in the Underworld: their final death. In the Underworld, abiku could not cause physical harm to a living creature, unless the creature asked of its own free will. But the feeling of cold emptiness was so unbearable, most children only lasted for a few hours before begging for the final release.
Woo In had lasted seventeen days.
“He focused on remembering every warm thing he’d ever felt,” Kirah whispered. “Festival bonfires. His mother’s arms. The sound of his sister’s laugher. He was only ten.” Her voice broke. “The only way out was via the map on his skin. The birthmarks glowed, even in the dark, so he was able to follow a path. But every step was torture. The spirits tried every trick they could. Illusions of twisting caves and pits full of snakes, meant to lure him off track. Voices of his loved ones who had died—his father, his grandparents—whispering from the shadows, pleading with him to join them. He lost track of time. His body ached with hunger and thirst, but he couldn’t die. He would have given up if not for Hyung. The emi-ehran found him in the Underworld, and breathed strength into him. Step by step, they made it out together. But the nightmares still plague him. It helped when I sang.” She smiled sadly. “Our families are alike, Woo In’s and mine. We both had parents who kept us in bubbles. Families who feared change, even if it could mean helping our own people. Woo In and I both grew too big for our homes. So we left, and we’ve been lost ever since. And now—” She sighed, scowling at her imperial summons. “I wonder if we left one cage, only to find ourselves trapped in a bigger one.”
MY OWN STUDIES PROGRESSED AT A GLACIAL pace. Sources on the only empress in Kunleo history were sparse and contradictory. Like all Kunleo girls, she had been raised in obscurity, away from court. Some sources described her as fragile, weeping in secret beneath the weight of her reign, and leaning on the men around her for support. Other sources painted her as conniving, a vain and irrational shrew, caring only for her own survival. But neither of these portrayals supported the empress’s legacy. No historian, no matter how begrudging, could deny that in less than twenty years, the quiet, obscure Kunleo girl had abolished the Arit slave trade, crushed the ensuing rebellion, and brought an era of peace that had lasted for centuries.
The daughter of Folu Kunleo had not been summoned to the palace until she was almost a woman. When it became clear that her father would produce no sons, the reluctant priests had acknowledged her as Raybearer. She arrived at court friendless and without protection, without even an official birth name. The nobility had rubbed their palms, expecting a puppet empress they could bend to their interests. When the short, thin-boned girl arrived in the throne room, the rulers of each realm had swarmed, insisting on the privilege of naming her.
“She will be called Ireyuwa,” announced the king of Swana. “For she is half Swanian and will bring a time of great wealth for my realm.”
“She will be called Cihuacoatl,” demanded the king of Quetzala. “Do not my people supply gold and weapons for the throne? Her power will come from us.”
“She will be called Etheldred,” crowed the queen of Mewe. “For she spent her years of obscurity in my realm. She will not forget the land that raised her.”
As they argued, the girl had soundlessly pushed through the crowd. She mounted the great dais, plain sandals slapping the marble, and seated herself on the gold-encrusted throne. The carved wooden staff of her father lay before her. She picked it up and beat the floor, once, with a resounding crack. The room fell silent.
“I will be called Aiyetoro,” said the daughter of Folu. “For mine will be an era of peace at any price.”
“I just wish we knew more about her,” I told Kirah. It was two weeks before my First Ruling. We had left the library for the Imperial Theatre Garden, where we meditated daily. “When Aiyetoro died, all her journals—her letters, the books her council wrote about her—were lost in a fire. The record keepers say it was an accident. I bet it wasn’t.”
“Stop it,” Kirah scolded. She knelt across from me on a prayer mat, eyes serenely closed. “No conspiracy talk during meditation, remember? You’ll only get distracted.”