by Tomi Adeyemi
My gods, is he even wearing clothes? My eyes comb over his broad chest, the curves of each muscle. But before I catch sight of anything under the water, I jerk my eyes up. What in Sky Mother’s name am I doing?
I force myself to swim through the waterfall until my back rests against the cliff’s edge. This is absurd. Why did I let him bring me here?
I hope the pounding water will keep Inan on the other side, but within moments, he swims through the cascading water to join me.
Go. I order my legs to kick, but I’m ensnared by the soft smile on his lips.
“Do you want me to leave?”
Yes.
That’s what I need to say. But the closer he swims, the more something in me wants him to stay. He pauses before he’s too close, forcing me to respond.
Do I want him to go?
Though my heart slams against my chest, I know the answer.
“No.”
His smile fades and his gaze grows soft, a look I haven’t seen on his face before. When others look at me this way, I want to claw their eyes out. Yet somehow, under Inan’s gaze, I want more.
“Can I…” His voice trails off and his cheeks flush, unable to voice his desire. But he doesn’t need words. Not when an undeniable part of me wants the same thing.
I nod and he raises a shaking hand, brushing it against my cheek. I close my eyes, taken away by the rush of his simple touch. It burns through my chest, rages down my spine. His hand slides past my cheek and into my hair, his fingers tickling my scalp.
Gods …
If a guard ever saw this, I’d be killed on the spot. Even as a prince, Inan could be thrown in jail.
But despite the rules of our world, Inan’s other hand pulls me close, inviting me to let go. I close my eyes and lean in, closer to the little prince than I should ever be.
His lips graze mine—
“Zélie!”
* * *
WITH A LURCH, MY body jumps back into the real world.
My eyes snap open just as Tzain rips Inan away. He lifts him by the collar of his kaftan and throws him to the ground.
“Tzain, stop!” I scramble up, forcing my way between them.
“Stay away from my sister!”
“I should leave.” Inan looks at me for a moment before backing away into the trees. He grips the bronze piece tight in his hands. “I’ll be back at the camp.”
“What’s wrong with you?” I shout as soon as Inan is out of earshot.
“Wrong with me?” Tzain roars. “Gods, Zél, what the hell are you doing out here? I thought you could be hurt!”
“I was trying to help him. He doesn’t know how to control his magic. It causes him pain—”
“For gods’ sakes, he’s the enemy. If he’s in pain, that’s better for us!”
“Tzain, I know it’s hard to believe, but he wants to fix Orïsha. He’s trying to make it safe for all the maji.”
“Is he brainwashing you?” Tzain shakes his head. “Is this his magic? You’re a lot of things, Zél, but I know you’re not this naive.”
“You don’t get it.” I look away. “You’ve never had to. You get to be the perfect kosidán everyone loves. Every day I have to be afraid.”
Tzain steps back as if I’ve struck him. “You think I don’t know what it’s like to wake up every day and worry it’s going to be your last?”
“Then give Inan a chance! Amari is only a princess. When magic comes back, she’s not first in line. If I can convince the crown prince, we’ll have the future king of Orïsha on our side!”
“If you could hear the dung you’re spewing.” Tzain pulls at his hair. “He doesn’t care about you, Zél. He just wants to get in between your legs!”
My face burns. Hurt twists with shame. This isn’t Tzain. This isn’t the brother I love.
“He’s the son of the man who murdered Mama, for gods’ sakes. How desperate do you have to be?”
“You pine after Amari!” I scream. “How does that make you any better?”
“Because she’s not a killer!” Tzain yells back. She didn’t burn our village to the ground!”
The air around me hums. My heart pounds against my chest as Tzain’s tirade continues. His words cut deep, sharper than any attack I’ve faced before.
“What would Baba say?”
“Leave Baba out of this—”
“Or Mama?”
“Shut up!” I shout back. The hum in the air rises to a fiery buzz. The darkest part of my rage simmers, though I try to fight it down.
