Redemptor Read online

  Dayo and I did not touch the platters of seared goat, savory jollof rice, roasted pear skewers, and fried plantains, nor did we touch chalices of palm wine and herb water. We had taken tinctures before the banquet to suppress our appetites, as it was considered a display of weakness for Raybearers to eat or drink in public, or to leave a function to relieve ourselves. Every court custom served to reinforce that ancient fiction: that Raybearers were near deities, handpicked by the Storyteller to rule over Aritsar.

  I hadn’t needed the tincture—the anxious knots in my stomach were more than enough to spoil my appetite. But once the dining bustle died down, I donned an imperious mask, washed my hands in the ceremonial water bowl at my elbow, and stood.

  “Welcome, everyone,” I began, jumping at the amplification of my voice. Ai Ling had placed an enchanted echo-stone behind my seat cushion. Throughout the hall, the scrape of earthen dinnerware stopped, and the ambient drums and plucked zither music melted into the quiet. A sea of eyes surged to rest on me.

  “I am especially grateful for the presence of Aritsar’s vassal rulers, as well as our guests from Songland. Thank you for prolonging your stay. I know you were eager to return to your home realms, after I . . . transformed our treaty with the abiku.” I smiled tightly, choosing to ignore a surge of scornful whispers. “What you choose tonight decides the fate of the empire. I want to be the last Redemptor ever sent into the Oruku Breach. To ensure that no child—Arit or Songlander—is ever sacrificed again.”

  “Hear, hear,” Dayo interrupted with eager applause. The guests awkwardly followed suit.

  “But the abiku won’t accept me,” I went on. “Not unless I anoint a council of the twelve rulers of Aritsar. I know it’s . . . a lot. What I’m asking. A pact for life, binding our minds, our blood. But I’ve been in your shoes. I’m an Anointed One too, after all, so I know how daunting that feels. But if we don’t try . . .” I inhaled—then bit down on the kernel of dried kuso-kuso I’d been hiding under my tongue. The fragrant herb went sharply to my head, and a green haze crept at the edges of my vision. The Hallow flowing in my veins—the gift from my father the alagbato, who drew stories from the earth—boiled beneath my skin, begging to leech memories from every surface I touched. Instead, I used my temporarily heightened power to conjure a memory, and send it as a mass hallucination into the brows of every guest at my table: the massacre at Ebujo, with visions of bodies littering the temple floor, ripped apart by vengeful creatures from the Underworld.

  CHAPTER 6

  My banquet table fell into chaos. Some of the rulers stood, upsetting their chalices and clutching their temples as if to claw the vision out. I winced. It had been a risk, invading their minds like that. It was unlikely they would forgive me for it soon—but forcing the memory of Ebujo had been the quickest way to get my point across.

  “This could be the fate of the entire continent,” I said over their indignant cries. “I had to make you see. Please sit down. I—”

  They clamored over me, some dignitaries threatening to leave the banquet then and there. No. My palms sweated. They couldn’t leave; this was my only chance to save Aritsar. To prevent thousands of child sacrifices. Millions. Desperation sped my heartbeat, and heat rose in my chest. When I spoke again, my voice sounded lower, and the echo-stone brought my altered voice to a bellow.

  “Please,” I thundered. “Sit. Down.”

  Beneath my necklace of cowrie shells, the obabirin mask seared like a coal. For a moment, I could have sworn the mask glowed.

  Then as if in a trance, every Arit ruler lowered to their seat cushions, features startled and mouths slack. When the heat receded from me and my pulse returned to normal, they still sat, stunned as though they had just awoken from a strange, powerful dream.

  I was as surprised as they were. Only the dignitaries from Songland continued to stand, seemingly unfazed by whatever had subdued the other monarchs.

  “Please,” I said again, dropping the bass from my voice. The Songlander royals scowled . . . but after exchanging a wary glance, voluntarily sat back down with the others.

  “Thank you,” I said shakily, feeling as dazed as my guests looked. “I was . . . just trying to convey the danger. If monsters pour from the Oruku Breach, not only will they kill us, they’ll also turn our realms against each other, just like at Ebujo. The empire could splinter overnight, leaving us just as weak as we were five hundred years ago. I think—If we don’t form a council to appease the abiku—all of Aritsar could be at risk.”

  Though calm now, the Arit rulers had clearly not recovered from my mental invasion. Some squinted into their chalices, as though they might have been drugged. A few shot pleading glances at Kirah, making the sign of the Pelican.

