Ye Eun leaned against the altar, eyeing me keenly. “Do you feel different now, Lady Empress?”

“Different how?”

“I don’t know. Different. From before.”

“I’m certainly weaker,” I mumbled. “And hungry. And . . .” I trailed off, finally identifying the strange weightlessness I’d felt since waking.

No headaches. For the first time in months, not even the slightest twinge.

The chorus of ojiji, which I’d grown to regard almost as my conscience, waiting always at the edge of my thoughts, had vanished completely.

Relief and unease washed over me. What did it mean? Had the spirits given up on me—did they no longer think I could bring the justice they craved? It was nice not to be in pain, but . . . without them, how would I know what to do?

Ye Eun handed me another gourd, this time filled with broth. I gulped it down too quickly, feeling instantly queasy. “They brought you back to An-Ileyoba first,” Ye Eun said. “When you didn’t wake up for days, the whole palace was worried—especially the emperor and the High Lord General. None of the healers could figure out what was wrong. Then the sprites said to bring you here.”

I shook my head—knowing I couldn’t have heard right. “The sprites?” I stared up at the hazy twilight sky where the tutsu twinkled faintly.

“It’s hard to explain. I’ll let the High Lord General do it. Are you still thirsty?”

I nodded, and she gestured at the spring, squinting hard in concentration. A bubble of water lifted into the air, hovering toward us. When Ye Eun muttered something, the bubble seemed to shake itself free of crumbling white powder, leaving the water clear—she had ordered the liquid to remove its own salt. I held out the drinking gourd, and the bubble burst over it, allowing me to drink.

“You get lots of visitors, you know,” she said, gesturing toward the cave openings. “The emperor comes every day, and all of the realm rulers. Sometimes they watch you when I’m not here. Of course, the visitor who comes most often is—”

“You’re awake,” said a deep voice. I turned just in time to see Sanjeet, frozen in front of the caves. He stared at me, lips parted like I’d risen from the dead.

“Jeet,” I murmured. Like me, he was mostly naked, wearing only a long white loincloth. Mist beaded on his wide copper shoulders and glistened in his curling hair.

He reached the altar in three strides and knelt to clutch my shoulders. “How do you feel?”

“Tired. But . . . rested, if that makes sense.”

“And the ojiji?” he asked, careful to keep his tone neutral. “Are you still . . . seeing them? Hearing things?”

I shook my head. “I don’t know what was happening to me, before. But something about this place . . . It clears my head.” My face heated. After months of absent silence, Sanjeet’s presence still felt unreal—especially here, in this clearing of mist and rainbowed light. “Jeet, what’s going on? And, um—why aren’t we wearing anything?”