“Gods, if she only knew she died so that you could be the prince’s whore—”
Magic rushes out of me, hot and violent, raging without the direction of an incantation. Like a spear, a shadow twists from my arm, striking with the fury of the dead.
It all happens in a flash. Tzain shouts. I stumble back.
When it’s over, he grabs his shoulder.
Blood leaks from under his grip.
I stare at my trembling hands, at the wispy shadows of death that twist around them. After a moment they fade.
But the damage remains.
“Tzain…” I shake my head; tears spill from my eyes. “I didn’t mean to. I promise. I wasn’t trying to!”
Tzain stares at me like he doesn’t know who I am. Like I’m a betrayal to everything we have.
“Tzain—”
He blows by me, face hard. Unforgiving.
I choke back a sob as I fall to the ground.
CHAPTER FIFTY-SIX
ZÉLIE
I STAY ON THE OUTSKIRTS of the settlement until sunset falls. I don’t have to face anyone in the trees. I don’t have to face myself.
When I can sit in the dark no longer, I travel back to my tent, disappointing Zu, praying I don’t run into Tzain. But as soon as Amari sees me, she rushes over with a silk kaftan.
“Where have you been?” She grabs my hand and pulls me into her tent, practically stripping me to pull the dress over my head. “It’s almost time for the celebration and we haven’t even done your hair!”
“Amari, please—”
“Don’t bother fighting me.” She slaps my hand away and forces me to sit still. “These people are looking to you, Zélie. You must look the part.”
Tzain didn’t tell her.…
It’s the only explanation. Amari applies carmine to my lips and charcoal around my eyes like an older sister might, then makes me do the same to her. If she knew the truth, she would only be afraid.
“It’s gotten so curly,” she says, pinning one of my coils back.
“I think it’s the magic. Mama’s hair used to be like this.”
“It suits you. I’m not even done and you look stunning.”
My cheeks flush, and I gaze at the silk kaftan she’s forced me into. Its purple pattern twists with vibrant yellows and deep blues; it shines bright against my dark skin. I finger the beaded neckline, wishing Amari would take it back to whoever lent it to her. I can’t remember the last time I wore a dress; I feel naked without fabric covering my legs.
“You don’t like it?” Amari asks.
“It doesn’t matter,” I sigh. “I don’t care what I wear, I just want to get tonight over with.”
“Did something happen?” Amari pries delicately. “This morning you couldn’t wait. Now Zu tells me you don’t want to share the scroll?”
I press my lips tight and grip the fabric of my kaftan. The way the smile dropped off Zu’s face filled me with a different kind of shame. All these people looking to me to lead them, yet I can’t even keep my own magic in check.
And not just my magic …
The memory of Kwame’s inferno rages so hot, my skin prickles at the imagined heat. I convinced myself I had nothing to fear, but now fear is all I feel. What if Zu couldn’t control him? What if she had never arrived? If Kwame hadn’t stopped his flames, I wouldn’t even be here.
“It’s not the right time,” I finally say. “The solstice is only four days away—”
; “So why not give these divîners their powers back now?” Amari’s hold on my hair tightens. “Please, Zélie, talk to me. I want to understand.”
I hug my knees to my chest and close my eyes, almost smiling at Amari’s words. I remember the days when the sight of magic made her flinch. Now it’s her fighting for it as I cower.
I try to will away memories of Tzain’s face, the coldest look I could ever get. I recognized the terror in his eyes. When Kwame touched the sunstone and ignited, I looked at him the same way.
“Is it because of Inan?” Amari presses when I stay silent. “Are you afraid of what he’ll do?”
“Inan isn’t the problem.” At least not this problem.
Amari pauses, releasing my hair to kneel at my side. With her back straight and shoulders squared, she looks like the true princess she is, regal in a borrowed golden dress.
“What happened while Tzain and I were gone?”
Though my heart skips a beat, I keep my face blank. “I already told you—we teamed up to get you both back.”
“Zélie, please, I need you to be honest. I love my brother, I do. But I have never seen this side of him.”
