Redemptor Read online

  Sanjeet’s chiseled features went blank, and a shiver chased up my arms. I hated it when this happened. Whenever Sanjeet couldn’t trust himself to speak—to do anything with complete control—a wall rose around him, like the impenetrable enchanted barrier around Bhekina House. The wall had appeared more often when we were younger—when Sanjeet was still a candidate in the Children’s Palace, haunted by the danger of his own Hallow. If he wanted, Sanjeet could sense the physical weakness in anyone, and to avoid the temptation of control, he had taken to cloistering himself whenever he felt angry, helpless, or both.

  I’d spent years tearing that wall down. But ever since I’d offered myself to the abiku as a sacrifice, acting as Aritsar’s final Redemptor . . . the distance between us had returned with rising force. Sometimes I felt the wall even when we slept, nuzzling into the shape of each other at night.

  He sighed at last, shoulders sagging as, for now, the barrier crumbled. He ran his fingers through his loose dark curls. “The truth is,” he said in a strange, rough voice, “you’re not safe anywhere in An-Ileyoba. Even here in the suite. I’ve doubled defenses at every palace entrance. Posted Imperial Guard warriors in every major thoroughfare. But I still haven’t figured out how that creature who killed Thaddace breached the palace walls. And now the Imperial Guard has new concerns with the Crocodile and his riots . . .”

  My brow furrowed, remembering what Mayazatyl had said about a new vigilante. “Crocodile?”

  He blinked, as if regretting he’d brought it up. “Some new troublemaker.” He waved a hand. “Stirring up unrest around the realms. Don’t worry—I’ll handle it. Am knows you’ve got enough on your plate.”

  I frowned at the dismissal, but then stringed griot music surged from the courtyards far below, and my stomach flipped. “Do you really think I have a chance at winning over those monarchs?” I asked, swallowing hard as I stared out into the night. “I doubt they’re eager to be wooed after what happened to Thaddace. No matter what Ai Ling says, the timing wasn’t exactly ideal.”

  “You had to try and save him,” Sanjeet monotoned. “It’s who you are.”

  “You think I was foolish,” I accused. “You think I should have left Thaddace alone. Let him die for my mistakes.”

  A thought formed on Sanjeet’s brow, only for him to suppress it, his clay-toned features carefully neutral.

  “Say it,” I told him.

  He avoided my gaze. “Say what?”

  I sighed and reached to lace my fingers behind his neck, smiling up at him. “Whatever you’re thinking, Sanjeet of Dhyrma, that you don’t know how to sugarcoat.”

  He scanned me with those deeply steeped brown eyes. Goose bumps sprouted wherever his gaze landed, from my exposed collarbone to the lurid blue marks on my forearms. Then his lips lowered to mine, rousing an army of dragonflies in my stomach. The kiss was slow, thoughtful. A meditation.

  “Nice distraction,” I gasped, knowing his Hallow could sense my heart hammering. “But you still have to say it.”

  Sanjeet laughed softly, resting his chin atop my hair again. “I was thinking,” he said, “that you should get used to people dying for you.”

  I stiffened in his embrace. “Because I’m a cursed Raybearer? Who brings death wherever she goes?”

  “No.” He fed me a memory then: the day of my First Ruling, only through his eyes instead of mine. He had watched the crowds packing the tiered seating of the Imperial Hall, his heart teeming with fear and wonder as they all had chanted my name. Idajo. Idajo. Tarisai Idajo. “You should accept it, because people die for what they believe in. You’re used to everyone hating you. But Tar . . . someday, you’ll have to carry a burden much, much harder.” He gestured down to the courtyards glimmering with festive torchlight, where a hundred souls waited to be seduced to my cause. “You’ll have to prepare for everyone loving you too.”

  CHAPTER 5

  Within an hour, I stood in a vast, gaily lit corridor with Ai Ling, Kirah, and Dayo, waiting before the two-story-high Imperial Hall doors.

  “At your signal, Your Imperial Majesties,” boomed an Imperial Guard warrior.

  I swallowed hard, willing my elaborately painted palms not to sweat. “Just a moment, please,” I croaked.

  The guard waited patiently, ready to order that the massive doors be hauled open: a feat made possible by a dozen burly servants and a pulley system of thick rope looped through rings in the noses of carved lions, which shone from the polished wood. Ever since the Treaty Renewal, the doors made me shiver every time I saw them. I hadn’t told anyone why.

