“I don’t know,” I retorted. “Are you? You still haven’t joined me for kuso-kuso.”
“I’d prefer to get to know you the old-fashioned way.” He cocked his head in invitation. “Spar with me, Tarisai. How about a scrimmage on the palace training grounds?”
I bit my lip, fidgeting with the sleeve of his robe, unnerved by the masculine scent that lingered there. I had an involuntary flash of Zuri dancing around me at my Peace Banquet, making me spin until I was dizzy, a lithe shadow swirling just out of reach.
“Lady Empress,” I muttered, feeling sullen. “You keep forgetting my title.”
He bowed and extended a hand. “I’ll meet you halfway. How about . . . Idajo?”
I shivered at the name. Tarisai Idajo—Tarisai the Just.
Still, my fingers closed around his. “You’d better make yourself useful, Crocodile.”
He smiled, this time with no sarcasm or seduction. As he looked at me, a deep, wistful memory seemed to pass over his face like a cloud. Curiosity got the best of me. His hand still in mine, I let my Hallow explore him . . .
Only to have my own power thrust back into my mind, like a wave breaking against a dam.
I blinked, dazed. “You’re Hallowed too,” I blurted, and he smiled tightly. Zuri had thrown up mental shields of jagged adamant, the strongest I had ever encountered.
“I am. An ability to resist the inherent gifts of others.” I gasped, remembering that Ai Ling had found Zuri impossible to coerce. His smile wavered. “It is the main reason, I suspect, that I am alive, and my family is not.”
“I’m sorry,” I mumbled. I was still holding his hand. I squeezed it tighter, just for a moment, and he lifted my palm to his lips, kissing it briefly before turning to leave the room.
“My steward will escort you back to the palace,” he said in a strange, subdued voice. “I’ll see you later, my Empress Idajo.”
CHAPTER 23
Later turned out to be the next morning.
The monthly Rising had just finished, a gaggle of courtiers bustling out of the room after dressing me and Dayo. I did not hear Zuri enter the room until he began to applaud, leaning in the arched entryway.
“Well done, Emperor. Empress Idajo,” purred Zuri of Djbanti, his nasal court voice back in full force. The gold cuff was back on his arm. “The fear you two inspire in that crowd of sycophants never ceases to impress.”
I stiffened on the dais, my nails digging into the bedding. Despite seeing it with my own eyes, it was still hard to believe that this man and the blood-splattered warrior who had seized me on a zipline were the same person. Just like at the Peace Banquet, Zuri’s long, neat locs twinkled with gold accents, and that metallic combination of iron and sweet agave wafted from his elegant frame.
Am’s Story, Dayo Ray-spoke, grinning. He’s as pretty as you, Tar. Are you sure you don’t want to make babies with anyone? Because—
I nudged him, hard, in the ribs. He kept grinning, Ray vibrating with laughter as I glowered down at Zuri.
“I’m afraid my Rising is over,” I told the king flatly. “If you wanted an audience, you should have come on time.”
“I didn’t want to crowd you,” he said. He stood, looking me over with liquid, inscrutable eyes. “Not after what you went through yesterday. I figured you need as much rest as possible. I am happy to find you revived.”
The concern in his tone sounded genuine. Still, my eyes narrowed. “If you’re so eager for me to rest, why come at all?”
His features danced. “I have brought you a surprise, though I now know you are not fond of them. As your council nears completion, I realized you should begin training for the Underworld as soon as possible.”
My frown deepened, but when Zuri cleared his throat, three people appeared in the doorway. My jaw dropped.
“Woo In,” I squeaked. “You’re all right.”
The last time I’d seen the Redemptor prince of Songland, he’d been languishing with fever on the steppes of Mount Sagimsan. Aside from the arrow wound scar on his abdomen, he appeared to have made a full recovery. His jet, silky hair was longer than I remembered, and tousled, as if he’d flown to the palace. Purple birthmarks covered his sinewy arms and chest, partially concealed by his signature crisp blue cape.
His mouth lifted in a smile. “An honor to see you well, Lady’s Daugh . . . Empress Tarisai.”
A golden-cheeked infant squirmed in a sling on Woo In’s chest. Beside them both stood a young girl—a Redemptor, no older than Adukeh, with short bobbed hair and pert, jaded features. A massive, translucent blue bird sat on her shoulder, its eyes crystal white.
