Like an island obscured by fog, a corner of my identity floated out of reach. I could build a raft and row to it—fight through the waves of my mind’s resistance, reclaiming the shores of my past—but I was too much of a coward to try.

“So don’t,” Dayo always said when I worried. “You’re home now. Why would you need anywhere else?”

That man and woman, another voice Ray-spoke in my mind. Tarisai, you’ve seen them before.

The voice caressed the center of my spine, a velvet bass thickened by a plosive Dhyrmish accent. I suppressed my pleasure, hoping it did not travel through the Ray as I met Sanjeet’s eye.

He sat one stool to my left, resplendent in the pearl-studded black kaftan of Dhyrmish generals. With his head, he gestured to the next group of well-wishers in my receiving line. Don’t you know them?

An isoken woman in a hooded green cloak and a man whose full-body birthmarks betrayed him to be a Redemptor stood before my platform. Most well-wishers were bashful, staring at their feet as they stammered congratulations and handed me a gift. In contrast, these visitors stared directly at me … and smirked.

I shook my head at Sanjeet. I’ve never seen them before. Have you?

He looked uncertain. Once, I think. In the stories you used to show me from your memories, before you forgot your childhood. But that was years ago. I could be mistaken.

The Redemptor man stepped forward and bowed, mocking the gesture by prolonging it. “Anointed Honor.”

“Thank you for coming,” I responded politely. “Songland is very far from Ebujo. Were your travels difficult, sir …?”

When I waited for his name, the man gave me a sardonic look, as though I had asked a question to which we both knew the answer.

“My name is Woo In,” he said with a taut smile. “And the most harrowing journey of my life began in this room.”

My face heated as he looked past me toward the steaming Oruku Breach. “Of course,” I murmured, ashamed at my insensitivity. “This temple must hold terrible memories. I’m honored you would return here on my behalf. Please accept my deepest gratitude.”

Woo In swept a dark blue cloak over his birthmarked shoulder, and bent to plant an icy kiss on my seal ring. “I have no need of gratitude,” he said. “But I will accept justice: your assurance that my story never happens to any Songland child again.”

I withdrew my hand sharply. “What are you talking about?”

Instead of responding, Woo In beckoned to his companion. The cloaked isoken held the hand of a young Redemptor girl. The child curtsied, looking at me with strong, inquisitive features, her skin completely covered in geometric patterns. I noted the difference between her marks and Woo In’s—his were purple and glittering, and hers blue and soft. The marks of a Redemptor who had not yet crossed the Underworld.

“I’m Ye Eun,” she piped up. “It’s nice to meet you, Anointed Honor.” On her short dark hair, she wore a lily-of-the-valley flower crown. Shyly, she offered a matching crown to me. I bowed my head, allowing her to lay it atop my twisted coils.

“Thank you,” I said.

She grinned as though we shared a secret. “You’re as pretty as your mother.”

I froze. “I … What did you say?”

“You’re going to save us,” she said cheerily. “The Lady promised it would happen any day now, but first, you’ve got to get your memories back. I hope it’s soon. I don’t have long before …” Her gaze traveled to the Breach beyond me.

The child was delusional. Was that a side effect of being a Redemptor? Poor thing; her parents had likely abandoned her at birth. “Ye Eun,” I said. “How old are you?”

“Almost eleven,” she chirped.

My stomach turned to knots. Redemptor children were supposed to be surrendered to the Breach at age ten. Failure to comply, according to the histories, meant retaliation from the Underworld.

But surely the old stories weren’t all true. How could the abiku—the spirits with whom Enoba had forged the Redemptor Treaty—resent the loss of one tiny girl? My heart lightened. The Emperor’s Council had the power to help Ye Eun. They could make an exception to the Treaty, certainly. I just needed to buy her time.

I leaned forward, grasping Ye Eun’s shoulders. “Listen, I need you to hide. Here in the temple, out of sight of the priests. I’ll send for you once the ceremonies are over. Then you can come visit me in Yorua Keep. How does that sound?”

Ye Eun’s grin broadened, but she looked at Woo In and the isoken woman for permission. They shrugged, and so the girl giggled with excitement and disappeared into the crowd.