  Somehow—after I had ridden across the empire and Melu rejuvenated me, bringing me back from the edge of death—I had managed to open those doors myself.

  I had burst through what was likely several tons of solid wood and iron, desperate to stop Dayo from completing the Treaty Renewal. In my feverish determined haze, the massive doors had seemed to spring open at my touch, creaking forth with a deafening roar. Since that day, they had not opened on their own again.

  Wooden doors were rare anywhere in Oluwan, as they were impractical in the heat, and far more expensive than linen door flaps. Legend dictated that an Oluwanese alagbato—a fairy guardian like my father, Melu of Swana—had crafted the Imperial Hall doors centuries ago, sacrificing sacred trees of golden-white mahogany. The alagbato commanded that the trunks hew themselves into smooth planks, and then she had pulled iron from her own heart, fashioning them into nails. As a finishing touch, she had carved intricate glyphs and patterns into the door, symbolizing an ancient pact between alagbatos and the Kunleo dynasty, who had been the first humans to raise cities on Oluwan’s fertile plains. But what that pact had promised . . . no one seemed to remember. Apparently, the alagbato had now been dormant for generations, as often happened to nature spirits after industry thrived and land was heavily developed. Occasionally I had touched the doors out of curiosity, but only human memories seeped through: the clamor of sumptuous court celebrations and the volleying voices of nobility and Anointed Ones, holding centuries of Imperial court.

  In that hall, the rulers of every realm on the continent awaited my entrance. What thoughts and whispers were those ancient doors soaking up right now?

  You’re going to be fine, a warm tenor Ray-spoke in my head. Take your time, Tar. The sound blossomed as it always did—right behind my eyes, as if we shared a soul. You’re worth the wait.

  Emperor Ekundayo Kunleo, oba of Aritsar, reached for my hand, the sun-and-stars of his solid gold seal ring pressing into my fingers. These days, I found it hard to look at him. Circles pooled beneath his eyes—exhaustion that I blamed myself for.

  Dayo had always been gangly. But the past weeks had reduced his tall dark frame to bone, aging him and accentuating the latticed burn scar that stretched from his jaw to his collarbone. The fatigue showed only in his face. He shimmered in Olugbade’s old banquet agbada, a sweeping purple kaftan with swaths of fabric furling over each shoulder. It tripled Dayo’s size and swayed around him with every step, metallic threads catching the light. He didn’t look like a sleep-deprived boy grieving his father. He looked like someone’s emperor.

  “Don’t worry about me,” I told him aloud, touching his cheek. “You need rest more than anyone.”

  “It’s funny.” A V formed on Dayo’s smooth dark brow. “I should feel worse than I do about Father.”

  “Worse?”

  “Sadder.” Dayo chewed his bottom lip, staring up at the massive doors shimmering with his family’s legacy. “But the truth is . . . Father barely let me know him. Didn’t let anyone, really. I always assumed when I was older, I’d understand, but . . .” He trailed off.

  “Grief isn’t simple, Dayo,” Ai Ling said. She watched him with pity and another emotion I couldn’t quite name. The air crackled as I felt her reach for Dayo with the Ray—then she stopped, throwing up her mental shields abruptly, as though afraid of what her thoughts might reveal.

  “I feel numb about Thaddace too,” said
Dayo, not seeming to notice Ai Ling’s secrecy. “It doesn’t make sense. He helped raise me, and I loved him, I really did. But whenever I try to mourn Uncle Thad, I just feel . . . empty.”

  “He killed your father,” Kirah observed.

  “But it wasn’t that simple,” he protested. “Uncle Thad had to make an impossible choice.”

  “I know.” The silver coins on Kirah’s tunic jingled as she patted his arm. “But Dayo . . . it’s still okay to be mad at him.”

  He opened his mouth, shut it, and then wilted. I reached out to cup his cheek, running my thumb over his jaw. I had only just begun to see the resemblance between our features—the same rounded nostrils and subtle chin, gifts from our shared grandfather.

  “Woo In of Songland didn’t mean to kill my mother either,” I said quietly. “But I still have to forgive him every day. And . . .” I shifted my jewel-studded sandals. “I get it if you keep having to forgive me too.”

