Redemptor

  “Tar,” he breathed, dropping his scimitar to the ground. Absently, I wondered why he wasn’t wearing his Imperial Guard uniform. “I was so worried. When we saw the peasants had killed King Zuri, we couldn’t find you, and I thought . . . but you’re alive. Am’s Story”—his gaze dropped to my mask, which glittered with all twelve colors—“you’re more than alive. You’re . . . done. Then you managed to anoint Zuri before he—”

  I nodded.

  “Oh, Tar.” Sanjeet reached me in a stride, holding me to his chest. I shook in his arms, tears pouring from my unblinking eyes as I inhaled his familiar scent. Earth and leather polish. Solid. Grounding—the opposite of the heady rush I’d felt around Zuri.

  “Adukeh,” I asked.

  “She’s safe. Evacuated with the rest of your attendants—only you were missing. You can’t stay, Tar. The battle may be over, but this territory will be volatile for a long time. Djbanti’s government is changing hands, and that transition won’t be pretty.”

  “It’s what they wanted,” I whispered. “The commoners—they deserved a change. Justice. A chance to rule themselves.”

  “I know.”

  “You do? How?”

  He didn’t answer, brow furrowing as his Hallow crackled over me. “I know you can’t exactly die anymore, but . . . Tar, you’re not well. When’s the last time you got any sleep?”

  I smiled up at him as fever overcame me, phantom tutsu sprites spinning in my vision. “Gods don’t sleep, Jeet,” I mumbled. “They only rise and fall.”

  His brow wrinkled with concern. “Tar.”

  “I need help,” I said.

  The words echoed in my ears. I blinked, stunned at how natural they sounded. Why hadn’t I said them before?

  The answer appeared in an instant: the entire corridor filled with ojiji. Crying children, tears running tracks down their filthy cheeks, their voices shrill and ravenous. Angry.

  Sanjeet is blind, they chanted. You cannot ask him for help. He will never understand, he will think you are mad; he will get in your way. Only you can help us, Empress Redemptor. Only you understand. You are special. You are alone—

  “That’s what Zuri thought,” I whispered. “Zuri thought he was alone. That he was the only one who could save those people, and now . . . he’s dead. That’s what you want for me too, isn’t it?”

  “Tar, who are you talking to?” Sanjeet’s tone was calm, but his eyes shone with terror.

  You are unworthy. You have to pay—

  “How can I be both special and unworthy?” I demanded, yelling over the screeching ojiji. Sanjeet gripped my shoulders, making sounds as if to soothe a panicked animal, and I laughed, smiling at him. “It doesn’t make any sense. But those voices—they’ve never tried to make sense. They wanted me to feel guilty. Worthless, exhausted, so I’d go to the Underworld and choose to never come back.”

  “What voices?” His gaze was serious. “Tar, are you talking about the ojiji?”

  “Yes. I think the abiku are using them. Controlling them, somehow. They made me think I was alone. But I was wrong. Jeet . . . I’m not fine. And I haven’t been for a long—”

  The children screamed.

  Something warm trickled down my neck. I touched my ears—they were running with blood.

  “Help,” I said again, before collapsing against Sanjeet’s chest, my world fading to white.

  When I awoke, a hot, fragrant mist enveloped me, prickling my underarms and forehead. Then a bracingly cold wave slapped my face. I jerked upright, opening my eyes just in time to see a bird with crystalline blue wings flap away.

  “Sorry,” said Ye Eun, “I told Hwanghu to be gentle.”

  “What in Am’s name . . .” I croaked.

  I was outdoors, and it appeared to be twilight, my sprites barely visible in the sky. I was lying on a translucent jade altar, which rested on the banks of several steaming pools. The spring lay in a mossy clearing, surrounded on all sides by vine-covered rock face. Ye Eun was kneeling by my side, wearing nothing but an unbleached shift. A short distance away, Ae Ri sat among the moss in only a nappy, splashing her pudgy hands in the water.

  “Ye Eun, where are we? And how did you—”

  “Drink,” she ordered, holding a drinking gourd to my lips. The mist had saturated her short black hair and strands clung to her stony face. “You’re thirsty.”

