Redemptor Read online

  Min Ja raised an eyebrow. “I am about to do something more intimate with your empress than I’ll ever get to do with my consort. And you expect me to send her away?”

  “It’s fine,” Da Seo said, nudging the queen’s side with her arm. “It’s just for a few hours—”

  “No,” I said. “Stay, please—both of you.” I offered Da Seo my own cup, pouring out a fresh helping of punch. “I know what it’s like to face strangers without family.”

  She accepted, balancing it gracefully on the tips of her forearms. Min Ja helped her sip, gently dabbing the sides of Da Seo’s mouth with her silken sleeve. As they sampled the brunch, Ai Ling and I prattled, praising what little we knew of Songlander art and culture until Min Ja put down her chalice, cocking her head with an arch smile. Her gaze was so penetrating, it was hard to believe she was barely ten years older than me. Raybearer or not . . . how could I ever be that confident?

  “We both know,” she said, “that you aren’t here to discuss the finer points of green-glazed Songlander pottery. So . . . why haven’t you asked anything about me? We’re supposed to ‘bond for life,’ whatever that means. Aren’t you curious?”

  “Very,” I admitted, sheepish. “Well—what was your family like?”

  “Monsters,” Min Ja replied. “Madmen, murderers, and cursed fanatics—all of them except for Mother, and even she had her moments. Next question.”

  I surprised us both by laughing. “Sorry. It’s just . . . I’d say my family’s about the same.”

  After an appraising moment, she shared my smile. “Most royal families are broken, though very few have the courage to admit it.” Her gaze turned shrewd. “Is it true your uncle tried to kill your mother?”

  “You’re about to find out.” I gestured stiffly at the kuso-kuso. “You said it was my turn to ask the questions.”

  “Testy,” observed Min Ja, though her eyes twinkled. “I admire you, I think. I was determined not to. But you remind me of my favorite sister who was sent away—married off, when I was young. She never let anyone disrespect her.”

  “Thank you,” I said, taken aback. “Well—I like you too. Woo In always spoke highly of his ‘fierce big sister.’ You can be yourself on my council. No diplomacy—nothing hidden.”

  Min Ja’s merriment faded sharply. “Be careful what you wish for, Empress. Not everyone who gets to know me likes what they see.”

  “If they don’t, they are fools,” chirped Da Seo, jumping into the conversation with sudden gusto. “Lady Empress, don’t listen to Min Ja. I know you’ve heard the rumors; she’s only ever done what was necessary. Her brothers are a pack of beasts. She has nothing to apologize for—”

  “Easy, Da Seo,” Min Ja scolded gently, a blush rising to her cheeks. “You’ll scare the Empress and High Ambassador.”

  Da Seo’s nose crinkled above her mask. “I just think you should tell them, that’s all,” she mumbled. “Before they hear the story from someone else.”

  “Well?” the queen asked after a moment, staring coolly at me. “Have you heard?”

  I gulped. “I’m not sure I understand—”

  “You know,” Min Ja coaxed. “The rumor that I killed six of my brothers in cold blood.”

  “Oh. Right.” I exchanged a look with Ai Ling. Her face was expertly neutral, though she sent a pulse of warning through the Ray. “I don’t listen to gossip, Queen Min Ja,” I said at last. “So there’s no need to worry.”

  “Well, it’s true,” Min Ja snapped. “All of it. So if you anoint me to your council, you’ll have a murderer in your head for life.” She sat back, crossing her arms defiantly, though just for a moment, her hands trembled. “So what’s it going to be, Empress? Still want me on your council?”

  You can get out of this, Ai Ling Ray-spoke, sipping her punch just a little too loudly. Just say the word and I’ll make an excuse. You don’t need this. You don’t need her to appease the abiku.

  My heart hammered as I watched the queen. Min Ja sat rigid-backed, tense as a cornered hare.

  I remembered the last time I had felt that way: when Sanjeet had stumbled upon me at Enitawa’s Quiver, with my hands drenched in Dayo’s blood.

  “Like I said,” I told Min Ja, pouring her another glass of punch. “It’s my turn to ask questions. What happened in Songland, Your Majesty?”

