Redemptor Page 3

  But the Imperial Suite of An-Ileyoba boasted twelve pristine—and separate—bedchambers. They were arranged in a circle, with a hallway on the outer perimeter and an airy salon in the center. Past Anointed Ones, it seemed, had strengthened their Ray bond with age, rendering group slumber unnecessary. But thanks to Olugbade’s untimely death . . . our Ray bond was less than five years old. We were the youngest Anointed Ones to rule in Arit history.

  Thérèse had solved the problem with kuso-kuso vines, heightening our connection and keeping council sickness at bay. Still, out of habit, we often crowded three or more to a bed . . . and some of my siblings were enjoying the benefits of our newfound privacy more than others.

  “It’s not what it looks like,” blurted Emeronya, my Biraslovian council sister, and the youngest at fourteen. She primly adjusted the lopsided veil she wore over her short dark hair, shooting a guilty look at Kirah. Both Blessids and Biraslovians belonged to People of the Wing, the most prudish religious sect in Aritsar. “We were only telling stories. Seeing if we could give one another dreams, like Tar used to do. Back before she got busy with all her treaties and banquets.”

  “Banquets to which we aren’t invited,” added my council brother Zathulu of Djbanti, tilting his shaved head.

  Kirah crossed her arms. “You know why tonight’s banquet is special. Tar couldn’t invite everyone. And if you’re only telling stories . . . why are you all half naked?”

  “The Ray works better skin to skin,” said my Spartian council brother, Theo, draping a sculpted arm around Kameron’s torso.

  “Is the great Tarisai Idajo going to condemn us with a ruling?” deadpanned my Nyamban council brother, Umansa. He flashed a smile, bright against his dark skin, which glittered with constellation tattoos. Sensing my location through the Ray, he turned his sightless white eyes on me, holding out his wrists to be cuffed.

  I cringed at the honorific, hugging the bundle of scrolls to my chest. Idajo—the Just. As High Lady Judge, enforcing imperial law was technically my job.

  “She would have to arrest herself,” Emeronya pointed out, in her usual prim monotone. “When Tar forgets to raise her mental shields at night, her dreams about Sanjeet do not usually involve clothes.”

  My cheeks grew hot. The law forbids Anointed Ones from any behavior remotely romantic or sexual—except, of course, with our Raybearer, whom we had sworn to serve in any way he wished.

  In private, however, the law was seldom enforced. I hadn’t even cared about it until Thaddace and Mbali’s tryst had led to Olugbade’s death. After all, if they had never fallen in love . . . Thaddace could not have been blackmailed. He would never have killed the emperor, or been imprisoned, or had his throat slit by that boy in the—

  I blocked out the thought. “No one’s getting arrested,” I said. “It was just a story game. None of you were breaking the law.”

  “Yet,” Theo coughed.

  “Just be careful next time,” I said, more sternly than I intended. “All of you.”

  Emeronya wrinkled her elfin features, managing as usual to resemble a child and a grumpy old woman at the same time. “Tar, you don’t look so good.”

  “Don’t be paranoid,” I said breezily. “I’m—I’m just—”

  I was just terrified of everyone I loved dropping like flies. Like Thaddace bleeding in the hallway. Like The Lady pierced with poison. Like Dayo beneath Enitawa’s Quiver, my knife in his side.

  I was terrified of everything but the thick, perfume-drugged halls of the Imperial Suite, where I could search the memories of brick and tile, and ensure that no ghostly assassins lay in wait behind them.

  “I’m not too busy to give you dreams,” I said brightly, sidestepping the question. “I can make up any memories you want—so long as they’re not too naughty.” I dropped the scrolls: sources I’d collected for Mayazatyl’s latest weapon designs. Then I set the tureen of goat’s milk on the floor: supper for Kameron’s latest adoptees. Immediately, two silky black panther cubs dashed from a pallet in the corner, rubbing their coats on my bare legs before lapping up the milk.

  “Don’t encourage them,” Theo groaned. “Ever since Kameron became High Lord of Husbandry, the palace has become a zoo. Those monsters gnawed on my best harp.”

  Kameron’s teal eyes sparkled wickedly. “Maybe if you’d write more love songs about me instead of flirting with servant boys,” he said, trapping a blushing Theo in a burly headlock, “my bairns would chew your harp less often.”