“What side is that?”
“Going against my father. Fighting for the maji? Something happened to him, and I know it has to do with you.”
She looks at me with knowing eyes, and my ears burn. I think about the dreamscape, the moment our lips almost touched.
“He learned.” I shrug. “He saw what your father’s done, what his guards are doing now. He wants to find a way to make things right.”
Amari crosses her arms and arches her brow. “You must think I’m blind or stupid, and you know I’m not blind.”
“I don’t know what you’re talking about—”
“Zélie, he stares at you. He smiles like—skies, I don’t even know. I have never seen him smile the way he smiles with you.” I look at the ground and she grabs my chin, forcing me to meet her eyes. “I want you to be happy, Zél. More than you realize. But I know my brother.”
“What’s that supposed to mean?”
Amari pauses, pinning another coil back. “Either he’s about to betray us or something else is taking place.”
I wrench my chin out of her grasp and turn toward the floor. Guilt seeps through every part of my body.
“You sound like Tzain.”
“Tzain is worried, and he has every right to be. I can get through to him, but first I need to know if I should.”
You shouldn’t.
That’s the obvious choice. But despite everything he has done, the memory of Inan carrying me into the camp stays strong. I close my eyes and breathe deeply.
I don’t remember the last time I felt so safe in someone else’s arms.
“When you told me Inan had a good heart, I thought you were a fool. Part of me feels like the fool now, but I’ve seen that heart for myself. He saved me from getting captured by Zu’s fighters; he did everything he could to get you and Tzain back. And when the time came for him to grab the scroll and run, he stayed. He tried to save me.”
I pause and search for the words she wants to hear, the ones I’m almost too afraid to speak aloud.
“He has a good heart. I think he’s finally using it.”
Amari’s hands fidget. She presses them tight to her chest.
“Amari—”
She wraps her arms around me and squeezes. I stiffen in surprise. Not knowing what else to do, I slowly hug her back.
“I know this must seem ridiculous to you, I just…” She pulls away and wipes the tears threatening to fall from her eyes. “Inan has always been caught between wrong and right. I just want to believe he can be right.”
I nod, thinking of the things I want from Inan. I hate how many times I’ve thought about him today, thought about his lips, his smile. Despite how much I push against it, the longing remains: a desperation to feel his touch again.…
More tears threaten to fall from Amari’s eyes and I wipe them away with the sleeve of my kaftan.
“Stop,” I order. “You’ll ruin your makeup.”
Amari snorts. “I think you did that for me.”
“I told you not to trust me with the charcoal!”
“How can you wield a staff and not keep a steady hand?”
We dissolve into a fit of giggles, a sound so foreign it takes me by surprise. But our laughter dies as Tzain bounds into the tent. When he meets my eye, he stops.
At first, he regards me like a stranger, but something inside him thaws.
“What is it?” Amari asks.
Tzain’s chin trembles. He drops his gaze to the ground. “She … Zél looks like Mama.”
His words rip through my heart and warm it at the same time. Tzain never speaks of Mama like this. At times, I think he’s truly forgotten her. But as our eyes meet, I realize he’s just like me; he carries Mama like the air, a passing thought of her in every breath.
“Tzain—”
“The procession’s starting.” He turns to Amari. “You should finish up.”
And with that he’s gone, wringing my heart.
Amari slips her hand in mine. “I’ll talk to him.”
“Don’t.” I ignore the bitter taste on my tongue. “He’ll just get mad at you, too.” And no matter what you say, it’ll still be all my fault.
I stand and tug the sleeves of my dress, smoothing out a crease that doesn’t exist. After a lifetime of mistakes, there are so many things I regret. But this … this is the one thing I would give anything to take back.
With a heavy chest, I move for the exit, pretending my heart doesn’t ache. But before I can leave, Amari grabs my hand again, forcing me to stay.
“You still haven’t explained why you’re not sharing the scroll.” Amari stands, studying me. “There’s a whole valley of divîners out there waiting to become maji. Why aren’t we giving that to them?”