  Min Ja paused, then tossed back her spiked punch in a single gulp. After glancing at Da Seo for courage, she said stiffly, “I was one of fourteen spoiled children,” she said at last. “Born to eight royal wives and concubines. My sisters were all betrothed or married before I turned ten. The same would have happened to me, I suppose . . . if it weren’t for my father’s twisted sense of humor.” She popped a piece of fried chin chin into her mouth, chewing with a tight-lipped smile. “He hated my oldest brother, and so decided to insult him in the cruelest way possible. On his deathbed, Father ordered Mother to pass over seven sons to name me her successor instead. Before then, Father had barely noticed I existed, except when I bothered him to protect Woo In.” She played with the trailing silk ties of the pale jacket she wore over her skirt. “My succession was Father’s idea of a joke.”

  “Funny,” I quipped. “Mine was my uncle’s nightmare.” We exchanged a rueful smile. For a moment, the pain of understanding echoed between us.

  “Anyway,” she continued. “My brother Sungho was livid. He united my other brothers against me—all but Woo In. But you only get one family. I loved them, and I wanted to trust them—” Her voice caught. “So I begged Mother to keep them at court. Allowed them access to my rooms and parties. Then . . .” She trailed off, unable to continue.

  Da Seo leaned forward, offering me her brow. “Lady Empress—you can take memories, yes? I will finish the story.”

  I nodded and touched Da Seo’s smooth tan brow.

  I am in the heart of Eunsan-do Palace, standing on paper one hundred feet long. My feet are bare. I inhale, letting the soft mulberry bark pulp of my canvas press into my heels. Dozens of courtiers fill the palace courtyard, but I have eyes for only one person: the princess, enthroned on her sheltered dais at the head of the tiled yard, resplendent in her pale blue birthday silks.

  I grip my brush with tan, strong-fingered hands. The handle is as tall as I am, and the brush as thick as a horse’s tail. But I wield it like a third limb, veins coursing with the sheer joy of my calling—my craft. I am handmaiden to Crown Princess Min Ja, and I am the youngest dalpil-mu—master calligraphy dancer—in Eunsan-do memory.

  I dip my brush in a large vat of pine-soot ink. All the courtiers inhale, breathless in wait for my performance. But I don’t move, taking time to perfect my blessing. One wrong stroke, one inauspicious word, and I could curse Min Ja with bad luck for the rest of the year. So I wait until I am ready . . . then I grip the brush with both hands and hurl ink onto the paper with a satisfying slap. Black droplets scatter across the creamy expanse, but only in the way I wish it to. My white clothes remain pristine, a symbol of my mastery.

  I write with the passion of my whole body, standing on tiptoe for the delicate lines, and crouching low for bold, thick characters. My energy in each line is as important as the brushstrokes. I paint respect into the dots, lust into the slants, and pure, arduous devotion into the curling flourishes. The dance takes nearly twenty minutes, and when I am done, I step off of the paper and lift my brush, panting. The black characters glisten in the morning light, gleaming with holy energy. The court applauds, fluttering fans in approval, but I barely notice.

  I have written my way across the courtyard to the feet of my princess.

  I kneel before her, unable to watch as she reads the brushstrokes. She gasps, then sighs with both awe and confusion. I have written one of the riskiest blessings in a dalpil-mu’s arsenal: soul-sacrifice-life-eternity, with characters written backward and forward. The words are a binding prophecy: a promise of protection. As long as my words lay unaltered, my princess will be safe . . . though at what cost, none could tell.


  Little did I know how soon my blessing would be put to the test.

  One courtier applauds louder than the rest: Prince Sungho, Min Ja’s oldest brother.

  “A toast,” he proposes. “To my resplendent sister, our future queen.”

  He presents Min Ja with a bowl of rice wine, and my heart flips in my chest. Something isn’t right. Sungho is charismatic as always, but I see through those long lashes, distrust that pearl-studded smile.

  Min Ja lifts the small bowl to her lips.

  “No,” I shriek, leaping up the dais to yank the bowl from Min Ja’s hands. The acrid liquid splashes from the cup onto my face and hands . . . and for the next minute, all I know is pain.

  The world drops to white.

  When at last I wake, Min Ja’s beautiful, tear-streaked face hovers above me. I reach to touch her cheek . . . but nothing happens. I swallow hard in confusion at the bandaged numb weight below my elbows.

