Da Seo stepped forward, squaring her shoulders for courage, and slipped out of her elegant silk shoes. Then she sat before the paper and removed her veil, revealing the scarred mouth and neck I had once seen in her memories. The party grew hushed.

Then we watched, entranced, as Da Seo reached for the brush with her toes and painted on the scroll with a strong, steady foot. She switched the brush to her mouth for the finer details, curling the characters with flourishing charisma. The ink glistened, waves of power rising from the script, and when I made out the words, which she had written in Arit instead of Songlander, tears stung my eyes.

BEHOLD WHAT IS COMING.

The ojiji could have screamed at the top of their lungs, and I would not have heard them. The strokes of Da Seo’s script glowed in the dappled sunlight, shining like my twenty-one council siblings’ faces as I took them in, branding their features on my heart’s eye. In that moment, a warm, rebellious certainty thrummed through my limbs, pinning my feet to the soft, fragrant ground.

I will come back, I thought, speaking not to my siblings but to the world fathoms below, where spirits vied to keep me forever.

You will try to hold me, to knock me down. But I will always get up. And I will come back.

Behold what is coming.

CHAPTER 31

The last time I was paraded through the city of Ebujo—home of the last known entrance to the Underworld—townspeople had sung to celebrate my future. They still sang now, lining the streets and shaking shekere gourds. But this song was eerie and transcendent.

A tribute to a fallen god.

Where has our Lady Sun gone?
Down-down, to the bottom of the world.
Not dead, ah-ah! Just sleeping.
Night is short
When your servants sing forever.

They were trying to comfort me with caterwauling voices and fragrant petals tossed onto my litter. They showed gratitude, promising me immortality—swearing to tell my story.

Yet as I rode beside Dayo on that flower-covered litter, I wanted to cover my ears. To make the crowds disappear, to fade into merciful silence. Because in every single one of those mournful, worshipful faces, one thought was clear:

The Empress Redemptor will not survive the Underworld.

Don’t listen to them, Dayo Ray-spoke, sensing my revulsion through the bond. They don’t know your strength like I do.

I smiled at him worriedly. I’m surprised there are any crowds at all.

In anticipation of my trip to the Underworld, most of Ebujo had evacuated days ago. For miles around the city, in thousands of tents and makeshift camp towns, the Imperial Army of Twelve Realms waited—some million warriors strong—headed by Sanjeet and my living royal council siblings. Some of the warrior cohorts had begun traveling to Ebujo over a year ago, when I had first announced my agreement with the abiku.