  My siblings laughed and rolled their eyes as Theo made a show of trying to escape from Kameron’s embrace, though we all knew both men would rather stay just as they were.

  “The puppies could have been baby war buffalo,” Mayazatyl told Theo, rolling off the bed pallet and riffling through the yellowed scrolls. “So count your blessings. We’ve been studying how the empire can breed buffalo with tougher skin. If I can design armor big enough, the buffalo can replace our old-fashioned war machines.”

  I frowned. “War machines? What for?”

  “In case you don’t appease the abiku,” Mayazatyl replied, never one for sparing feelings. “And the continent goes to war. Also, some rabble-rouser’s been interfering with the palace supply lines. Calls himself the Turtle, or Crocodile, something like that. Anyway, if war machines don’t scare him away from your iron quarries, a war buffalo certainly will.”

  “Right,” I said dazedly. “Dayo and I . . . own things now.”

  “They’re a lot more than things,” Umansa, the newly crowned High Lord Treasurer, said with a laugh. “The Kunleo family claimed nearly every massive natural resource on the continent after establishing the empire. Quarries, river mills, lumber farms. Why do you think the Imperial Treasury never runs dry? The Kunleos generate so much wealth from raw resources, they barely even touch their revenue from taxes.”

  “Oh.” My head spun. “But don’t all those places have workers? Villages that depend on them? How are Dayo and I supposed to keep track of them all?”

  “You don’t,” Mayazatyl said cheerily. “Nobles manage the mills and quarries for you. Taking a cut for their trouble, of course. The crown only interferes when nobles need reinforcements.”

  “Reinforcements?”

  “Muscle.” She grinned. “Like war buffalo.”

  “Right.” I nodded uneasily. “Well, you don’t have to read all those scrolls—I’ve read half of them already. I’ll give you my memories of what they say.”

  “Or,” said Mayazatyl, “you could leave imperial defense to me, since it’s my job, and address the twelve realm monarchs waiting for you downstairs?”

  I bristled, glancing busily around the chamber. “Umansa, did you ever find your lost weaving shuttle? You can’t chart your prophecies without it . . .”

  “My shuttle is where it’s supposed to be,” Umansa said dryly. “You, my sister, are not.”

  “Why,” I muttered, “is everyone so obsessed with this stupid banquet?” I set my jaw and wheeled to leave the room in disgust.

  I barreled straight into a wall-like chest. Someone had filled the doorway. When the intoxicating wave of leather and polish hit me, I grimaced, knowing the jig was up.

  “Tar?” Sanjeet held my shoulders to steady me. The gold and steel of his High General regalia glinted in the sconce light. Grim, tea-colored eyes ran perplexed patterns over my clothes. “Sunshine girl . . . why aren’t you dressed?”

  Behind him stood my council sister Ai Ling, resplendent in formal state wear. She watched me worriedly, and the room seemed to freeze. The hair on my neck prickled as my siblings began to use the Ray, pulsing words and feelings through the air. I knew they were discussing me, though when I tried to listen, they blocked me out with mental shields. Irritation surged through me. I pressed into the Ray again, and fractured phrases slipped through their barrier.

  . . . have to stop her. She hasn’t been the same since—

  . . . handle being empress. She’s stronger than Dayo. But maybe I was wrong. We
shouldn’t have encouraged her—

  . . . protect her, even from herself. Even if it means—

  I hardened my own mental shields to adamant, plunging the voices into silence.

  “Need air,” I breathed, and pushed past Sanjeet and Ai Ling.

  “Best leave her,” I heard Kirah say behind me. “I’ve been trying all evening.” But Sanjeet and Ai Ling followed anyway, hard on my heels. I regressed to an old instinct, one I had used as a child whenever the gilded walls of An-Ileyoba threatened to suffocate:

  Escape to the roof.

  CHAPTER 4

  When I stumbled up a narrow staircase to the suite’s elevated garden, night air enveloped me in a citrus-scented balm. Herb beds, dwarf palms, and potted fruit trees lined the flat sandstone roof, nestled prettily between the golden palace domes. My council sister Thérèse of Nontes stood swaying among the fragrant vines of kuso-kuso. Moonlight bleached her frizzy yellow hair as her Hallow forced waxy kuso-kuso leaves to sprout, flower, wilt, and sprout again, over and over until they achieved her prim standard of perfection. When I burst onto the roof, Sanjeet and Ai Ling close behind, Thérèse barely flinched.