  Dayo’s large black eyes widened in horror. “I don’t blame you, Tarisai.”

  “I know. But you should.” The words stuck in my throat. “If I hadn’t told The Lady about Mbali and Thaddace, she never would have had the leverage. Your father would still be alive. So would Thaddace. And—”

  I looked away in embarrassment as tears pooled in my eyes, making streaks in my intricate face paint and highlighted cheekbones.

  “Your beauticians are going to throw a fit,” Ai Ling tutted, coming to dab at my face with her flowing peach hanfu sleeves. Then she stood back as I sniffled, cocking her head. “You know, less makeup might actually be the look we want. Vulnerability could prove useful. After all”—she winked at me—“tonight’s about falling in love.”

  “And convincing them I’m not a cold-blooded murderer.”

  She only shrugged. “It’s like I said before, darling—fear a is tool.”

  People had been afraid of me my whole life. I had never tried to make it an asset before.

  Ai Ling straightened the cowrie shell necklaces festooning my shoulders and adjusted the ivory adornments in my hair. Elaborate braided knots crowned my hairline, while the rest of my coils floated in a black halo. “You know,” she mused, “there are limits to my Hallow, but I could—well—encourage the continent rulers to join your council. I can’t exactly make them love you. But I can make them want to try. They’ll resist me at first, but they can’t keep their mental guards up forever. And once they get to know you—”

  “No.” I shook my head. “If I’m going to have my own council, I want it to be like ours. A life we chose.” I exchanged a look with Dayo. “A family.”

  “Families aren’t usually chosen,” Ai Ling pointed out. “We just got lucky.” She shot an inscrutably affectionate glance at Dayo, and her words rang ominously as drumbeats vibrated the ground.

  I glanced at my multiple reflections in the mirrored hall ceiling. Arit courtiers wore garments that honored their home kingdoms, and my attendants and beauticians had dressed me in a diplomatic balance between Oluwan and Swana. The clothing was purposely outdated, a tribute to the traditional garb of each realm. I wore nothing on top but a wide, tiered necklace of gold-encrusted cowrie shells, secured with cords at my neck and back. Even this was a modern concession—ancient Oluwani women hadn’t covered their breasts at all. A skirt of ashoke, the luxury textile of Oluwan, hugged my curves in a woven sheath, dusky indigo shot with threads of gold and white. The fabric stopped at my knees, and on each leg I wore tassels of dried grass, hanging in a layered fringe to my ankles: a tribute to the fashions of Swana.

  Beyond the Imperial Hall doors, the banquet opening ceremonies were building to a frenzy.

  “Funny,” I observed absently. “In two years, I’ll throw myself into the Oruku Breach to enter the Underworld. But this feels like the scary part.” I smirked. “After this party, dying will be easy.”

  I knew it was a mistake the moment I said it. All three of my council siblings froze.

  “But you aren’t going to die,” Dayo said, and the sharpness in his tone surprised me. “You’re coming back from the Underworld. Like you promised.”

  “Right.” I nodded quickly, pulse hammering. “I misspoke. I’m sorry.”

  “Like you promised,” Dayo repeated, and my heart twinged. I wasn’t lying—I truly didn’t plan to die in the Underworld. But nothing was certain . . . and Dayo had never done well with uncertainty. I feared another loss would break him. In the space of a year, he had witnessed the massacre at Ebujo Temple, recovered from me stabbing him, and grieved his father’s murder.

  “Yes.” I tried to smile. “I promise, Dayo.”

  “Good.” He nodded once, looking petulant. “Because . . . because I won’t get coronated. Not until you return.”

  I started in shock. “That’s impossible,” I said slowly. “I’m not going to the Underworld for two years. You can’t hold off a coronation for that long.”

  “Says who?” he asked, signature cheer returning to his voice. “We’re already emperor and empress, as far as the Ray is concerned. The coronation’s just a symbol. Besides, if we wait until after you save the Redemptors, you’ll be crowned as a hero. Aritsar will have to accept you then!”

  I doubted that very much, but knew not to challenge him any further. His desperate expression betrayed his true intention for delaying our coronation: If Dayo could convince the empire that I would return from the Underworld, he might just start believing it himself.

  We nodded at the warrior, and the doors groaned open.

  A solid wall of music and light accosted us, briefly blinding me.

