I shivered. “What’s that supposed to mean?”

Their all-pupil eyes flashed, beady and crimson. “We extend the same offer that we gave to your mother.” They pointed to the statue of Warlord Fire. “Die so that more may live. Give your memories to the shrine, and once you have, go above world, and be our empress. Revoke the Treaty. Weaken the continental realms . . . and in return, we will use our powers to destroy the shrine, freeing your memories, and those of the ojiji army.”

I eyed them suspiciously. “Why would you give up an undead army? You’re already defeating the Army of Twelve Realms. With enough time, your enslaved child soldiers could decimate the entire continent. You’ve won, so why offer me a deal?”

“You misunderstand our goal, Wuraola. We never wanted to obliterate humanity—not even in the time of Enoba. No, Little Empress, we wanted to rule it. To expand our territory from this realm of death and smoke to the young, unmolested Overworld. There we may grow strong, as we once were, at the dawn of time.” Their eyes glittered, gray faces taut with longing. “But we may only do so if you revoke that accursed Treaty.”

“Why would I do that? Why would I allow you to take over the continent?”

“Because the alternative,” sneered the abiku, gesturing at the mobilizing army below, “is death for everyone, and eternal damnation for those poor, poor Redemptors. The choice is simple, Wuraola.” The demons were morphing, growing before my eyes, shedding their usual skins of monstrous children to stand before me as winged beings, smoldering in dark green flame. “A new age for humanity, in which they finally serve the abiku—their natural superiors . . . Or the end of all life on your continent. Decide quickly, Wuraola.” They glanced again at the lines of child soldiers and smirked with wide, scaly mouths. “Your friends in the Aboveworld don’t have much time.”

The memory of Dayo and Sanjeet—of Min Ja, Ji Huan, Uxmal, and the others leading cohorts against the undead masses, faces streaked with sweat, voices hoarse as their strength begins to quail flashed in my mind. I ran puzzle after puzzle, desperate to craft a solution. But every single answer to this problem involved a deadly sacrifice.

I reached for Iranti, asking her permission. Her fate was tied with mine, and so where I fell, she would follow. Grief filled her many eyes as her horn grazed my fingers. But with a nod of her dark, galaxy-wide head, she gave her consent.

“Well?” demanded the abiku. “Do we have a deal, Empress Redemptor?”

I closed my eyes, feeling the sulfurous wind of the Underworld beat about my hair. I touched Ye Eun’s lily and said goodbye to everything I’d once known: the color of being alive, the weight of a living soul.

Then I commanded Iranti, aloud so the abiku could hear: “Take me to the Warlord’s shrine.”

“No,” whispered Ye Eun, her stony face wet with tears. “There has to be another way.”