“No harm in outshining the competition,” The Lady said smugly.
“They don’t test children on different languages,” Kathleen retorted. “Not anymore. Every realm speaks Arit now. That’s the point of being an empire.”
“Only Arit citizens,” droned the second stranger, “take pride in their cultures being erased. Why be unique, when you could all be the same?” He looked much younger than Kathleen—perhaps twenty, and more boy than man. His voice reminded me of a spider’s web, soft and gossamer. I could not place his accent anywhere in Aritsar.
He scanned me with eyes like half-moons, lifting a tan, angular jaw. A blue cape draped over his arm. Besides that, he wore nothing but trousers, and every inch of his body—face, arms, chest, and feet—was covered in what appeared to be geometric purple tattoos. I probably imagined it, but for a moment, they seemed to glow.
He gave a sardonic bow, straight jet hair shining over his shoulder. “A pleasure, Lady’s Daughter. My name is Woo In. My homeland, thank the Storyteller, lies outside this unnaturally unified empire.”
I gaped. “You’re from Songland!”
“You make it sound like a fairy world.” He rolled his eyes. “Of course I’m from Songland. I’m covered in these pretty pictures, aren’t I?”
His tone was sarcastic. But I did think they were pretty, if a little unsettling. Patterns twisted up his face and neck, like a logic puzzle with no solution. I gulped: Woo In was a Redemptor.
Songland was a poor peninsula nation on the edge of our continent. Their ancestors had refused to recognize Enoba as emperor—and as a result, the tiny realm was excluded from Aritsar’s bustling trade. A jagged range of mountains cut Songland off from the mainland. Aritsar might have ignored Songland altogether, if not for the Redemptors.
Enoba the Perfect had bought peace for our world at a steep price. Every year, three hundred children were sent into the Oruku Breach: the last known entrance to the Underworld. In exchange for this sacrifice, the abiku refrained from ravaging human cities and villages. The children, known as Redemptors, were born with maps on their skin, meant to guide them through the Underworld and back to the realm of the living. Few survived the journey. As a result, some families hid their Redemptor children at birth. But for every missed sacrifice, the abiku would send a horde of beasts and plagues to raze the continent.
Redemptors were supposedly born at random, to any race and class. But for some reason, every Redemptor in the last five hundred years had been born in Songland.
No one knew why. But guilt-ridden Arits, relieved from the burden of sacrificing their own children, had plenty of theories to help them sleep at night. The Songlanders had offended the Storyteller, they guessed. The Redemptor children were punishment for some historical sin of Songland’s. Or perhaps, Songland was blessed by the Storyteller, and their children were saints, chosen to sacrifice themselves for the greater good. The greater good, of course, was Aritsar.
I peered at Woo In. He did not strike me as particularly saintly. But he must have been special to survive the Oruku Breach. In the rare event that Redemptor children came back alive, they were scarred in mind, if not body.
I smiled at him and Kathleen. Maybe if these strangers—my permanent guardians—liked me, then I could stop talking to invisible emperors. Maybe, for the first time, I could have friends. Real ones.
Don’t think I’m a demon, I prayed. Think I’m a girl. A normal, market-caravan, not-scary girl.
“Do we have to nanny her?” Kathleen whined to The Lady. “Can’t you hire some mute nursemaid, or bribe one into secrecy?”
“No,” The Lady snapped. “Once my daughter leaves Bhekina House for Oluwan City, I cannot control what she sees and hears. She must be with people I trust.”
Leave?
Leave Bhekina House?
Kathleen crossed her arms. “You’re sure this … wish-creature is ready?”
“We are running out of time. Children are already being chosen. If we are not quick, there will be no more room on the Prince’s Council—” The Lady broke off abruptly, tossing me a nervous glance.
“Don’t fret, Lady,” said Kathleen with a smirk. “We can always make room.”
The Lady frowned. “I’m hoping that won’t be necessary. The emperor and his Elev—” She stopped again, glancing at me. “The emperor’s … friends … are too smart for that. My daughter’s selection must happen as naturally as possible.”
Kathleen laughed. “Do we have to keep censoring what we say? She’s going to find out eventually.”