  She was right, and so I obeyed, gulping down several ounces of metallic-tasting water. “You slept for a week,” she explained. “The Well priests had to force drinks down your throat until I used sowanhada. I learned how to command the water to stay in your mouth. Eventually, you’d swallow it.” She cocked her head, raising her eyebrows at my lioness mask. “You wouldn’t have died either way, I suppose. But you wouldn’t have gotten better either.”

  I drew my knees to my chest. Besides the mask, I wore only a strip of linen, tied gently across my breasts, and a matching loincloth that hung to my ankles. Every inch of my map-covered skin beaded with sweat. Someone had sectioned my hair into neat twists and massaged my scalp with tingling peppermint oil.

  I sat in a temple, of course. If Ye Eun’s mention of priests hadn’t been enough, the stone goddess towering nearby would have confirmed it. The natural rock face had been carved into the shape of a winged, plush-lipped young woman emptying a jug. An enormous waterfall gushed from her vessel, landing with billowing clouds of steam into the springs below. Turquoise pricks of light danced on the water’s surface, diving, chirruping, leaving trails of rainbow bubbles: ombitsu sprites, much rarer than tutsu, and said only to appear where water was exceptionally pure.

  “That’s supposed to be Iyaja,” said Ye Eun, nodding at the mountain sculpture. “The spring’s alagbato—King Water’s favorite daughter. She blesses mortals with good health. If you believe in all that.”

  I sucked in a breath. “Then I’m not in Djbanti anymore.”

  The sects of Arit religion made for wildly different places of worship. In Oluwan, Ember-sect halls devoted to Warlord Fire were most common, built near volcanoes and holy forges, and bustling with merchants of coal and gemstones. The Temple of Iyaja, a collection of springs and tunnels carved into a mountain, was the only Well-sect shrine to King Water and his pantheon near Oluwan City. The ancient hot springs—which mysteriously spouted salt water instead of fresh—were said to cure troubled souls of evil spirits. I glanced around. My altar stood a stone’s throw from several cave openings. Drumbeats and string music floated out from the gloom, interspersed with distant chanting.

  Ye Eun leaned against the altar, eyeing me keenly. “Do you feel different now, Lady Empress?”

  “Different how?”

  “I don’t know. Different. From before.”

  “I’m certainly weaker,” I mumbled. “And hungry. And . . .” I trailed off, finally identifying the strange weightlessness I’d felt since waking.

  No headaches. For the first time in months, not even the slightest twinge.

  The chorus of ojiji, which I’d grown to regard almost as my conscience, waiting always at the edge of my thoughts, had vanished completely.

  Relief and unease washed over me. What did it mean? Had the spirits given up on me—did they no longer think I could bring the justice they craved? It was nice not to be in pain, but . . . without them, how would I know what to do?

  Ye Eun handed me another gourd, this time filled with broth. I gulped it down too quickly, feeling instantly queasy. “They brought you back to An-Ileyoba first,” Ye Eun said. “When you didn’t wake up for days, the whole palace was worried—especially the emperor and the High Lord General. None of the healers could figure out what was wrong. Then the sprites said to bring you here.”

  I shook my head—knowing I couldn’t have heard right. “The sprites?” I stared up at the hazy twilight sky where the tutsu twinkled faintly.

  “It’s hard to explain. I’ll let the High Lord General do it. Are you still thirsty?”

  I nodded, and she gestured at the spr
ing, squinting hard in concentration. A bubble of water lifted into the air, hovering toward us. When Ye Eun muttered something, the bubble seemed to shake itself free of crumbling white powder, leaving the water clear—she had ordered the liquid to remove its own salt. I held out the drinking gourd, and the bubble burst over it, allowing me to drink.

  “You get lots of visitors, you know,” she said, gesturing toward the cave openings. “The emperor comes every day, and all of the realm rulers. Sometimes they watch you when I’m not here. Of course, the visitor who comes most often is—”

  “You’re awake,” said a deep voice. I turned just in time to see Sanjeet, frozen in front of the caves. He stared at me, lips parted like I’d risen from the dead.

  “Jeet,” I murmured. Like me, he was mostly naked, wearing only a long white loincloth. Mist beaded on his wide copper shoulders and glistened in his curling hair.

  He reached the altar in three strides and knelt to clutch my shoulders. “How do you feel?”