“Ye Eun,” I breathed, sliding down from the dais to greet her. “I’m so glad to see you.”
I hadn’t known if I ever would. My last memory of Ye Eun was on Mount Sagimsan, her form growing smaller as I rode away on Hyung’s steaming back, racing toward what I thought was certain death. My heart twinged—the way it always did around Ye Eun, the warrior of a girl whose innocence I had failed to protect. I took a step forward, unconsciously reaching to touch her.
The bird’s feathers flashed with blue light. A cold blast seared the air between us, and I snatched my hand back. Glistening ice encased the tips of my fingers. The Imperial Guard warriors at the door gasped, reaching for their weapons.
“It’s all right,” I told them, shaking my smarting fingers. “That’s not a monster. It’s an emi-ehran, isn’t it? A soul guardian.” I smiled down at Ye Eun. “All Redemptors have them.”
“Only if we survive the Underworld,” Ye Eun corrected.
“Right.” I frowned awkwardly. “Didn’t you say your emi-ehran was a phoenix?”
“Hwanghu is a phoenix,” Ye Eun retorted, stroking the bird’s breast. “But their essence isn’t fire. It’s water. The language of my sowanhada.”
I should have guessed that a Songlander girl as strong as Ye Eun was gifted in elemental speaking. Could she command water, like Woo In and Min Ja controlled the wind?
“Don’t mind them,” Ye Eun told the shimmering creature. “I’m not in danger—right now anyway. Go play.”
Hwanghu nuzzled Ye Eun’s cheek, threw us all a haughty look, then flapped its wings and dispersed into crystalline droplets, vanishing through the bedroom window.
I glanced around with sudden caution, searching for a flash of lurid orange and black, or the tip of a massive striped paw. “Uh—is . . . Hyung here too?” I asked Woo In. “I never got to thank him—them—for my ride. After bringing me to the palace, your emi-ehran just . . . disappeared.”
“Sounds like Hyung,” Woo In replied with a wry smile. “My pet cat, as Kirah liked to call them, always comes when summoned. But even after all these years, I’ve never quite figured out where they vanish to. I imagine Hyung in a void, playing with some cosmic ball of string.”
“I suppose,” Zuri said presently, bowing to me, “you’ll want to know why your friends are here. Well . . . Woo In offered to bring Ye Eun to help you train for the Underworld. And I assumed the expense of their lodestone journey. It was no trouble, I assure you.”
Dayo cocked his head in confusion. “That’s very kind of you, King Zuri. But why does Tar need to train for the Underworld? After all—once she’s anointed her council—she’ll be immune to all thirteen deaths except old age. It may be . . . difficult for her to find her way back from the Breach. But she’ll be fine,” he insisted, nervously. “I know she will.”
“Except,” Ye Eun said, crossing her arms, “there are more than thirteen deaths.”
The air in the room chilled, plunging into silence.
“But how is that possible?” I asked. “I’ve never heard of more than thirteen. No one has.” All of Aritsar knew the story. Warlord Fire, consort of Queen Earth, had grown jealous of her union with King Water, and had cursed Earth’s children with thirteen deaths in revenge. But Woo In shook his head grimly.
“Ye Eun’s right,” he said. “Tarisai . . . there’s something you need to kn
ow about the Underworld. Death is not a concept there. In the Underworld, the Deaths are living things—prowling monsters. And when I saw them as a boy, there were more than thirteen. Way more. Some of them were expected: Burning, Drowning, Heart-Death, the like. But others were strange . . . like Despair. Avarice. Yearning. I think, perhaps, there’s a way humans can die while their hearts are still beating.” His jaw tightened. “One of the Deaths didn’t have a name at all.”
My pulse raced, and I touched the mask beneath my clothes. I had thought that with a council of thirteen siblings, I would be inoculated against death—unless I stayed in the Underworld, dying eventually of old age. I now felt foolish for my hubris.
“Well,” Zuri droned into the terse silence, “it seems you and your friends have a lot to talk about. So I take my leave. Don’t thank me, please. Bringing your Songlander friends was the least I could do, after the impression I made at your Peace Banquet.” He bowed once to Dayo, then lingeringly to me. “I look forward to sparring, Empress Redemptor.”
He leaned to take my hand, kissing my palm again as he had in his private rooms. Then with a wave of sharply sweet cologne, Zuri was gone.
