Enoba’s rule was long, and soon peaceful. His Ray caused him to outlive Wuraola, and though he mourned her, his pride scrubbed her story from the earth.

Under the Treaty, monsters from the Underworld disappeared from the continent. Redemptor children were born in every realm. But after years of parents wailing in the streets, weeping as their children were taken from them, the Arit people began to resent their emperor.

“Why should we sacrifice our children for peace,” the Arit people began to rumble, “when the emperor need not sacrifice his own?” For Enoba had made the abiku promise that Oluwani children would never be born as Redemptors.

Enoba feared a rebellion. Hoping to mollify his subjects, he returned to the ehru and demanded his last wish: a way to ensure that only children from Songland, and never children from Aritsar, would be selected as Redemptors. Reluctantly, the ehru bestowed a new power on Enoba’s Ray: the ability to make a sacred council, and unite eleven souls to his own.

The Treaty, the ehru explained, was sealed by blood—one drop from every ruler. He compared it to drawing straws in a game: So long as the blood was equal, no realm drew the short straw. The Redemptor curse favored no realm; all sacrificed equally. But now that Enoba had united eleven souls to his own, his blood held the power of twelve realms. He had added, so to speak, longer straws to the game. When the continent gathered again to renew the Treaty, Enoba’s blood supplemented the power of the twelve Arit rulers, stacking the odds against Songland. Ever after, no Redemptors were born in Aritsar.

Suspecting foul play, the Songlanders rebelled, refusing at first to give up their children. But the abiku retaliated, ravaging the land with monsters and plagues until, with rage and grief, Songland submitted. The children were sent—three hundred each year.

Enoba’s secret died with him. But every one hundred years, his curse on Songland is restored at the Treaty Renewal, when Enoba’s descendants spill their blood into Enoba’s shield.

Now the voice showed me another scene: not the past, but a premonition. I saw the Imperial Hall, lavishly decorated for the renewal ceremony. I saw Enoba’s shield being carried up to the dais. I saw Dayo in emperor’s regalia, wearing his dead father’s sun crown, and surrounded by a semicircle of rulers. I felt Woo In’s haunted gaze, heard Ye Eun’s screaming parents, and saw thousands of children thrown into a cold, yawning pit from which they would never return—as Dayo leaned over the shield, slit his hand, and let his blood fall.

“No,” I screamed. “No!”

What story do you live for, Heir of Wuraola?

Then the scene faded to white.

Woo In’s face came into focus, inches above mine. “You’re awake,” he sighed, shoulders sagging. “You were barely breathing. I feared …”

He trailed off, helping me sit up, and his hands felt hot against my clammy skin. My vision was uneven, as though part of me still floated above my body. The glyphs had disappeared from my skin, returning to the wall. But nothing looked quite the same—least of all Woo In, whose geometrically patterned features filled me with fresh horror.

“You’re cursed,” I croaked. “You, Ye Eun, the Redemptors—the Kunleos cursed all of you.”

Woo In grew still as death. “I knew it,” he whispered. The world spun as he helped me up. “You can tell me more when we get back to the refuge. Let’s go—the mountain is draining our energy. Try not to nod off. If you sleep while we’re still in range of the cave, it will be hard to wake up.”

We returned to the house in the Redemptor village, collapsing on the heated schoolroom floor. After Ye Eun restored our strength with steamed fish and broth, I told Woo In everything. His back grew more rigid with every word, and when I finished he rasped, “She knew.” He was white with fever, tears of rage pooling. “The whole time,” he yelled, “The Lady knew that the Treaty would curse Songland, and she was still going to renew it.”

Children scattered from the schoolroom in fright. I pressed a damp cloth to Woo In’s brow, and then to my own, remembering lines from my mother’s journal. I will pay the price of peace, as my ancestors have before me.

I frowned in disbelief, then sat up straight. “Wait. Maybe Mother was trying to right the scale. She anointed you, didn’t she? The Storyteller’s memory described the Treaty Renewal like drawing straws, a game unequally weighted against Songland. But thanks to you, Mother’s blood represents Songland as well as Aritsar. If her blood fell in Enoba’s shield, the Treaty Renewal would be fair again. Redemptors would be born all over the continent, just like before.”

