Woo In devoured any book that mentioned Songland, even if only for a page. Hours passed. I grew irritable and hungry, and went to forage with Kathleen in the enchanted orchard. Woo In remained in the apartment, lips moving silently as he pored over The Lady’s documents.
When Kathleen and I returned, arms full of mangoes, Woo In was sitting frozen against The Lady’s desk, a journal open on his lap. He stared straight ahead, his face drained of color.
“Am’s Story, Woo In. What’s the matter?” Kathleen asked, kneeling to read over his shoulder.
He jerked away, and hurled The Lady’s journal against a wall with a cry.
I gasped, then retrieved the journal and checked the spine for damage. When I looked up, Woo In had fled the apartment. Kathleen chased after him in confusion.
The book fell open to the page he had been reading, calfskin still wrinkled from his viselike grip. The entry was undated, as though The Lady had been scattered in her thoughts.
Will he forgive me, I wonder?
He ought to. It would be unfair, at least, for him to hate me. Songland will trade with Aritsar, just as I promised. He shall have his seat as ambassador. These are gifts of which he could never have dreamed when I found him, a sullen Redemptor princeling, still licking his wounds from the Underworld.
Am I not kind?
Am I not as faithful as prudence allows?
The entry broke off, then began again in slightly different ink, as though The Lady had attempted to abandon the entry, and returned to it days later.
Their markets will prosper, she had written in hurried, restless script. Songland families will have me to thank when their bellies are full of Arit maize and their purses are lined in Arit silver.
What better balm for the loss of a child?
Besides—if I let the Underworld take Arit children, the empire would never let me rule. What good is a fallen empress to anyone?
Another break. Then the entry resumed, and this time The Lady’s handwriting was calm and even.
I will pay the price of peace, as my ancestors have before me. But I am better than Enoba. I did not take without giving in return.
The words were a puzzle, and cold crept across my skin as the riddle came together, a picture I understood only in pieces.
The Lady had known—or pretended to know—a way to prevent Songlanders from being chosen as Redemptors. Then she had made a promise, one she had no intention of keeping.
I will pay the price of peace, as my ancestors have before me.
Under her rule—despite her promise—Songland children would continue to be sent to the Underworld. The Lady had lied to Woo In, using him to gain control of Songland’s army. And judging from the white rage that had crumpled his features, he would not soon forgive her.
“HE’S GONE,” KIRAH SAID WHEN I RETURNED to Melu’s canopy. “Woo In just left with Hyung. Didn’t even say goodbye.” She tried to sound nonchalant. “Kathleen left too. What happened?”
Too stunned to explain, I touched Kirah’s and Sanjeet’s brows and let them explore my memories of Bhekina House. Then I showed them the journal, as well as the small hand mirror and enchanted carving, which I had taken with me.
“The Lady is wise to reinstate trade with Songland,” Sanjeet observed grimly. “If she succeeds in overthrowing the emperor, she will need forces to control the capital.”
“Unless Woo In changes his family’s mind,” I pointed out.
“He could have said goodbye,” murmured Kirah.
We left for An-Ileyoba that afternoon. We took a different sequence of lodestones this time, traveling through the heart of Swana. We continued to avoid towns, partly because of the Unity Edict riots, but also because a conspicuous cloud of sprites persisted in following wherever I went. Only when we left Swana did they disperse, and on a balmy evening several weeks later, we arrived in Oluwan City.
I had expected An-Ileyoba Palace to look different now—for the outside to somehow match my insides, swathed in shadow and uncertainty. But ten-story empire flags still fell proudly over the sandstone walls. The music of griots wafted from the gardens. Peacocks strode around the courtyard, getting in the way of servants and sentries. Even the air smelled the same, of palm oil and citrus flowers. The Children’s Palace had been repaired after Woo In’s fire, no longer marred by soot and splintering timbers. The red domes shimmered in the setting sun, and a pennant flew from the highest balustrade: The crown prince and his