The sun dipped toward the horizon, bathing Palace Hill in bloody gold. As I rode, the rulers would be lining up before Enoba’s shield. Dayo would be last, so perhaps I could make it. I could—

Guards intercepted me at the An-Ileyoba gates, bellowing and pointing their spears at Hyung. The mask, I remembered dimly, as a faint ringing sounded in my ears. The mask will make them go away. But when I tried to reach for it … nothing happened. I couldn’t feel my arms. Couldn’t see them. No. I’m Tarisai Kunleo, I tried to say. I bear the Ray of Enoba. See me. See me. I’m here.

But I wasn’t. Not anymore.

For the first time in hours, Hyung stopped moving. My body faded in and out of view, a dying firefly. I opened my mouth to speak—and then even that was gone, a hole in the air, a void of silence.

“It’s an evil spirit,” shrieked the guards. “It’s here to curse the Treaty. Stay back. Don’t let it near. Fetch priests from the temple.”

I was so close. Dayo was just beyond those walls, about to commit the only atrocity of his life. Deciding the fate of thousands of children, draining an ocean of stories.

No.

I tried to yell. I fought the shadows creeping at the edge of my vision; I begged for my feet to reappear. I am not a ghost, I screamed without words. I am not nothing. I am not nameless; I will not fade into graceful oblivion like every other Kunleo girl, every other Empress Raybearer.

But I could not speak. I could not stand, and when I tried to summon the old anger, the indignant warmth of the Ray … I felt only emptiness.

I’m sorry. I sent the thought to Dayo, and Sanjeet, and Kirah, and Ye Eun, and every other person I had failed. I wanted to write a new story for you. For all of us. I tried.

I tried.

Then the remains of Tarisai Kunleo slipped from Hyung’s back, and the world dwindled to gray.

I expected to wake in the Underworld, feeling the icy fingers of children that my ancestors had damned. I would let them take their vengeance, dragging me down to a world of lost songs and buried dreams, far from the heat of sunshine.

Instead, my ears roared with familiar voices. Ghosts from the story I had lived before, a life that had drifted far away.

Until you grant her third wish, neither you nor I will be free.

Do you love me now, Tarisai of Swana?

A bellysong: the cure for any soul in bondage.

You have never worried me, daughter. You have only disappointed.

Only one thing is more powerful than a wish, and that is a purpose.

I was levitating, thrashing in a warm lake of light. My skin, limbs, and organs had been lost in the lodestone ether. Now they returned, painful but whole, as though my parts were made of clay and a master potter reassembled me. When my vision cleared, I stared up at steeply slanted, gold-flecked eyes. My body was being cradled in pole-like limbs, and around them, transparent wings of cobalt blue gave off sparks.

“Melu,” I murmured. “Are ehrus like the abiku? Can you visit the Underworld?”

“No.” He beamed, shimmering brighter. “The abiku are spirits of death. Alagbatos are guardians of life. We are not in the Underworld … And I am not an ehru anymore.” He lifted his long, dark forearm, and I gasped: The Lady’s emerald cuff was gone. “You have set us free, daughter.”

I took in our surroundings. We were still in Oluwan, just outside the palace gates. Hyung stood protectively between Melu and the palace guards as the sun sank in the sky. But the warriors were no longer raising their spears. Instead, they watched in frozen reverence, kneeling, brushing their chins in the sign of the Pelican as Melu helped me to my feet.

My bloodstained clothes were gone. Instead, a wrapper of green and gold clung to me like a second skin, its fibers too fine to have been spun by human fingers. My arms glowed like they had been polished, and on my chest hung the two masks of Aiyetoro, their eyes shining.

“How?” I asked.

“You found a purpose.” The alagbato reached down with narrow fingers, touching my cheek. “Wanting to be loved was not enough. Devotion to your friends was not enough. But wanting justice—to carve out a new story for this world, no matter the cost—that was enough. No human’s wish may rule you now.”

Tears filled my throat, but I only nodded, reaching for Hyung. The beast knelt, and I lifted myself to sit sideways on its back, unable to straddle it in my gleaming wrapper. “The story’s not over yet,” I told Melu.