Amari’s words hit me like Mama Agba’s smacks. Like the sword Lekan took to the chest. They gave up everything to give me a chance like this, and yet all I can do is throw it away.
When I first thought about sharing the scroll tonight, I couldn’t stop imagining all the beauty and joy the new magic would spread. For once it would feel like it did before the Raid. The maji would reign again.
But now each smiling divîner twists into all the pain that could lie in their wake: Grounders ripping the earth under our feet; Reapers losing control and unleashing waves of death. I can’t risk their magic coming back. Not without rules. Leaders. Plans.
And if I can’t do this now, how will I be able to complete the ritual?
“Amari, it’s complicated. What if someone loses control? What if the wrong person touches the sunstone? We could awaken a Cancer and all die of a plague!”
“What are you talking about?” Amari grabs my shoulders. “Zélie, where is this coming from?”
“You don’t understand.…” I shake my head. “You didn’t see what Kwame could do. If Zu hadn’t stopped him … if stockers had that kind of power or a man like your father—” My throat goes dry at the memory of the blaze. “Imagine all the people he’d incinerate if he could conjure flames!”
It all pours out of me at once, the fears, the shames that have plagued me all day. “And Tzain—” I start, but I can’t even say the words. If I can’t even trust myself to keep my magic in check, how can I expect untested maji to fare?
“For so long I thought we needed magic to survive, but now … now I don’t know what to think. We have no plan, no way to make rules or establish control. If we just bring it back, innocent people could get hurt.”
Amari stays silent for a long moment, letting my words simmer. Her eyes soften and she pulls me by the hand.
“Amari—”
“Just come.”
She drags me outside the tent, and in an instant I’m blown away. While we were inside, the settlement came alive. The valley bursts with youthful energy, glowing red with soft lantern lights. Savory meat pi
es and sweet plantain pass under our noses as vibrant music and thundering drums reverberate through our skin. Everyone dances to the joyous music, buzzing with the excitement of the procession.
In the festive craze I spot Inan, more handsome than anyone has a right to be in a dark blue agbada with matching pants. When he spots me, his mouth falls open. My chest flutters under his gaze. I look away, desperate not to feel anything else. He approaches, but before he can catch up, Amari pulls me through the crowd.
“Come on,” she yells back at him. “We cannot miss it!”
We zip through the crowd while the celebrants thrust and shimmy by our sides. Though part of me wants to cry, I crane my neck to take in the crowd, craving their joy, their life.
The children of Orïsha dance like there’s no tomorrow, each step praising the gods. Their mouths glorify the rapture of liberation, their hearts sing the Yoruba songs of freedom. My ears dance at the words of my language, words I once thought I’d never hear outside my head. They seem to light up the air with their delight.
It’s like the whole world can breathe again.
“You look magnificent!” Zu smiles as she takes me in. “Every boy will be dying for a dance, though I think you may be spoken for.”
I tilt my head and follow her finger to Inan; his eyes trail me like a lionaire on the hunt. I want to hold his gaze, to hold the rush that blossoms under my skin when he looks at me this way. But I force myself to turn around.
I can’t hurt Tzain again.
“Mama! Òrìsà Mama! Òrìsà Mama, àwá un dúp1 pé egb3 igbe wá—”
The closer we get to the center, the louder the singing grows. It takes me back to the mountains of Ibadan, when Mama would use this song to sing me to sleep. Her voice flowed rich and soft, like velvet and silk. I breathe in the familiar sensation as a petite girl with a powerful voice leads the crowd.
“Mama, Mama, Mama—”
As the voices fill the night with their heavenly song, a young divîner with light brown skin and cropped white hair enters the circle. Dressed in rich blue robes, she looks like Lekan’s painting of Yemọja, the goddess who took Sky Mother’s tears, come to life. The divîner spins and twirls with the song, a jar of water resting on her head. When the chorus peaks, she throws the water in the air and opens her arms wide as it rains back down on her skin.
