The abiku smiled, four identical sets of tiny pointed teeth, in mouths that unhinged at the jaw. “Then it is war you want,” they said. “A return of the Underworld above ground. A millennium of death, and disease, and the earth teeming with flood and fire. Very well. We accept.”

“No,” Dayo cried out. “No more war. We’ll make a new treaty, one that protects Songland.” He bowed deeply to Hye Sun, who inclined her head. Min Ja only crossed her arms. “We’ll make new terms for the Redemptor Treaty,” Dayo continued. “The abiku will continue refraining from attacks on the continent, including Songland. However—to make up for the unfair selections of the past—the next generations of Redemptors will be born in Aritsar.”

I cringed, anticipating what happened next. Delegates and courtiers from every Arit realm yelled and shook their fists, protests deafening as they threatened to rush the dais.

“Please,” Dayo breathed. “It’s only fair—” But the din drowned him out, and he watched in a panic as the crowd grew in unrest. Below us, the abiku’s grins broadened.

My council siblings fell in place to defend the throne. Sanjeet leapt on the dais, unsheathing his scimitars, barking orders to the Imperial Guard.

Over them all I announced, “No more children will be sent to the Underworld.”

The hall quieted. I planted myself on the largest dais echo-stone so my words carried. Then I spoke slowly to hide the shaking in my voice. “Instead of innocent children,” I told the abiku, “I offer you a true prize. A flavor you have never tasted, blood previously forbidden you. In exchange for permanent peace—for a treaty requiring no renewal and no more wars—I offer you the soul of a Raybearer.” I swallowed hard. “I offer the soul of an empress.”

“No,” Sanjeet rasped.

I can walk through fire, I Ray-spoke to all my siblings. Dayo’s face contorted as he remembered my words from so many years ago, when I had carried him from the burning Children’s Palace. All you have to do is trust me.

“Empress?” scoffed Min Ja. “There has been no empress since Aiyetoro.”

“And I bear her mask,” I said, and invoked the ancient title: “Obabirin.” The mask’s eyes flashed, and the hall took a collective breath, roiling with whispers. “I am Tarisai Kunleo, niece of the late emperor. The priests of Am may examine my blood,” I went on, “and confirm that it flows with the Ray. But these are the only witnesses who matter.” I pointed to the abiku and growled, “You know what I am, spirits. Do you accept my offer?”

For the first time, the abiku shifted, features piqued with greed. They whispered among themselves, and then fixed their pink eyes on my face. “What you are,” they purred, “is the bearer of a weak Ray. Until your blood runs with the power of all twelve Arit realms, you would be a paltry prize for the Underworld.”

“You require that I have a council?” My pulse pounded with hope. I could simply share a council with Dayo. My council siblings already loved me; they would have no trouble receiving my Ray alongside Dayo’s. “Done,” I said.

The abiku smirked. “Not just any council, Obabirin. We require potent realm blood. To be an acceptable Empress Redemptor, you must anoint the twelve rulers of Aritsar as your council.”

Around me, the realm rulers began to cluck in protest. My heart sank. How was I supposed to convince twelve rulers to trust me? More than that, they would have to love me, or else the Ray wouldn’t work.

But I set my jaw and said, “Done. But while I’m assembling my council, you can’t claim any more children as Redemptors. Give me ten years.”

The abiku scoffed, chuckling. “One.”

I balled my hands into fists. “Five.”

They considered, cocking their heads. “Two. Our final offer.”

Slowly, I picked up the dagger that Dayo had dropped on the dais. Then, slitting my palm, I let my blood spill into Enoba’s shield on the floor. “Done,” I said, and my arms began to prickle.

I watched in horror as blue symbols grew like lace across my forearms, twisting in intricate patterns.

“A mark of your promise,” the abiku tittered. Then they vanished.

The hall dissolved into frenzied whispers. Dayo took up my slashed palm, staring at it with grief and wonder.

“You’re breaking your promise again,” he said. His imperial sun crown, an upright gold disc, glinted in my eyes. “You’re leaving.”