  “The acid damage was too great,” Min Ja whispers. “The healers say they’ll need to remove them to avoid infection.”

  I stumble to her bedroom mirror, off balance because of my newly lifeless hands. Burns disfigure the bottom half of my face, and when I try to move it, my head explodes with pain.

  “They will pay,” Min Ja sobs, hugging me from behind. “Every last one of them. I will make them pay.”

  Her features are resolute. I believe what my princess says, and feel safe. Night will come soon for her brothers. But one thing too is grimly certain:

  I will never dance with my brush again.

  “It was all my fault,” Min Ja whispered, once I returned from Da Seo’s memory. “So I stopped being a docile sister, and transformed into a future queen. I threw another party. Discovered that all my brothers—except Woo In, of course—were in league with Sungho. So I gave them places of honor at my table.” Her face took on a dreamy look, and she brushed a loose strand of hair from Da Seo’s brow. “I brought concubines from Father’s old court; his most talented dancers. They teased Sungho and the others, swaying with their fans, winding like butterflies. In finale, a dancer leaned over each of my brothers for a kiss . . .” Min Ja’s voice shook, but her gaze was coldly peaceful. “. . . and slit his throat. They stole Da Seo’s words, and so I took their voices as payment. They bled and died before my entire court—and no one ever threatened Da Seo or my throne again.”

  The queen reclined against the pillows, taking in my and Ai Ling’s stunned expressions. “So what’s it going to be, Empress? Still want me inside your head?”

  I stared, the memory of Da Seo’s dance still tingling through my arms, her love and primal devotion hot beneath my skin. Then I retrieved the sputtering oil lamp from its resting place on the breakfast tray, leaned toward the brazier, and lit the kuso-kuso leaves.

  “If you’ll have me in yours,” I said.

  Then the four of us joined hands, and for the second time—the cursed saga of Tarisai of Swana began.

  CHAPTER 16

  The smell of burning Kuso-Kuso leaves could stop A charging lion in its tracks, reducing it to a purring lapcat. But the moment that thick, heady scent touched my nostrils, every muscle in my body seized.

  I had thought, just for a moment, that it was possible to tell the truth. That Min Ja might understand. But now, as my mind raced through its sordid collection of my weakest moments . . . I knew I was asking the impossible. The queen might be a killer, but at least her victims were monsters. When I had hurt Dayo, he had been innocent—more so than anyone. He had barely survived, and from there my body count only grew. Olugbade. Thaddace. Somehow, even the abiku massacre at Ebujo Temple felt like my fault.

  And my motivations? My brave, noble reason for sticking a dagger in my oldest friend, and for betraying a secret that had killed both an emperor and a High Lord Judge?

  A pat on the head from my mother. A chance to see her smile.

  I couldn’t show Min Ja my story. So instead, when the kuso-kuso smoke filled the airy tent, curling around us in green tendrils . . . I held my breath. I measured each one, inhaling in slow, shallow gasps as the others took deep breaths, slumping in a blank-stared trance. Eventually, my shoulders relaxed too, but as my vision slipped into a dream, my will remained lucid.

  The first rush of memories were my days at Bhekina House. My mind skimmed across the first seven years, which were hazy and imprecise—studying for Mother, waiting for Mother, performing for a lovely face that always tutted no, not enough, what a shame. Distantly, I sensed Ai Ling, Min Ja, and Da Seo possessing each memory. Under the influence of the kuso-kuso, they had turned into my shadow-selves, and beneath that pale blue tent, four Tarisais sat instead of one.

  In the fog of my childhood, some memories glowed clear—crystalline stars against a vast, murky sky. In unfaded color and full volume sound, we relived the night I first met Melu of Swana.

  After this memory, the story would curdle, growing sour and grim. My seven-year-old self would develop an irrational faith in The Lady’s protection. That little girl would spiral into self-destruction, hurling herself into firepits and poisoning herself with spiders, marked every cheated death as proof that her mother loved her.

  I winced, sick with repulsion. Had I really been that pathetic? What would Min Ja think of me? Someone as self-assured as the queen of Songland could never have been so desperate for a mother’s attention.

  Min Ja stirred, falling partially out of the trance as my focus wavered. “Tarisai?” she asked, words slurred by the kuso-kuso. “Are we still in your childhood?”

