The girl wishes that she were an automaton, a mere ehru shell, doing its master’s bidding. If she were a soulless monster, her betrayal of the prince would mean less. But her conscience is still present—a small vessel in a vast, raging storm, flailing to keep afloat. For the rest of her life, she will wonder if this is a battle her soul might have won. If only she had willed it a little harder, resisted a moment longer.

But instead, the ship slips beneath the waves . . . and the dagger slides into Dayo’s stomach.

Min Ja, Da Seo, and I emerged from the memory in a chorus of gasps. Without the calming kuso-kuso, our transition back to the present is violent, and I could see the pain of each memory throbbing behind the queen’s eyes.

I bit my lip, face heating with shame. “I’m sorry I wasn’t honest before,” I told the queen, gaze cast down to the elaborate lotus-patterned rug where we sat. I fidgeted with the tassel of my seat cushion. “I know it’s probably too late. But I thought—after all the time you spent, getting to know me . . . I owed you this much, at least.”

Min Ja nodded slowly and said nothing. She had wrapped her arms around herself, still shuddering from the grim montage. I winced and stood, backing toward the door.

“I interrupted your packing,” I observed, bowing to Min Ja and Da Seo. “So I guess I’ll go now. May Am grant you safe journey back to—”

“It gets better, you know,” Min Ja interrupted. “The guilt.”

We exchanged a long look, sweet in its painful understanding. “I find that a little hard to believe,” I said.

“So did I.” Min Ja winked ruefully at me. “You’re not alone, Tarisai.”

It was the first time she had used my name instead of Little Empress. At the word alone, I swallowed hard. The chorus of voices reminding me of my guilt, of my inadequacy to solve the empire’s injustices, rang always in my ears, just out of hearing. I wished I could believe her. And more than that . . . I wished she would stay.

I looked at the queen’s shining braided bun and finely chiseled features, lined with strength and hard-won good humor. I had come to love her, I realized: the fearless big sister with whom I might have shared a mind, even when miles of lodestone travel separated us.

I may not be a saint, Min Ja of Songland, I thought as I turned to exit the room. But you aren’t a viper either. Goodbye, almost-sister.

I am not so easily gotten rid of, Little Empress.

I froze in the doorway. When I met Min Ja’s gaze again, mouth agape, her sharp brown eyes were full of tears. She grinned as the Ray coursed between us, a beam of invisible sunlight, warming us from head to toe. Da Seo jumped at the suddenly crackling air. Realizing what had happened, she gasped with incredulous laughter.