What if I want to go away? I had retorted.

Spirits who eat little girls, the servants had amended quickly. And first they take them far away, where The Lady can never find them. It is a very bad part of the house. You are lucky we live there instead of you.

I had not been sure I believed them, but the idea of being forever parted from The Lady had dampened my curiosity. I had never lingered near the servants’ wing again.

Woo In led us down the plain corridor, and after several yards—just far enough to be out of earshot of the main house—the hall turned sharply, and my feet passed from stone tile onto lush carpet.

The perfume hit me first. My heart reacted to the smell of jasmine as it always had, with terror and longing. Expensive mudcloths dyed with indigo patterns swathed the walls. Woo In fumbled with a shimmering lock, on a wooden door inlaid with mother-of-pearl. “It takes a singing password,” he said, scowling as he tried to remember. “You know the one. ‘Me … mine …’”

“She’s me and she is mine,” I finished, my voice a whisper, and the door clicked open.

We entered a small apartment of rooms. Jasmine seeped from every futon, every wax-dyed drape and tasseled pillow. A creeping sense of betrayal quickened my pulse, but I smothered it.

“Is this where she slept when … when she visited?”

“The Lady did not visit, Tarisai.” Woo In’s tone was patient. “She lived here.”

“No.” I shook my head. “She knew how much I missed her. How I cried for her every single night. She couldn’t have been here. She wouldn’t. She—”

A hand mirror glinted on a kneeling desk, making the words die in my throat. The reflection wasn’t right—it should have shown the smooth plaster ceiling of the apartment. Instead it showed a moving face. Knees suddenly weak, I sank down to the desk and grasped the bone-handled mirror.

Woo In’s reflection stared back at me. “I’m sorry,” it said.

I whirled around. Woo In was holding the carving, looking bleakly into its face. He turned the carving toward the desk—and then the mirror displayed me, seated on the floor cushions in The Lady’s apartment.

“The whole time,” I breathed. “She was watching.”

Paper covered the desk: notes in an even, elegant hand. The first I picked up was dated a year prior.

Sometimes I still look in the enchanted glass. It is folly, I know. She will not appear. But seeing that empty study, the table where she used to sit frowning over her genealogy scrolls … It reminds me of the old days, when I was her world. My sweet, adoring girl! When I pretended to come home after a long journey, her face would glow. Such joy. Such longing.

I am sure Olugbade’s brat never looks at him like that.

Was hiding my presence cruel? But suppose I had commanded her by accident? Threw away my last wish—our only chance at victory? No. Regret is folly. The guilt will pass. It always does.

Bile rose in my throat. I swallowed and seized another paper. This one was dated only a month ago.

Still no word of her progress. She has chosen to forget me. The festival on Nu’ina Eve is my best chance. I shall make her remember. I shall make us one again.

Older notes had been bound into a calfskin journal. I stole a moment of its story, and shivered. The calloused grip of my mother’s hands pressed into the leather spine. The first page was dated almost sixteen years ago, on my first birthday.

She’s walking. My girl—my Made-of-Me—is walking! A tutor said her name, and she stumbled toward him. Clever, wondrous creature. Just like her mother.

I wish that she had walked to me instead, but I was afraid of commanding her.

Would “Come here, daughter” count as my third wish? Melu refuses to tell me.

I visited her tonight, as I always do. I kiss her brow as she sleeps, and sing our special song. I tell her all the realms we shall rule together. My girl smells of violets, of honey and grass.

She smells—to be honest—too much of the wild, sun-soaked savannah. I tried to give her my smell, to bathe her in jasmine oil, but she sprouted a rash. Ah, well. I will see she grows out of it.

I could not resist picking her up tonight. She woke and fussed, but quieted when I pressed her to my breast. Such a bright child—already she knows that all objects have names. Genius simmered in her large dark eyes as she tried to remember the word for me.

“Lady,” she said.

“No,” I told her, kissing that bed of soft, perfect curls. “Not Lady. To you, I am—I will always be—Mother.”

The ink blotched and ran as I sobbed, shoulders quaking as I turned the pages. Woo In and Kathleen searched the rest of the apartment for clues, tactfully allowing me privacy.

I read for over an hour. All the attention, all the affection I had craved from The Lady was here, written in clear, generous script. I could even feel her love, wafting from the memories of each page. But from the years of notes, one thing was missing. The journal called me my daughter. My girl. Darling. Made-of-Me.

But never, ever Tarisai.

Kathleen and Woo In returned, and wordlessly, he offered me a silk handkerchief.

“Did The Lady mention Aiyetoro’s masks in there?” Kathleen asked.

I shrugged, letting Woo In take the journal as I swabbed my runny nose. The handkerchief was so heavily scented it must have been from The Lady’s wardrobe. I sneezed.

Woo In scanned the journal voraciously. “Sometimes,” he murmured. “She references previous searches, so maybe there’s more in the other journals. There’s plenty in here about us, though.” He chuckled at a page. “My, my, Kat, The Lady doesn’t think much of your singing voice.”

Kathleen huffed in offense and tried to wrestle the journal from him.

“Be careful with that,” I ordered, and the two of them jumped, staring at me.

“Am’s Story,” Kathleen muttered. “For a moment, you sounded just like The Lady.” She relinquished the journal to Woo In.

I asked him warily, “How many of you are there, again?”

“You mean of The Lady’s council? Ten, so far,” he replied. “Three came with The Lady as children from An-Ileyoba. The rest of us were found after her exile.”

“Where did she hide after leaving Oluwan?” I asked. “And why did she anoint you? Council members only represent Arit realms. Songland isn’t part of the empire.”

“The Lady had a new kind of empire in mind,” said Woo In, his voice soft with reverence. “She’s different from your ancestor Enoba. He barred Songland from trading with the rest of the continent as punishment for our refusal to join his empire. But The Lady wants to change everything. That is why she anointed me. When she is empress, Songland can be represented on the Arit council, regardless of whether we choose to join the empire. Before I was your nursemaid, I campaigned for The Lady in Songland, convincing my family to trust her, and lend her aid when necessary.”

It was hard to remember that Woo In was a prince. Most Redemptors grew up in orphanages, abandoned at birth by families who could not bear the pain of sacrificing them later.

“What’s it like?” I asked. “Being a prince who wasn’t supposed to survive? I’m sure you and Mother had a lot in common.”

“We did, and do.” He smiled tightly. “But I had better luck than The Lady when it came to older siblings. My sister Min Ja has always been protective of me, though … critical of my alliance with The Lady.”

“I still don’t understand why you think Mother can help you. No one can control where Redemptors are born.”

“As I told you long ago,” he replied, “only a Raybearer may unlock the secret of the Redemptor Treaty. Enoba made sure of it. The Lady knows how to save the Songland Redemptors, but she couldn’t share the process with me: She said it’s too intuitive for the Rayless to understand.” He pressed his lips together, as if trying not to let the secret chafe at him. “It’s the only way. If The Lady becomes empress and succeeds in freeing Songland, then my mother, Queen Hye Sun, will recognize me as Prince Ambassador: the first Songlander to have a seat on the Arit Imperial Councils.”

I frowned. The abiku had implied that the selection of Redemptors was random. They had said, “The blood decides.” Had they been lying? Could The Lady really control where Redemptors were born?

“Maybe she explains it in here,” Woo In murmured, flipping fervently through the journal. I watched him with pity. How could The Lady keep secrets from a follower as devoted as Woo In? And how could he love her so much, that he trusted her anyway?