“Are you her guardians?” I asked the strangers.

Woo In’s expression hardened. “All Redemptors are my brothers and sisters. And any person who would hinder their freedom is my enemy.”

The isoken woman came forward then, smirking as she presented me with a talking drum. “My name is Kathleen, oh great Anointed One. Please accept this humble gift. If rumors are to be believed, it once belonged to the Empress Aiyetoro. Such an artifact must contain priceless stories, and only a Hallow such as yours could retrieve them. Perhaps such stories will remind you of your own.”

I examined the gift with reverent fingers. The gourd was shaped like an hourglass, strung head-to-head with strips of taut goatskin that determined the pitch. A beating stick was nestled in the skins for safekeeping. Emblazoned around the drum’s face was a pattern of discs and interlinking hands, and a line in the script of ancient Oluwan. Squinting, I struggled to translate it: The truth will never die, as long as griots keep beating their drums.

“Where did you find this?” I asked.

Woo In smiled crisply. “There are those who would preserve history, instead of choosing to forget it.”

I plunged into the drum’s memories, but when my mind stole into the gourd, only dust and moist darkness teased my senses, along with the skittering of spiders on my skin. I grimaced and withdrew.

“It’s been kept in storage too long,” I said. “My Hallow can only go back a few decades. I could never reach Aiyetoro. But thank you. The gift is precious all the same.”

Woo In and Kathleen looked disappointed.

“I told The Lady that drum wouldn’t work,” the woman complained to Woo In, not bothering to lower her voice. “It’s too indirect. She’ll never remember who she is through ancient artifacts. We need to awaken the ehru inside her.”

“Only The Lady can communicate with Melu,” Woo In muttered. “So she’ll have to solve this problem herself.”

Their words made my veins prickle with cold. Had Sanjeet been right? Did these people know me? More important, why had I chosen to forget them?

But before I could question them further, drums hiccupped through the temple. A palace secretary bearing calfskin scrolls bustled into the chamber, and Woo In and Kathleen vanished into the crowd.

Amid excited murmurs, Dayo received the scroll from the secretary. “Citizens of Aritsar, and honored guests from Songland,” he announced, bowing to each of the groups surrounding us. “My father’s council has long deliberated over the imperial positions my council will inherit. Today, it is my sincerest pleasure to read their decisions.” Silently, he sent each of us a pulse of affection through the Ray.

Ready? Kirah Ray-spoke, and eleven voices echoed in my head. You’re kidding, right? … Don’t care which one I get … Can’t wait … As long as we finally get to move out of that cramped Children’s Palace …

Dayo cleared his throat and unfurled the scroll. A grin split his face, and so I knew the first name on the list was no surprise. “As her heir apparent to the title of High Priestess,” Dayo said, “Anointed Honor Mbali of Swana has selected Kirah of Blessid Valley.”

The temple rang with cheers, and Kirah stood, hazel eyes shining. “I accept my title as High Priestess Apparent,” she croaked, and glowed as the imperial secretary came forward to place a gold circlet on her brow.

The next declaration was also no surprise. “As heir apparent to the title of High Lord General,” Dayo said, “Anointed Honor Wagundu of Djbanti has selected Sanjeet of Dhyrma.”

Sanjeet stood, accepting his title and circlet without expression. My heart twinged; Sanjeet hated using his Hallow for violence, and he had hoped for a more peaceful appointment. But Aritsar hadn’t had a civil war in decades, and foreign continents rarely attacked. Perhaps, I hoped naively, he would never have to hurt anyone.

I didn’t know what title to expect for myself. While most of Olugbade’s council had grown used to me, Nawusi still considered me a sin against nature. With her influence, I anticipated that my title would be less than glamorous—High Lady Treasurer, perhaps, responsible for collecting the empire’s taxes. Or High Lady Archdean, tasked with supervising the empire’s stuffy academies and scholar guilds.

Dayo paused before the next reading, taking a moment to face me and beam. “As his heir apparent to the title of High Lord Judge,” he said, “Anointed Honor Thaddace of Mewe has selected Tarisai of Swana.”

My stomach dropped to my sandals.

Judge?