wall of heat told me I had passed into the Blessid Desert, and the scent of camels and cinnamon reminded me of Kirah. I wondered, dreamily, if I would ever see her face again.
Forward. The red earth and colorful awnings of Nyamba.
Forward. Grass, everywhere, and the distant hum of tutsu. Swana, I realized with a surge of fondness before blacking out again.
When I returned to consciousness, the air hummed with voices. Bodies pressed all around, and above me loomed the smooth onyx face of Enoba the Perfect. A statue in a grand market square.
“I’m here,” I murmured through lips I could no longer feel. Oluwan City—I had made it to the capital. “Dayo. I’m … I’m coming.”
The sun dipped toward the horizon, bathing Palace Hill in bloody gold. As I rode, the rulers would be lining up before Enoba’s shield. Dayo would be last, so perhaps I could make it. I could—
Guards intercepted me at the An-Ileyoba gates, bellowing and pointing their spears at Hyung. The mask, I remembered dimly, as a faint ringing sounded in my ears. The mask will make them go away. But when I tried to reach for it … nothing happened. I couldn’t feel my arms. Couldn’t see them. No. I’m Tarisai Kunleo, I tried to say. I bear the Ray of Enoba. See me. See me. I’m here.
But I wasn’t. Not anymore.
For the first time in hours, Hyung stopped moving. My body faded in and out of view, a dying firefly. I opened my mouth to speak—and then even that was gone, a hole in the air, a void of silence.
“It’s an evil spirit,” shrieked the guards. “It’s here to curse the Treaty. Stay back. Don’t let it near. Fetch priests from the temple.”
I was so close. Dayo was just beyond those walls, about to commit the only atrocity of his life. Deciding the fate of thousands of children, draining an ocean of stories.
No.
I tried to yell. I fought the shadows creeping at the edge of my vision; I begged for my feet to reappear. I am not a ghost, I screamed without words. I am not nothing. I am not nameless; I will not fade into graceful oblivion like every other Kunleo girl, every other Empress Raybearer.
But I could not speak. I could not stand, and when I tried to summon the old anger, the indignant warmth of the Ray … I felt only emptiness.
I’m sorry. I sent the thought to Dayo, and Sanjeet, and Kirah, and Ye Eun, and every other person I had failed. I wanted to write a new story for you. For all of us. I tried.
I tried.
Then the remains of Tarisai Kunleo slipped from Hyung’s back, and the world dwindled to gray.
I expected to wake in the Underworld, feeling the icy fingers of children that my ancestors had damned. I would let them take their vengeance, dragging me down to a world of lost songs and buried dreams, far from the heat of sunshine.
Instead, my ears roared with familiar voices. Ghosts from the story I had lived before, a life that had drifted far away.
Until you grant her third wish, neither you nor I will be free.
Do you love me now, Tarisai of Swana?
A bellysong: the cure for any soul in bondage.
You have never worried me, daughter. You have only disappointed.
Only one thing is more powerful than a wish, and that is a purpose.
I was levitating, thrashing in a warm lake of light. My skin, limbs, and organs had been lost in the lodestone ether. Now they returned, painful but whole, as though my parts were made of clay and a master potter reassembled me. When my vision cleared, I stared up at steeply slanted, gold-flecked eyes. My body was being cradled in pole-like limbs, and around them, transparent wings of cobalt blue gave off sparks.
“Melu,” I murmured. “Are ehrus like the abiku? Can you visit the Underworld?”
“No.” He beamed, shimmering brighter. “The abiku are spirits of death. Alagbatos are guardians of life. We are not in the Underworld … And I am not an ehru anymore.” He lifted his long, dark forearm, and I gasped: The Lady’s emerald cuff was gone. “You have set us free, daughter.”
I took in our surroundings. We were still in Oluwan, just outside the palace gates. Hyung stood protectively between Melu and the palace guards as the sun sank in the sky. But the warriors were no longer raising their spears. Instead, they watched in frozen reverence, kneeling, brushing their chins in