I faced Woo In, demanding without preamble, “How do you know him?”
An odd expression crossed Woo In’s face. “It’s . . . a long story,” he said at last. His voice was quiet, gossamer—the same reverent tone he had once used around my mother.
My skin pricked with unease. “I’m assuming you know he’s the Crocodile?” I had already broken my promise to Zuri by telling Dayo, though I didn’t think that counted.
“Yes.” Woo In sighed heavily, and a shimmering breeze stirred his silk cape. “Tarisai, there’s something you should know.”
“And?”
“And I can’t say. I gave him my word.”
I snorted. “Since when does the king of Djbanti control you?”
“He doesn’t. But . . .” Woo In sighed, rubbing his temples. “I took something from him, not too long ago. Something I can’t give back. Just like I took something from you.” He winced, and we both shifted uncomfortably beneath the weight of my mother’s death. “I’m sorry, Tarisai. I didn’t know the knife was poisoned. The Lady anointed me, and I loved her. I never would have—”
“I know, Woo In,” I murmured. “And I forgive you.”
He nodded glumly. “I need Zuri to forgive me too. There is . . . honor between us.”
“You and Zuri are friends?”
He clenched and unclenched his hands, choosing his words carefully. “I have associated with Zuri for many years.”
The emphasis was meaningful, but the hidden message was lost on me. At my blank stare, Woo In shrugged and spread his hands. “Look. Insufferable as he may seem, I can tell you that Zuri means no harm. He is safe to anoint as a council member—even if your motives may not always align.”
I pinched the bridge of my nose, shaking my head. “None of this makes sense. Why are you even here?”
“Like Zuri said: to bring Ye Eun. I’d train you for the Underworld myself, but my mother is uneasy with the idea of me staying at An-Ileyoba. Guess she’s afraid I’ll get sucked into another Arit conspiracy.”
I raised an eyebrow. “I thought you hated Queen Hye Sun. For how she treated you when you returned from the Underworld.”
“I did hate her.” He paused, his gaze softening. “But I think . . . she hated herself more. She’s different now than I remember. Wiser. In any case, her heart is fragile with age, and I won’t tax it more than is necessary.” For just a moment, he glanced searchingly around the room. “I . . . had hoped to introduce one of your council members to my mother. Is . . . is the High Priestess—”
“Kirah isn’t here,” I said bluntly. “If that’s what you’re asking. She’s gone to face an alagbato in Blessid Valley. Then she’s off to Songland, to negotiate Arit reparations.” When his face fell, I rolled my eyes, taking pity on him. “I’m sure she hopes to see you in Songland,” I admitted. “And if you leave now, you could probably fly to Blessid Valley by nightfall.”
“Ah.” Woo In’s eyes shone considerably brighter. “Well. Perhaps I will. If I can be of assistance, I mean.”
In his sling, the baby roused, mewling softly.
“Ae Ri,” I gasped, recognizing the black tuft of hair. “She’s already so much bigger than when I saw her last. How are the other Redemptor children? Are they alone at the refuge?”
Ye Eun retrieved Ae Ri from Woo In’s sling, expertly settling the infant on one hip.
“The Sagimsan Refuge doesn’t exist anymore,” Ye Eun snapped. “After you cancelled the Redemptor Treaty, Queen Hye Sun sent an order to Songland: all Redemptors were to be adopted into regular families. So the other children got taken.”
“That’s wonderful,” I gushed, then knew immediately I had said the wrong thing. Ye Eun’s face reddened.
“No one wanted me,” she said quietly. “They said I’m cursed, since I’ve been to the Underworld already. And Ae Ri cried when the nobles tried to separate us. So . . .” Ye Eun chewed her lip, scowling at the floor. “I don’t care where I live. But I’m not going anywhere without Ae Ri.”
“You can stay here, in the suite,” I said hurriedly. “Both of you. For as long as you like.”
A small lump rose in my throat as Ae Ri fussed, and Ye Eun calmed her with a maternal coo. At twelve, Ye Eun was already a competent caregiver. But how long since anyone had mothered her?
My thoughts spiraled to The Lady. Already, the shadow she had cast over my life seemed eons away. Whenever I dwelled on it, my thoughts sputtered and fizzled, like oil drops on a brazier. I’d never been mothered either—not really. The Lady had seen me as a tool—an extension of herself. Then again, I had only seen her as a symbol. A totem for the familial closeness, the sense of belonging I craved. We had neither of us seen each other, not really. And we’d never have another chance again.
