I nodded.

“Oh, Tar.” Sanjeet reached me in a stride, holding me to his chest. I shook in his arms, tears pouring from my unblinking eyes as I inhaled his familiar scent. Earth and leather polish. Solid. Grounding—the opposite of the heady rush I’d felt around Zuri.

“Adukeh,” I asked.

“She’s safe. Evacuated with the rest of your attendants—only you were missing. You can’t stay, Tar. The battle may be over, but this territory will be volatile for a long time. Djbanti’s government is changing hands, and that transition won’t be pretty.”

“It’s what they wanted,” I whispered. “The commoners—they deserved a change. Justice. A chance to rule themselves.”

“I know.”

“You do? How?”

He didn’t answer, brow furrowing as his Hallow crackled over me. “I know you can’t exactly die anymore, but . . . Tar, you’re not well. When’s the last time you got any sleep?”

I smiled up at him as fever overcame me, phantom tutsu sprites spinning in my vision. “Gods don’t sleep, Jeet,” I mumbled. “They only rise and fall.”

His brow wrinkled with concern. “Tar.”

“I need help,” I said.

The words echoed in my ears. I blinked, stunned at how natural they sounded. Why hadn’t I said them before?

The answer appeared in an instant: the entire corridor filled with ojiji. Crying children, tears running tracks down their filthy cheeks, their voices shrill and ravenous. Angry.

Sanjeet is blind, they chanted. You cannot ask him for help. He will never understand, he will think you are mad; he will get in your way. Only you can help us, Empress Redemptor. Only you understand. You are special. You are alone—

“That’s what Zuri thought,” I whispered. “Zuri thought he was alone. That he was the only one who could save those people, and now . . . he’s dead. That’s what you want for me too, isn’t it?”

“Tar, who are you talking to?” Sanjeet’s tone was calm, but his eyes shone with terror.

You are unworthy. You have to pay—

“How can I be both special and unworthy?” I demanded, yelling over the screeching ojiji. Sanjeet gripped my shoulders, making sounds as if to soothe a panicked animal, and I laughed, smiling at him. “It doesn’t make any sense. But those voices—they’ve never tried to make sense. They wanted me to feel guilty. Worthless, exhausted, so I’d go to the Underworld and choose to never come back.”

“What voices?” His gaze was serious. “Tar, are you talking about the ojiji?”

“Yes. I think the abiku are using them. Controlling them, somehow. They made me think I was alone. But I was wrong. Jeet . . . I’m not fine. And I haven’t been for a long—”

The children screamed.

Something warm trickled down my neck. I touched my ears—they were running with blood.

“Help,” I said again, before collapsing against Sanjeet’s chest, my world fading to white.

When I awoke, a hot, fragrant mist enveloped me, prickling my underarms and forehead. Then a bracingly cold wave slapped my face. I jerked upright, opening my eyes just in time to see a bird with crystalline blue wings flap away.