  “Tired. But . . . rested, if that makes sense.”

  “And the ojiji?” He asked, careful to keep his tone neutral. “Are you still . . . seeing them? Hearing things?”

  I shook my head. “I don’t know what was happening to me, before. But something about this place . . . It clears my head.” My face heated. After months of absent silence, Sanjeet’s presence still felt unreal—especially here, in this clearing of mist and rainbowed light. “Jeet, what’s going on? And, um—why aren’t we wearing anything?”

  Ye Eun stifled a giggling snort, scooping up Ae Ri and disappearing into the tunnels.

  Sanjeet blinked, glancing down at his hairy muscled chest. “Oh. The priests don’t allow normal clothes into the spring. It’s said to defile the water.” He bit his lip, scanning me anxiously. “I’m so glad you’re all right. I’ll explain everything, I promise, but . . .” He glanced at the sky, which was fading fast, streaked with shadowy indigo. “You’re supposed to dip in the spring before sunset. It’s part of your treatment. I can carry you.” He shrugged, looking sheepish. “I’ve been doing it every night for days.”

  I nodded shyly and placed my arms around his neck for balance as he scooped me up from the altar. The spring deepened quickly as he waded in, hot water lapping at our bare skin. When he set me down, my feet barely touched the bottom. Beneath the water, his hands closed around my waist, steadying me.

  “There,” he sighed as steam rose around us. Then he swallowed hard, drawing me close so his chin rested atop my head. “I was beginning to think the treatments weren’t working. If you’d slept another day, Dayo was going to rush Kirah home from Songland. She’s probably coming anyway. News of your illness spread fast. As we speak, the entire empire is burning incense for your recovery.”

  This close, I could feel his heartbeat, erratic as his chest pressed against mine. “Jeet . . . What happened at the fortress?”

  He sucked in a breath. “Well. The good news is, while the transition wasn’t pretty, Djbanti’s revolt was incredibly well organized. The commoners have seized control of the realm and elected their own chieftains to divide property and carry out the people’s demands. If you and Dayo choose to recognize their new government, I’d guess Djbanti will resume trade with other realms in a matter of months.”

  “And the bad news?”

  “Djbanti’s nobility—cronies of the former warlords—have taken sanctuary in Oluwan, and they’re demanding support from the crown.”

  My eyes widened. “Why would they expect help from us, after our Imperial Guard warriors defended the commoners? I’d have thought the nobles would be furious.”

  “Ah . . . the nobles don’t exactly know about that part.” Sanjeet sighed and released me, running wet fingers through his hair. “At least, not yet. My warriors and I were wearing plain clothes. I had to make sure we weren’t recognized, since we were technically breaking imperial law.”

  He was right. Anointed Ones weren’t supposed to interfere in a realm’s internal conflict; that job belonged to the vassal rulers. The imperial councils only ruled on a larger scale, mediating peace and trade between realms, and hearing escalated court cases.

  My eyebrows rose. Since when did Sanjeet start conducting subterfuge missions on behalf of commoners?

  “There’s a lot to explain,” he mumbled.

  “I’d say.” I smiled at him, intrigued.

  “It’s a long story. And I’m not a hero for most of it. Maybe when you’re stronger—”

  “My ears are strong enough.”

  He hesitated, then nodded, looking thoughtful and grim. “After I left An-Ileyoba—that night after our fight—I wandered Dhyrma for a while. As you are aware, tracking alagbatos is no easy task. Paying charlatan shamans, camping in wait for spirits . . . It was numbing, and I liked it that way. Scout all day, drink all night. Dream of you, if I was lucky. My plan was to live that way until you returned from the Underworld. And if you never returned, well . . . the alagbatos weren’t going anywhere. And neither was the wine.” He gave a tight, self-deprecating smile. “I told myself to be content. After all—that’s what I told you to do. I had a home, if I wanted it, and a family—Dayo, our council. Everyone I loved was safe and cared for. Except for you, of course. And . . .” He stiffened then, running fingers through his wet hair. “I started wondering about my brother Sendhil. I hadn’t contacted him in years—was afraid to, really. But I tracked him down. I expected to find him snug in some luxury Vhraipur apartment, bullying his way through the Dhyrma social scene. He was Hallowed to sense people’s vulnerabilities, after all, and so he’d certainly have plenty of money: The Imperial Treasury cares for the relations of Anointed Ones. But when I found him . . .”