“Not for two years. And who knows? Maybe I’ll survive the Underworld.” I tried to smile, but my lips faltered. “I’m sorry, Dayo.”

“Don’t be.”

He swallowed hard, then clasped my hand and raised it in the air. Blood ran down our interlaced fingers. He addressed the Imperial Hall, tears glistening on his half-scarred face. “Long live the heir of Aiyetoro,” he said. “Hail your Empress Redemptor.”

AFTER THE TREATY RENEWAL, MY COUNCIL retreated to the Hall of Dreams, and I poured out all my secrets.

I stood as they sat around me on stuffed pallets, listening blankly as I confessed about my mother’s wish. I told them how I had stabbed Dayo, discovered that I had the Ray, and freed myself from the curse by choosing justice, even to death, over my freedom. I longed to soften the story, drape it in downy caveats and excuses. But I resisted, letting the facts stand naked—that much, at least, they deserved from me.

They were silent for a full minute. I searched each of their faces with terror, expecting to find my damnation etched there. Then Emeronya came forward and touched my brow, mimicking the gesture I had used every night in the Children’s Palace, giving her sweet dreams of snow and lullabies.

“As I lean on you, Empress,” she said in her characteristic monotone, “you may lean on me.”

Umansa touched my face next, wetting his fingers with my tears. “As I lean on you, Empress,” he said, smiling at the space over my head, “you may lean on me.”

Then it was Ai Ling and Mayazatyl, Kameron and Thérèse, Zathulu and Theo … and last, Kirah, who grinned impishly as she repeated the vow. “When you first came here, I had to teach you what ice was,” she said afterward. “Don’t forget that when you’re big and mighty, Empress.”

“I won’t,” I said, and my heart sank as I considered her. “Kirah, I think I’ll need your help.”

“You think?”

“I know.” I laughed, though a lump was forming in my throat. “Between recruiting the continent rulers for my council and preparing for the Underworld, I won’t have time to fix relations between Aritsar and Songland. But we can’t just ignore them. Not after what we did to them for centuries. We need to send an Imperial Peace Delegate, someone familiar with Songland customs. Or at least—someone who’s read a lot about them.”

Kirah’s lips parted, slack with surprise.

“It might take months. Years even,” I continued. “But if you can convince them to trade with us, then we can install a Songland ambassador at An-Ileyoba. I suspect that once he’s recovered, a certain sullen prince might be up for the job.”

Say no, I begged silently. Don’t leave me, not now. Stay, be Kirah, the anchor in my storm of curses and secrets.

Her hazel eyes misted. “I’ll think about it,” she said, but the excited tremor in her voice betrayed her; she had already decided. When she folded me in a cinnamon-scented hug, I smiled into her shoulder. No more cages, I thought. Not for Kirah, anyway.

Last was Sanjeet. We hadn’t been alone since I returned from Sagimsan, and ever since I had offered myself to the abiku, he had barely looked at me. Did he think I’d been reckless? When he came forward at last, anger and pain deepened the hard lines of his face. And instead of touching my brow, his hands clenched my blue-marked forearms.

“I will lean on you, Empress,” he said in a guttural voice, “if you promise you’ll come back.”

I gulped. “Jeet—”

“Promise,” he said, “that you’ll fight to leave the Underworld. That this isn’t some stupid, idealistic suicide mission to pay penance for a crime you did not do.”

Kirah sucked in a breath. “Right. These two could use some time alone, I think. Let’s go. There’s dinner in the banquet hall.” Forcefully, she herded Dayo and the rest of my council siblings away, leaving me and Sanjeet in the shadowy Hall of Dreams.

He released me and stalked to the tall arched windows. His tunic was long and sleeveless, black cloth crisp against his copper shoulders, and his profile sharp in the moonlight.

“This is where we first met,” I said presently. “You were chained up.”

His mouth lifted, a grimace and a smile. “Even then, you were bent on saving strangers.”

“When Woo In flew me away … I was afraid you would come after me. I’m glad you didn’t.”

“I sent five Imperial Guard cohorts. I told them to scour every corner of the empire for where that Songlander could have taken you. I even saddled a horse, planning to lead the search myself—”