Woo In considered, then shook his head slowly. “She never meant to anoint me,” he whispered. “And once she did, she tried her hardest to erase my blood from her veins.”

I bit my lip, then reached out to cup Woo In’s cheek. “May I?” He nodded, and I tumbled into a memory of freshly fallen snow.

I am ten years old, and I have survived the Underworld.

I pace at the mouth of Sagimsan’s holy cave, shivering, and smiling at the thought of her. Hyung’s meaty breath toasts the top of my head, and its whiskers tickle my brow. My best friend—my only friend—growls, nipping my hair with disapproval.

“Don’t look at me like that,” I laugh. “I trust her, OK? Once she reads what’s in there, she’ll know how to help us. There will be no more Redemptors. No more kids like me.”

Hyung only sighs, making fog in the frigid air. My head snaps up: footsteps echo from the cave. When The Lady appears, I rush to her side. She smells metallic, drenched in the energy of Sagimsan. For a moment, she stands erect in her fur-lined red cloak, majestic as the moment I first saw her. Then she sways on her feet; the Storyteller’s memory has sapped her strength. Before she stumbles, I offer my shoulder.

“Thank you,” she says, smiling with genuine warmth. “You saved me.”

“Well, you saved me first,” I reply, and she laughs, ruffling my hair.

“Yes, dearest, I suppose I did.”

When I had first returned from the Underworld, I thought my life would grow wings, soaring like the cranes above the Gyeoljeong Sea. I thought I was free: no longer a walking sacrifice, instilling guilt and sorrow in all who saw me.

Instead, whispers of hell-boy had peppered the palace at Eunsan-do. Nursemaids stripped me naked each morning, scouring my birthmarks with salt and ice water. Nobles baited Hyung with swords and sticks, trying to drive the emi-ehran from the palace, and my relatives spat to ward off evil whenever I passed. Min Ja, my fierce sister, tried her hardest to protect me. But only Mother could put a stop to the bullying … and she did nothing but cry.

You smell of death, my baby boy, she sobbed. My poor dead baby.

But I’m not dead, I reminded her. I’m alive. I came back. But she only cried more, and I knew the truth then: Deep down, my mother wished that I had never returned.

My whole life, she had prepared for my death. It was her way of coping, bracing for her inevitable loss. But instead of a sacrificed angel, I had saddled her with a live, cursed son.

Well, I would saddle her no more. The next morning I had packed a meager camp and ridden off with Hyung to Sagimsan. If it weren’t for my emi-ehran, I would have frozen to death within a month.

Then an angel climbed the mountain ridge, snowflakes winking in her floating black hair. She called my name in a voice like music. When she found evidence of my camp, she unloaded her pack and started a cook fire. The mouthwatering smell of sweet fish and spicy noodles coaxed me from my hiding place—my food stores had long run out.

The angel nursed me back to health, wrapping me in panther blankets and spoon-feeding me stew.

“Who are you?” I croaked.

“A friend,” she said, brushing the wind-whipped hair from my forehead. Her dark fingers were warm, as though she had brought the sun with her from Aritsar. “You may call me The Lady.”

“You’re a foreigner. You’re the reason it stormed in Jinhwa Pass all week.”

“I’m afraid I am. Queen Hye Sun would not invite me to her realm, no matter how many letters I sent.” She frowned, pulling her crimson cloak closer around her. “Luckily, I wasn’t trying to go all the way to Songland. I only wanted to find you.”

“Why?”

“Tales reached the Arit border of a lost Redemptor prince, vanished into Sagimsan. Queen Hye Sun is worried sick.”

I snorted. “I doubt it. She wishes I was dead.” I explained about my treatment at the palace. The Lady’s face, suddenly vulnerable, softened as she listened. Anger lined her elegant features.

“I know how cruel a palace can be to children,” she whispered, taking my hands and squeezing them. “Especially to a child it fears.”

“I wouldn’t mind the nobles. But Mother …”

“I understand, Woo In. My father didn’t want me either.”