“May . . .” A sudden urge had overcame me. “May I hold Ae Ri?”
Ye Eun raised an eyebrow, then held out the fussing baby.
I cradled Ae Ri gingerly, and said the first thing that came to mind. “Sorry,” I whispered. “Um. I know I’m bad at this. But you’ll never go hungry here. And you’ll still have Ye Eun to play with. Eventually, you’ll come to like us. I think—”
Ae Ri lurched from my grasp, reaching for someone behind me with insistent grunts. I turned, and the baby catapulted herself straight into Dayo’s arms.
Ae Ri and the emperor stared at each other, transfixed with delight. Solemnly, Ae Ri placed her pudgy hands on either side of Dayo’s dark, scarred face, cooing as if she’d known him all her life.
“Hello,” Dayo breathed, liquid with adoration. She beamed, and then claimed the oba mask on his chest, gnawing the rainbow lion mane.
“Well,” I said, blinking once. “I guess . . . that decides that.”
“We’ll have toys brought up from the Children’s Palace,” Dayo said dreamily. “We’ll hire a nurse, and a team of tutors, and make the salon a playroom. I think you’d like that, Ye Eun. And you too—wouldn’t you, Ri-Ri?” He blew on Ae Ri’s soft hair, glowing when she giggled. “You’ll love the wooden giraffes. And the rocking zebra . . . unless you want a real one.” He bounced her. “Should Uncle Dayo buy you a zebra? A rhino? You can play with Aunt Tarisai’s elephant, if you like . . .”
My cheeks hurt from smiling. But sadness panged through me. I had wondered if I’d fall in love with Ae Ri, like Dayo had. If holding her would reverse that impulse inside me—that conviction against having babies of my own. But as precious as Ae Ri was . . . my mind remained unchanged.
One thing, however, I knew for certain: Nothing would ever happen to Ye Eun, or Ae Ri, or any other innocent born with maps on their skin. Not on my watch. And if I was to be the world’s last Redemptor, I would have to learn what it took to survive the Underworld.
CHAPTER 24
“I hate this,” Dayo said quietly as Ae Ri fussed on his hip.
“I hate everything about this.”
“Again,” I told Ye Eun.
“This is unwise,” warned Captain Bunmi, pacing in the Hall of Dreams. I had asked her to stand watch, making sure no one interrupted us in the old Children’s Palace, where I had been meeting with Ye Eun for a week, training for my journey to the Underworld. “Lady Empress, you aren’t immune to organ-death yet.”
“Do you want me to survive the Underworld or not?” I shivered in a thin embroidered shift. Ye Eun had advised against wearing anything else while I trained. The cold was the point. “Watch my sprites,” I told Bunmi, pointing at the floor-length arched windows of the hall. Outside, my sprites twinkled worriedly against the zenith. The night of the Emperor’s Walk, the sprites had dimmed when the assassin hurt me. I had experimented since, concluding that their lives were linked to mine.
“I’ll stop training if they start dying,” I said. “But not before.”
Moonlight made ghosts of the sheet-covered toys and furniture. The mural of dancing children on the Hall of Dreams ceiling appeared more sinister than cheery, cherubic faces obscured in shadow. As far as Dayo and Bunmi knew, I had chosen to train in the Children’s Palace for its seclusion. Ever since our council had moved to the Imperial Suite, not even servants visited this wing of the palace. In truth, I had chosen the Hall of Dreams to make sure I would not buckle to cowardice. Any time pain tempted me to stop training, these abandoned toys, these tiny bedrolls and empty miniature chairs would remind me of the children my ancestors sacrificed.
“Again,” I repeated, and Ye Eun nodded, whispering to the crystalline emi-ehran on her shoulder. Hwanghu rose into the air, water running in rivulets from its translucent blue shoulders. Then it shrieked, a battle cry—and dove at me, shattering against my chest in a stinging wave of ice.
I gasped and fell to my knees, heart floundering at the living, malevolent cold, which coursed up my neck, across my collarbone, and down my legs and arms. Unlike normal water, this liquid was sentient, made of Hwanghu’s soul and Ye Eun’s will. Until she commanded otherwise, the water would remain on my skin: a frigid, lethal mantle.
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