  “The others are right, you know,” she said without turning around, her Nontish accent pinched and breathy. “Tarisai, ma cherie . . . you cannot hide forever. You have been very helpful lately, though. Did you ever find my coneflower seeds?”

  “You heard my argument with the others?” I asked with dread. “From two floors away?”

  “Only the parts they Ray-spoke.” Thérèse gestured at the vines. “My kuso-kuso is especially strong tonight. I could probably hear you Ray-speak from the peaks of Nontes.”

  “Talk to us, Tar,” Sanjeet coaxed. Through the Ray, he sent a gentle beam of warmth up my spine, making me shiver. “You’re not well. What can we do?”

  I bit my lip, staring at the dark indigo sky, dotted with stars and pulsing lavender sprites. “I can’t do it,” I said at last. “I can’t face those people.”

  “Those stuffy vassal rulers?” Ai Ling laughed, clearly trying to lighten the mood. “That courtier chicken coop? Trust me—they’re no match for our Empress of Aritsar.”

  She sounded sincere, but then again . . . Ai Ling always did, when she needed to.

  That was unfair of me. Ai Ling never used her persuasion Hallow on her council siblings. She rarely used her coercion powers at all, though that was hard for the public to believe. After two weeks as Imperial Ambassador, Ai Ling had already calmed two rowdy crowds who had arrived at the palace to protest my rule, swaying them with her speeches. She’d brokered a trade deal between Songland and Aritsar, despite Songland’s reasonable distrust of Aritsar. But Ai Ling’s melodious voice—her quick wit, and sharp negotiation savvy . . . those were no Hallow. They were just her: my sister, the unflappable Ai Ling of Moreyao.

  “Sorry I’m being so much trouble,” I mumbled, and grimaced at her stunning formal wear. Her outfit had sprouted wrinkles after she chased me up to the garden. Torchlight glimmered on her peach silk hanfu—the flowing robes of her home realm—and pearl ornaments dangling in her hair.

  Ai Ling had arranged tonight’s Peace Banquet single-handedly. She had convinced all the continent rulers to remain at An-Ileyoba, instead of leaving after I had sabotaged the Treaty Renewal. Floors below in the Imperial Hall, twelve rulers waited for me to seduce them into loyalty. Into bonding their minds with me for life. But—

  “They think I murdered Thaddace,” I protested. “They all do—the court, the rulers. Everyone. How can they love an empress who kills in cold blood?”

  Dimples appeared beneath Ai Ling’s keen dark eyes. “At court,” she said, “being known as a killer isn’t always a bad thing.”

  I made a face. “I . . . almost don’t want you to explain that.”

  “The only difference between a murderer and a hero is who tells the story.” Ai Ling cleared her throat, then lifted her hands as if addressing a throne room, her voice cool and imperious. “Thaddace’s death,” she said, “removes any remaining suspicion that our Empress Redemptor was in league with The Lady. On the contrary: Empress Tarisai is our empire’s savior. She prevented a dangerous convict, an imperial traitor, from escaping the palace. She is so dedicated to justice, so loyal to Olugbade’s memory . . . she would kill her own mentor in cold blood. Such courage.” Ai Ling let a delicate sob shake her voice. “Such majesty!”

  I lurched away and vomited into a nearby potted palm tree.

  Ai Ling swore, bustling over to rub my back. “Am’s Story, Tari darling. I should have thought. I didn’t mean to . . .” She winced, the confidence draining from her voice. “You’d think a speaking Hallow would prevent me from being an ass.”

  “You’re not an ass,” I mewled. “You’re right. You’re always right, and I’m already failing at being empress.”

  Thérèse unhooked a vial from her belt and tipped its contents down my throat. Astringent peppermint stung my nostrils, but the nausea abated. My skin prickled as Sanjeet scanned me anxiously with his Hallow, searching my body for illness. He would find nothing but cowardice, thrumming through every vein.

  “The only thing you’ve failed to do,” he said quietly, “is let us help you. We’re your family, sunshine girl. Tell us what you need.”

  “Come with me,” I squeaked. “To the banquet. All of you.”

  Ai Ling tensed. “You know that isn’t a good idea,” she said gently. “Fewer companions are better optics. It sends the message that you’re there to make new friends, not hide behind old ones. But Dayo’s going, so you won’t be alone. So will Kirah and I, since we’re handling peace negotiations with Songland.”