  Oh. Dayo’s flabbergasted voice echoed in our minds. Ai Ling, I knew you said the party would be grand, but this is . . . incredible.

  Sconces, sprite-lamps, and free-standing torches blazed on every surface, reflecting off the marble tier seating lining the walls, which could hold thousands at full capacity. The vast chamber appeared suspended in time, high noon in the dead of night. Lighting a room this large would have cost an emperor’s ransom in palm oil. A daytime banquet would have cost much less, but considering the favor I was about to ask of our royal guests . . . well. Maybe the luxury would put them in a good mood.

  It’s all about signaling, Ai Ling gushed through the Ray, her mind brimming with excitement. Show those vassal rulers that to negotiate peace, the Emperor and Empress Redemptor will spare no expense.

  Secretly, I wasn’t sure peace was the message echoing from the hall’s glowing rafters. All of it—from the black-and-gold tapestries of wax-dyed cloth, to the multistory-high statues supporting the hall on giant obsidian shoulders—spoke the same words in a resounding voice:

  Kneel, or be cut down.

  An elaborately costumed choir sprung to attention when we entered, playing hand drums and chanting the ancient call-and-response:

  Of what use—Tell us!

  Of what use is an empty throne?

  We have found someone worthy—Have you found someone?

  Aheh, Kunleo is worthy to fill it—Yes, Kunleo is worthy to fill it.

  Our banquet guests—all one hundred of them—joined in, and my bladder threatened to send warm rivulets down my thighs.

  I am not allowed to be terrified, I reminded myself. I was a Kunleo, and this was our court. Our palace.

  If this was a den of snakes, then Dayo and I were the cobras who ruled it.

  I had heard the ancient call-and-response before—Kunleo is worthy to fill it. But it still made my face burn. Whenever Dayo and I left the palace, children sang to us in the streets, tossing petals and handmade effigies onto the roof of our palanquin. The adoration of strangers had always unnerved me. But as I scanned the faces of my banquet guests, wincing at their hostility . . . I supposed being feared by strangers wasn’t much better.

  The new Kunleo seal blazed on the distant domed ceiling: two overlapping suns, representing the joint reign of two Raybearers, circled by a wreath of interlinked hands. Long, low feast tables lined the hall, golden in the
festive lamplight. Ai Ling, Kirah, and Dayo took their places near the head of the tables, sinking onto tasseled velvet cushions. I remained standing.

  Now, Ai Ling Ray-spoke.

  Just as we had rehearsed, I lifted my hands toward the multistory windows, sweeping my arms in a flourish. The banquet guests gasped as hundreds of lavender tutsu sprites poured through the arches, congregating above us in the ombre of the domed ceiling.

  Sprites never left the land they were born in, unless poached to be sold as lamps and baubles. So no one had been prepared when, three weeks ago, a cloud of Swanian tutsu had congregated outside my window at An-Ileyoba Palace.

  I told everyone the truth, naively thinking it would help: My father was Melu the alagbato, a guardian spirit from Swana. After liberating myself from my father’s curse, my scent now seemed to attract sprites from leagues away. The announcement dazzled Arit commoners and terrified palace courtiers, with few opinions in between.

  To all of Aritsar, I was either a god or a demon.

  The sprites arranged themselves in twinkling constellations, recreating the Oluwan night sky. My stomach flipped with relief. Tutsu sprites strongly disliked being indoors, and it had taken days of practice before the creatures entered when I summoned them.

  The crowd applauded, some with delight, others with wariness. Many recognized that a flex of power, however beautiful, could just as easily be a threat. Where some saw a blanket of stars, others saw a glittering army over their heads.

  Ai Ling’s words echoed—Fear is a tool. So I only smiled, attempting to look aloof and serene. Let them be a little afraid.

  Feasting began when I lifted a bowl of kola nuts above my head, intoned a greeting, and then passed the bowl around—an ancient gesture of welcome. Queen Hye Sun of Songland, her heir Crown Princess Min Ja, and the eleven vassal rulers of Aritsar sat in silence at my table. Nerves frazzled my concentration, and the multicomplexioned faces blended together as I tried to take them in. The oldest monarch could easily be my grandfather, and the youngest, to my surprise, looked barely thirteen. Each ruler touched the bowl and nodded, signaling their acceptance.