  His jaw hardened. I lifted my wet hand to his face, and let the memory unfold inside me.

  CHAPTER 29

  A lanky boy wallows in the dirt, propped against the side of what looks like a brothel. He sings to himself, tossing back a leather flask, and I can smell the stink of liquor from yards away. The boy shares my russet complexion, my chin and prominent ears. Despite his dissolute appearance, he’s clean-shaven. I’d smile if I weren’t so horrified—my brother never could grow a beard.

  “Twelve Realms, big brother,” Sendhil slurs without rising. He looks me up and down with a sneer. “Looking at you now, I’d never recognize the champion pit fighter of Vhraipur. Much nicer clothes, for one thing. No bloodstains. Or do the servants take care of those for you?”

  “It’s good to see you, Sendhil.” I ignore the barb—I had known this wouldn’t be easy. “I . . . know I wasn’t there for you when we were boys. That I haven’t been there for you. And I’m sorry. But now, I hope at least we can . . .”

  I trail off, taking in his clothes—a disheveled soldier’s tunic, cobra sigils emblazoned on each breast.

  The guilt drains out of me, replaced by disbelief that chokes my throat, and I barely manage words at all.

  “You’re still with the mercenaries,” I say.

  And he shrugs. My poor, brilliant, idiot of a baby brother—shrugs. “What else would I do?”

  “Anything!” I rasp. “Am’s Story, Sendhil! The crown has been paying your expenses for over two years. And you’re Hallowed. You see weaknesses in character; you can make people feel things—feel anything. You could have been an orator. Or . . . a priest, a mummer, I don’t know. The point is, all this time, you could have lived for something greater. Could have helped people—”

  “Like you.”

  “Yes,” I retort. “And instead, you sit around and kill people for a living.”

  “Like you.”

  I open my mouth, then shut it, air deflating from my lungs. “Imperial Guards don’t kill during peacetime,” I stammer at last.

  “But you’re trained to.” Sendhil smirks, then winces, rubbing his temples and nursing the flask again. “Listen, Jeeti, I don’t know why you’re here. If you hoped to rescue me, well . . . I don’t need rescuing. I made friends in my cohort. Just
like you did back in Oluwan, with your magical friends in your ivory tower. So don’t worry about me. As long as that pretty money keeps coming from the capital . . .” He raised his flask. “We’re square.”

  “Sendhil, those mercenaries are not your friends. They made you do monstrous things. They—they broke you—”

  “So what?” Sendhil shoots back, clumsily rising to his feet. “The world is broken! We of all people should know that, Jeeti. Do you know who tried to help people? Do you know who tried to make a difference? Amah.”

  It takes everything inside me not to hit him.

  But I don’t. Instead we stare at each other, a distorted mirror. It is unclear, at least to me, which of us is the righteous gazer, and which, the tarnished reflection.

  Sendhil tosses back the last drops from his flask, his weapon-scarred hands shaking. Then he stumbles toward the brothel door.

  Without turning around, he pauses, just for a moment, and says, “Don’t live for something greater, brother. Just protect what you’ve got. And this time”—his jaded brown eyes fall on me for a final time—“don’t let go.”

  “I wanted to be angry,” said Sanjeet, once our minds separated and I was myself again.

  The sun had vanished, plunging the spring into shadow but for the pulsing light of ombitsu sprites, and the glow of my tustu overhead, forming their purple lattice in the evening sky.

  “To hate him,” he continued. “To prove him wrong. But I couldn’t. Sendhil was right: We were the same; both aimless, both lacking in conviction. Equally content with our status quo. The only difference was that my clothes were more expensive, and people genuflected when I passed.” He frowned, watching absently as ombitsu sprites trailed rainbows around the waterfall. “I distracted myself for a while, tracking down the new entrance to the Underworld. I found it. It’s not far from the Oruku Breach, but there wasn’t much I could do—only set guards to watch and warn you that the ojiji were targeting nobles. I could have come home after that. But it felt wrong—returning to wring my hands over you, while you fought for justice. So I decided to fight a noble cause of my own: I tried to catch the Crocodile.”