  “You have nothing to fear from the empress,” Kirah assured them, using her lofty High Priestess voice. She gestured a blessing over the table. “The empress’s warning was a gift.”

  “Of course it was,” Dayo announced. “We have only two years to avoid the fate of Ebujo. And so,” he said, standing and taking my hand in solidarity. “The Empress Redemptor and I would like to extend an invitation: Stay in Oluwan City. All of you.”

  “Not indefinitely,” I added quickly. “But we can’t risk too much lodestone travel. You need only stay until—”

  Until you love me and bind your minds to me for life.

  “Until you’ve tried to join my council,” I finished lamely. “And the fate of the empire is secured. We would house you all in the utmost comfort, compliments of the crown. High Lord General Sanjeet has seen personally to each villa’s safety.” I steeled my shoulders. “We open the floor for questions.”

  Cacophony from wall to wall. The rulers and their retinues roared over one another, shaking their heads and gesturing in protests that upset platters and toppled chalices.

  Calmly, Ai Ling joined me on the echo-stone and said, “It would be better, perhaps, if questions were posed one at a time.”

  The Hallowed suggestion fell on the room like a thick mudcloth blanket. A few stubborn-minded people still muttered at their seats, but most hushed at Ai Ling’s request, looking vaguely ashamed of themselves.

  First to speak was King Helius of Sparti, a graying man with sea-whipped skin. Curling chest hair bristled around a gold-edged chiton. “With all due respect, Your Imperial Majesties,” he sputtered, “whether or not we are willing to try to love the empress is immaterial. Suppose you succeed. What then? We live in Oluwan forever, stuck to her side, neglecting our own countries? Sacred Oceans—my absence in this past month alone has stalled the launch of several ships! Sparti’s trade will grind to a halt, and our fisheries won’t be far behind.”

  The other rulers grunted in agreement, and the rumble threatened to return.

  “We have a plan for that,” Ai Ling piped up, digging in her pocket and placing a sachet of dried leaves on the table. The smell hit me instantly, sharp and heady.

  “The kuso-kuso herb?” asked Queen Danai of Swana. Silvery white locs shone in intricate patterns on her head, and she appraised Ai Ling with keen eyes. “But that is a dreaming aid. How will that help us?”

  Ai Ling smiled mysteriously. “It’s true—in some regions of Aritsar, entire villages inhale kuso-kuso smoke together, allowing for communal dreaming. But our council has been experimenting with ways to send messages across long distances, improving communication between realms.” She paused for effect. “Turns out, you don’t have to inhale kuso-kuso in the same room to dream together. If two or more strongly bonded individuals dream at the same time . . . their minds unite. Wherever they are. The dreams are as potent as speaking in person, alleviating council sickness through the Ray.”

  Dayo beamed at Ai Ling, and she colored. “It’s brilliant,” he said. “Once each monarch is anointed, they won’t even have to stay in Oluwan. So Tarisai’s new council can commune anytime, anywhere.”

  Impressed voices rippled down the table. Then Crown Princess Min Ja of Songland’s alto cut through the oth
ers, smooth and piercing. “What I don’t understand,” she said, “is what any of this has to do with Songland.”

  I tried not to quail beneath her stare. Min Ja seemed to glow in her traditional Songlander attire—a full skirt and matching jacket of crisp pastel silks, blues and whites icy against her golden skin. She had the satiny black hair and fine bone structure of her younger brother, Woo In, and shared the same glint in her jaded dark eyes. The last time I had seen that expression—bristling grief masked by anger—Woo In had been holding a knife to my mother’s cheek, unaware of the poison seeping into her bloodstream.

  Tread lightly, Kirah Ray-spoke to me.

  I tensed at the warning. You’ve been getting to know the queen and the princess, right? What should I know?

  Kirah bit her lip. Queen Hye Sun hasn’t been the same since her son Woo In disappeared. She’s a little better, now that she knows he’s alive—but they say she’s still a husk of her former glory. And Min Ja is— Kirah sucked in a breath. . . . a puzzle. She’s barely ten years older than us. Yet she’s the sole heir to the Songlander throne. Even over Woo In.

  That’s weird, commented Dayo, cocking his head. Don’t Songlander dynasties usually pass from father to son? They don’t even include daughters in their genealogies. Hye Sun only ruled as a widow regent. Why would the throne go to Min Ja instead of Woo In?