  “Yes,” I mumbled, and scrambled for control of my mind’s helm. Like a master sailor, I nudged our ship slightly off course, veering around entire months of my childhood. When I relinquished control, the four Tarisais had arrived at the Children’s Palace. There—jagged rocks avoided. No harm done.

  But as soon as I relaxed, another impossible memory arose: the first time I had met Dayo.

  My eleven-year-old self had transformed into a demon, red rage blinding her vision. I had wanted to hurt him. To end him. I had taken one look at his kind, dark face and breathed Kill—kill—kill . . .

  No, I hadn’t.

  I hadn’t done any of that.

  I seized the helm again, only this time I was not veering around rocks. I was charting a fresh, new course, skimming over the water with a healer’s scalpel, beating the waves into smooth, sparkling glass.

  Now, when my eleven-year-old self met Dayo, her mind was undivided. She was pure and simple-hearted, brimming with innocent love. This girl had no loyalty to her murderess of a mother. She did not wonder, even once, if The Lady was right, and that boy might deserve to die. Instead, she vowed to free herself from The Lady’s curse, and to protect Aritsar’s prince for as long as it took.

  Sweat beaded on my forehead with effort. When at last the brazier cooled, my shoulders sagged with exhaustion. The smoke in the tent had thinned as the kuso-kuso fumes wore off, and when the others roused and smiled at me dazedly, I smiled back, burying the guilt that weighed in my stomach.

  I hadn’t lied. Not really. I had fallen in love with Dayo at the Children’s Palace, and eventually decided against The Lady’s wishes. So what if it hadn’t happened right away? I had still shown Min Ja my true self. My truest self.

  The queen blinked and cocked her head. “Well?” she asked. “Do I love you yet?”

  “You tell me,” I said, smiling nervously.

  Ai Ling suggested that we try the Ray, and when the queen shrugged her consent, I summoned on the heat in my chest, concentrating on Min Ja. She stiffened. Gasped . . .

  And doubled over on the tent floor, retching, fists pressed to her temples.

  “It hurts,” she rasped. “Make it stop. Am’s Story, make it stop.”

  I severed the beam immediately, biting my fingernails in horror. “Sorry. I’m sorry. I should have warned you; it hurts when you’re not ready. I didn’t mean to . . .”

  Da Seo was cradling the queen in her lap, whisp
ering into her hair and staring at me with wary confusion. “I think we’re done for today, Lady Empress.”

  “Of course.” I bobbed my head. “We’ll—um—try again tomorrow. Unless the queen isn’t up for it.”

  “I’m fine,” Min Ja said, wincing as she sat back up. “Am knows I’ve survived worse than a headache. But I won’t be trying that again until we’ve seen more memories.” She shook her head, as if clearing a fog. “How many years was that, anyway?”

  “About twelve?” I guessed. “Give or take. We skipped around a bit.”

  “I’m trying to make sense of it,” Da Seo murmured. “We lived through your entire childhood at Bhekina House. Even your babyhood. Still . . . I don’t remember what it was like to be you as a baby.”

  I shrugged. “Neither do I.”

  “But you gave me those memories,” she insisted. “I felt them, somehow, because my mind—your mind—was shaped by that period of time. Am’s Story, I sound mad.”

  “No,” Ai Ling said. “That makes sense. I’ve heard the mind never truly forgets anything. It only loses its ability to retrieve what it knows.”

  I frowned. “So I could pass on memories I don’t even remember?”

  “It’s possible. Think of memories as books, and the brain as a library. You can only reach the books on the shelves closest to you. But that doesn’t mean the other ones aren’t there. And the knowledge from each book shapes how you think, even if you don’t remember the books themselves.” She paused, considering. “Maybe that’s why you were able to pass on some parts of your childhood in a matter of minutes, while more recent years took hours. It’s the difference between summarizing a scroll and reading every word.”

  I chewed my lip. How many unflattering entries had I unwittingly passed on to Min Ja? Perhaps that was why the Ray hadn’t worked—my unconscious memories might have betrayed my monstrous nature, even if my conscious memories hadn’t. And I couldn’t let that happen. Min Ja’s love depended on her thinking well of me. So next time . . .