  The phrase making friends sounded much too casual for tonight’s endeavors. The abiku had accepted my sacrifice on one condition: that I become a full-fledged Raybearer, anointing the vassal rulers of every Arit realm to create my own council of eleven. If I failed at anointing the rulers, then the abiku would deem my body too cheap a sacrifice. Aritsar would never know peace again.

  I asked, “How can those rulers love me if they think I just murdered someone?”

  “Oh, Tar. Love is delightfully complicated.” Ai Ling placed my hand on her brow, offering me her memories. The sour faces of several foreign monarchs flashed through my mind. “Ever since the Treaty ceremony, the vassal rulers have been staying at guest villas, here in Oluwan. So I thought I’d pay them a visit,” she explained. “Sniff out how they felt about you. Turns out, you made a good impression on the empire when you repealed that Unity Edict. But you also branded yourself as impulsive. Overearnest. A little naïve. In other words, none of the vassal rulers took you seriously. You were a mere child to them, until . . .”

  “Until they thought I killed my own mentor. And now they hate me.”

  “They’re scared of you,” Ai Ling corrected. “Which is way more useful. People can’t love someone they don’t respect. And, well—fear’s a step in the right direction.”

  “Ai Ling,” Sanjeet muttered, his Hallow no doubt sensing the anxiety spike in my bloodstream. “Thérèse . . . can I speak to Tar alone, please?”

  My council sisters glanced between me and Sanjeet, exchanged a coy look of wiggled eyebrows, and disappeared downstairs without a word.

  Once alone, I drank him in, lingering on the curve of his ears, the slant of his eyebrows. I’d never scold my council siblings for illegal romances again—I was the biggest lawbreaker of them all. He smiled at me, tea-colored eyes resigned with exhaustion, and opened his arms. I pressed my ear to his armored chest, sending Dayo’s Ray in tendrils over his earth-scented skin.

  “I’d rather not Ray-speak,” he said, consonants plosive with that deep, Dhyrmish accent that reminded me of a talking drum. He gave a rumbling chuckle. “Not now, anyway. The others mean well, but we both know they aren’t above eavesdropping.”

  “You’re going to lecture me.” I turned up my head, resting my chin between the pectorals of his leather breastplate. The cold, gilded
spikes proclaiming his new High General status pricked me, but I didn’t mind. Already the panic was leaching out of me, drawn by the poultice of his steady heartbeat. “I wouldn’t, if I were you. Kirah tried all day, and she didn’t get far.”

  “No lecture,” he promised, murmuring into the silk of my hair scarf. “Tar, if you don’t want to go to the banquet, then . . . don’t.”

  I would have stumbled back in shock if his solid arms hadn’t held me there. “You can’t be serious.” I blinked up at him. “Of course I have to go. It’s my banquet.”

  If my contradictory moods surprised Sanjeet, he didn’t show it. “You are empress,” he said simply. He traced the raised oval where my obabirin mask lay hidden beneath my shift. “Do whatever the hell you want.”

  I shook my head, speaking slowly as if he no longer spoke Arit. “The fate of the entire continent depends on what I say at this party. You know that. Are you—” I squinted suspiciously. “Are you trying to guilt me into going down there?”

  “By saying the opposite?” His bushy eyebrows knit. “That sounds . . . complicated.”

  I breathed a laugh. “Sorry,” I said, standing on tiptoe to kiss his cheek. “You’ve never had the mind of a courtier. You’re too straightforward for that. But I don’t get it—Jeet, what side are you on?”

  “The hardest side to be on: the one that keeps you alive.” He smiled, though the bitterness in his tone bled through. “Between challenging Underworld demons and planning prison heists, you seem . . . determined to heighten security risks.”

  “I was born a security risk.”

  His smile faded. “You know I don’t mean your mother’s curse. Tar . . . Aritsar hasn’t seen someone like you in centuries.”

  I heard what he would not say outright: Unlike Dayo, I was a ruler who could still be assassinated.

  And with a twisting sensation in my stomach, I knew he was right. Until I anointed a council, I was only immune to fire. Still—

  “You encouraged me to be empress,” I reminded him. “Back when Melu first told me I was a Raybearer, and I was still in denial. So you shouldn’t want me to hide. The others are right—I can’t cower in the Imperial Suite forever.”