  Woo In’s a Redemptor, I pointed out. Perhaps that made Hye Sun nervous.

  Ai Ling said: Woo In wasn’t Hye Sun’s first male child.

  An ominous chill pricked at my neck. He wasn’t?

  There were seven total, Ai Ling continued to Ray-speak, after an unsettled pause. Seven healthy sons, all older than Min Ja and Woo In. But something happened. None of my spies in Songland can be sure, but . . . it’s widely spoken that when she was younger, Min Ja murdered her own brothers.

  The crown princess of Songland appeared to be relishing the silence. She drew a gold-tipped nail around the rim of her chalice, causing a low, resonant whistle. At last she smiled tightly and said, “Your empire admitted to massacring thousands of Songlander children. Your council has hurried to facilitate reparations,” she acknowledged, nodding at Ai Ling and Kirah. “A process that I intend to be painful, especially to Aritsar’s bottomless treasury. But as far as I’m concerned, our business ends there. The abiku asked you to form a council of Arit rulers. Songland is not part of the Arit empire, nor shall it ever be. So why,” she asked with that cold, coy contempt, “are we here?”

  “You are here,” I replied, “because your people have gone centuries without a voice on the continent. I won’t pressure you to join the empire. I won’t try to rule you. But it’s time Songland had a seat at the table.”

  Min Ja examined me for several moments, her expression inscrutable. “How noble,” she monotoned. “Unfortunately, I don’t believe in heroines. Not even pretty ones, who go on suicidal joyrides across Aritsar on giant magical leopards. How do I know this isn’t just another Kunleo ruse? A trick to gain control of my people again.”

  “I’ll have no power over Her Majesty.” I nodded shyly at the old Queen Hye Sun, who blinked back at me with rheumy, absent eyes. “And she can make sure of that. If the queen joins my council, after all, we’ll be bonded in mind and body. She’ll have access to my thoughts. My dreams. I couldn’t keep secrets from her—not easily, anyway.”

  Min Ja appraised me severely, until the beautiful young woman beside her whispered in her ear. She looked Min Ja’s age, with the fat figure coveted by Oluwani court ladies. Brown eyes twinkled over floral lace, which masked the bottom half of her full, flushed face. As the woman spoke, Min Ja looked chastened, eyeing her companion with annoyed vulnerability. When the woman gestured, I blinked in surprise. Pink sleeves fell back to reveal amputated arms, severed and scarred over just below the elbow.

  That’s Da Seo, Ai Ling Ray-spoke. The princess’s consort. Lady Da Seo lost her arms intercepting an attempt on Min Ja’s life several years ago. Afterward, Min Ja named Da Seo her equal. The Songlander court has tried to pressure Min Ja into producing an heir with a man. But she refuses. Where the princess goes, Da Seo goes.

  Presently, Min Ja addressed me again. “Your mother,” she said slowly, “once controlled my baby brother. That witch made him forsake his own sister. His own family.” Her upper lip wrinkled, as though my mother’s memory tasted bitter. “But my consort’s heart is softer than mine. Da Seo reminds me that for some reason, Woo In trusted you enough to return to Songland. My brother has never been a good judge of character. Still—” She gave a begrudging sniff. “Because of you, my baby brother came home. And for that reason alone . . . Songland will consider your offer. But it won’t be my mother inside your head, Little Empress.” Min Ja flashed a mirthless smile. “It will be me.”

  As the hall looked on in confusion, Min Ja gently patted her mother’s arm. The elderly queen blinked back at her sleepily.

  Min Ja said, “We were going to wait to announce it. But we should tell them, Ommah.”

  Hye Sun expelled a phlegmy sigh from deep in her lungs, nodded once, and reached for the thick gold pin piercing her elaborate silver top knot. She handed it to Min Ja, and with a gasp from the entire hall, the princess threaded it through her own shining dark bun.

  “As Regent, I thought I could be what Songland needs,” Hye Sun croaked, seeming to summon strength for the short speech. “But these past few weeks has made one thing painfully clear—Songland does not need a doting grandmother. It needs a warrior queen. And so,” she rasped, “before this hall of witnesses, I abdicate my crown and bestow it on my daughter, Min Ja, my late husband’s chosen heir of Songland.”

  Surprised murmurs filled the hall. I gaped like a fish.

  I don’t like this. Ai Ling’s wary voice sprang into my mind. Tar, you weren’t planning to anoint Min Ja. It’s not too late. There’s still time to back out.

