to his chest, as the sun climbed to its zenith and the drums reached their terrible crescendo.