“I’ll stop training if they start dying,” I said. “But not before.”

Moonlight made ghosts of the sheet-covered toys and furniture. The mural of dancing children on the Hall of Dreams ceiling appeared more sinister than cheery, cherubic faces obscured in shadow. As far as Dayo and Bunmi knew, I had chosen to train in the Children’s Palace for its seclusion. Ever since our council had moved to the Imperial Suite, not even servants visited this wing of the palace. In truth, I had chosen the Hall of Dreams to make sure I would not buckle to cowardice. Any time pain tempted me to stop training, these abandoned toys, these tiny bedrolls and empty miniature chairs would remind me of the children my ancestors sacrificed.

“Again,” I repeated, and Ye Eun nodded, whispering to the crystalline emi-ehran on her shoulder. Hwanghu rose into the air, water running in rivulets from its translucent blue shoulders. Then it shrieked, a battle cry—and dove at me, shattering against my chest in a stinging wave of ice.

I gasped and fell to my knees, heart floundering at the living, malevolent cold, which coursed up my neck, across my collarbone, and down my legs and arms. Unlike normal water, this liquid was sentient, made of Hwanghu’s soul and Ye Eun’s will. Until she commanded otherwise, the water would remain on my skin: a frigid, lethal mantle.

“Get up,” said Ye Eun. Her voice was surprisingly gentle. “Now, Empress Tarisai.”

“I c-can’t,” I wheezed. “I c-can’t b-breathe.”

Ae Ri wailed, and Dayo shielded the baby’s eyes, looking close to tears himself. “Don’t worry, Ri-Ri,” he said soothingly. “Aunty Tar will be just fine. You’ll see.”

“Make Hwanghu stop,” Bunmi snapped, her hands balling into fists. “It’s killing her.”

“Her sprites are still shining,” Ye Eun said calmly, glancing at the arched windows. “Get up, Lady Empress.” She circled me slowly, bending so her steely, birthmarked features were close to mine. “When you enter the Underworld, the cold will be just as bad. Only you won’t die. You’ll just keep suffering and suffering, until you convince yourself to move.” Her voice softened. “It gets better with every step. So get up.”

“M-Make it stop,” I whispered. “J-Just . . . make it stop.”

“If you say that down there,” Ye Eun warned, “the abiku will kill you. No creature of the Underworld can harm you without invitation. But they are listening, always, and those words will suffice.”

“Think of something warm,” Dayo suggested anxiously, sending beams of heat into my mind.

“Don’t,” I snapped at him. “Your Ray can’t reach me in the Underworld.” I had to do it myself. Teeth chattering, I summoned memories of fire, but that only reminded me of when Woo In had set the Children’s Palace aflame, nearly murdering Dayo in the process. I shivered harder. Outside, the sprites began to wane.

“That’s the sign,” Bunmi growled. “Lady Empress—”

“No,” I gasped. “Just a little longer.”

“You need more than warmth,” Ye Eun said. “Think of something that makes you feel safe.”