  Min Ja’s gaze fixed haughtily on mine. For a moment I quailed—but then I saw another face. A young Redemptor girl, Ye Eun, scowling with agonized determination before plunging into the Oruku Breach.

  The abiku may not care if I anoint Songland, I told Ai Ling. But I do.

  I raised the chalice at my side to Min Ja. “To the new queen of Songland,” I said quietly. “Whom I hope to call my sister.”

  Min Ja lifted her cup, expressionless as the baffled court applauded. Then she asked in her blunt, clipped voice, “If I join your council, will you require me to wed you?”

  If I had been allowed to drink my palm wine, I would have choked on it.

  “Wed—me?” I gasped. “I . . . of course not!”

  “There is no of course about it,” another realm ruler spoke up. It was Maharani Sadhika of Dhyrma, an amber-skinned queen covered in bangles. She flared a jewel-studded nostril, tossing a glossy braid. “Anointed Ones swear fealty to their Raybearer, no? In mind and in body. But some of us already have spouses. Concubines.” She gestured to the retinue of pretty young men who sat around her. “Do you expect us to forsake them for you?”

  “No. I mean . . .” I sputtered. “Celibacy is custom, yes. But I won’t require it. It’s certainly not necessary to accept the Ray.”

  A strident tenor remarked, “How disappointing.”

  My face burned in surprise. Scandalized whispers tittered throughout the hall. Heart pounding with irritation, I met the speaker’s eye.

  Zuri, King of Djbanti, stared straight back.

  He looked my age, with waist-length locs tied back in a sweeping ponytail. His form, though athletic, sprawled drunkenly across his seat cushion. A gold ring winked in his ear over a smooth jawline. His lips curved generously, a permanent kiss.

  “I, for one,” he slurred, “was looking forward to meeting our empress’s private needs. After all, the law requires Raybearers to produce heirs with their Anointed Ones. We must obey the law, Lady Empress.”

  Ignore him, Ai Ling Ray-spoke, rolling her eyes. Zuri’s beauty is the only interesting thing about him. He w
as crowned barely a year ago, and he spends all his time hunting and gambling on mancala. Nyamba’s true rulers are merchants. Zuri’s nothing more than a puppet. At least . . . that’s what my spies report. I didn’t get much out of him directly. Ai Ling paused. My persuasion Hallow didn’t . . . work on Zuri, exactly. He avoided direct answers to my questions, and so I don’t know what he thinks of you. He came to the banquet anyway, obviously. But I’m still trying to figure out why I couldn’t influence him.

  You have to have a brain to be persuaded, I retorted, and Ai Ling’s laughter vibrated through the bond.

  Then I told Zuri of Djbanti, “Traditions are made to be broken.”

  His dark features shifted in surprise, then he erupted in laughter. The low, musical sound infected the hall, easing the tension and causing others to join in. I smiled instinctively, though something about Zuri’s laugh made my brows knit. He didn’t sound insincere, exactly. Just . . . precise. As though his voice were a song practiced to perfection—an instrument carefully tuned.

  “I meant no offense, Your Imperial Majesty,” said Zuri, flashing a pearly smile that left me—just a little—breathless. “I look forward to falling in love with all of you.” He scooped up his chalice, sloshing the wine. I was dimly aware that while other guests had drained cup after cup, Zuri’s had stayed full. Still, he loafed on his cushion, slurring as he tasted. “To peace,” he declared, with a flourish.

  “To peace,” the hall echoed, and the mood lightened from Zuri’s antics.

  Ji Huan, the boy king of Moreyao, blurted out, “But we don’t have powers.” He looked no older than thirteen, and drowned in a red silk robe embroidered with blossoms. “Anointed Ones are Hallowed, aren’t they?”

  “I won’t require Hallows of my Anointed Ones,” I told him with a wink. “This council . . . I want it to be different. It won’t exist to protect me, but to save the empire. To build bonds of trust that can withstand attacks from the abiku.” I still wore the sunstone from the Nu’ina Eve festival at the base of my throat, and it warmed as the words poured out of me. “This is bigger than me—than any of us. If we create a new council, we won’t only save thousands of children. We’ll have created a future for Aritsar beyond the Redemptor Treaty. No one remembers how weak our isolated kingdoms were before the empire, but if the history scrolls are true, then we’re safer—and stronger—together. Please . . . help me keep it that way.”