He nodded. “Go. There is not much time.”

I whispered to Hyung, and the emi-ehran sprang into motion. We bounded through the palace, crowds of guards and courtiers parting like water. I crossed courtyards, scattering peacocks and splashing through fountains. When we arrived at the towering doors of the Imperial Hall, I slid off Hyung’s back. The warriors guarding the door brandished spears to keep Hyung at bay, and gaped when they recognized me.

“Anointed Honor,” one of them stammered. The warriors wore red bands on their forearms, mourning for the late emperor. “We heard … you were kidnapped by a wicked Songlander. His Imperial Majesty will be relieved at your return.”

I realized with a jolt that they meant Dayo. “I have to see him.”

“Apologies, Anointed Honor, but the Treaty Renewal is underway. Once it’s over, we’re sure the emperor will—”

Hyung let out a deafening yowl, making the warriors leap back. Taking advantage of the distraction, I pushed past them, heart slamming in my chest, and burst through the double doors of the Imperial Hall.

“Stop,” I screamed. “Stop the ritual!”

The heat of a thousand gazes bored into me. Shocked murmurs hissed like wind in a storm, but I didn’t care. Only one person mattered … and when I saw him, every bone inside me threatened to buckle.

Before a sea of courtiers, Dayo stood in his father’s clothes on the dais, just as the premonition on Sagimsan Mountain had shown him. The twelve rulers of the continent stood gravely behind him, while my crowned council siblings watched from the sidelines. Enoba’s shield lay on a gilded stand, and Dayo’s hand hovered over it, a knife pressed to his palm. He froze when he saw me.

“Stop,” I said, sprinting to the front of the hall and evoking protests as I pushed through the kings and queens sharing the dais with Dayo. I seized his wrist. “Don’t do this.”

But before Dayo could respond, slimy voices raised the hair on my neck.

“Hello, killer-girl.” Four abiku stood before the dais, hands interlinked. Their childlike bodies were dusty gray, as though they had rolled in ash, and their pupil-filled eyes glowed pink, like rats. They stood so unnaturally still, I had not even noticed them when I entered the hall. The abiku cocked their heads and spoke in unison. “Again, you interfere with our covenant? Were the lives lost at Ebujo not enough? Still, you thirst for more?”

“You are the ones who thirst for blood,” I spat, then turned back to Dayo. “The treaty isn’t fair. I can’t explain now, but you have to trust me: Enoba rigged it. Kunleo blood overrepresents the Arit realms, so Songland loses every time. If you finish the ritual, thousands of Songland children will die.”

Gasps echoed through the hall, and Dayo recoiled from the shield, dropping the knife on the floor.

“I knew it,” one of the rulers gasped. From her accent, I realized with dread who the person was: Queen Hye Sun of Songland. Wrinkles framed her eyes like dragonfly wings, and gray hair shone from a high coronet. The corners of her mouth were fixed with vast, cumulative grief. “I knew the Storyteller could not have cursed us so.” Her voice shook. “It was the Kunleos all along.”

“Of course it was,” snapped a young woman at her side. She was an unwrinkled version of Hye Sun, and I recognized her sardonic tone: it matched her younger brother’s. I gulped, suspecting that when Crown Princess Min Ja took the throne, relations between Aritsar and Songland would not heal easily. I didn’t blame her.

“Dayo didn’t know,” I insisted. “No one did, except Enoba. Woo In can vouch for me.”

“You know where my son is?” breathed Hye Sun. “He is safe? Alive?”

I nodded. “He sent me.” I didn’t mention that I’d left him feverish and bleeding from an arrow wound.

“When it comes to the people he trusts, my brother has shown foolish judgment in the past,” Min Ja pointed out. “Why should we believe that your emperor was ignorant of the curse? And what does it matter if he was? The Arit throne is soaked in the blood of our children.” Her face was white with rage. I felt the prickle of what Woo In had called sowanhada in the air, and in one graceful movement, the princess summoned a wind that upended Enoba’s shield. It landed at my feet, its crimson contents splattered onto the dais. The abiku hissed, but Min Ja showed no fear. “Songland withdraws itself from the Redemptor Treaty.”