Children of Virtue and Vengeance

by Tomi Adeyemi

  Something about the mark feels alive. It’s as if his hatred still courses through my skin. I wish I could erase it. I almost wish I could erase him—

  “Skies!” My fingers flash with the blue light of my ashê and I wince at the burn. I attempt to suppress the navy glow that shimmers around my hand, but the room spins as my new magic swells.

  Midnight-blue tendrils shoot from my fingertips like sparks from a flint. My palms sting as my skin splits. My scars rip open at the seams. I gasp at the pain.

  “Somebody help!” I shout as I stumble into the mirror. Crimson smears across my reflection. The agony is so great I can’t breathe. Blood trickles down my chest as I fall to my knees. I wheeze though I want to scream—

  “Amari!”

  Tzain’s voice is like shattered glass. His presence frees me from my mental cage. The pain fades ache by grueling ache.

  I blink to find myself on the tarnished floor, half-dressed with my silk tunic clenched in my hand. The blood that smeared across the mirror is nowhere to be found.

  My scars remain closed.

  Tzain covers me with a shawl before taking me into his arms. I brace myself against his chest as my muscles turn heavy, winded from the burst of magic.

  “That’s the second time this week,” he says.

  Actually, it’s the fourth. But I bite back the truth when I see the concern in his gaze. Tzain doesn’t need to know it’s getting worse. No one does.

  I still don’t know how to feel about these new gifts. What it means to be a Connector; to be a tîtán. The maji had their powers restored after the ritual, but tîtáns like me have never had magic until now.

  From what I can tell, the tîtáns come from the nobility: royals unaware of their maji ancestry. What would Father say if he knew his own children carried the blood of those he hated most? The very people he regarded as maggots?

  “Gods,” Tzain curses as he inspects my palm. The skin is red and tender to the touch, dotted with yellow blisters. “Magic’s not supposed to hurt. If you’d just talk to Zél—”

  “Zélie’s not even using her own magic. The last thing she needs to see is mine.”

  I tuck away my white streak, wishing I could just chop the lock from my hair. Tzain may not notice the way Zélie looks at it, but I always catch the snarl it brings to her face. For so long, she had to suffer because of her gift. Now those that hurt her the most wield that magic themselves.

  I can understand why she despises it, but at times it feels like she despises me. And she’s supposed to be my closest friend. How will the rest of the maji feel when they learn that I’ve become a tîtán?

  “I’ll figure it all out,” I sigh. “After I’m on the throne.”

  I burrow back into Tzain’s neck, running my fingers against the new stubble along his chin.

  “You trying to send a message?”

  A sly smile rises to my lips. “I think it suits you. I like it.”

  He runs his thumb along my jaw, igniting a surge almost as powerful as my magic. I hold my breath as he lifts my face to his. But before our lips can meet, the ship groans into a sharp turn, jostling us apart.

  “What in the skies?” I scramble to my feet, pressing my face against the smudged porthole glass. For the past three weeks, all it revealed were gray seas. Now vibrant coral reefs shine through turquoise waters.

  Zaria’s coastline fills the horizon as the warship navigates the ivy-covered cliffs jutting out of the ocean. A lump forms in my throat at the number of villagers gathered on the white sands. There are hundreds of people.

  Maybe even thousands.

  “You’re ready.” Tzain comes up behind me, sliding his arms around my waist.

  “I don’t even know what to wear.”

  “I can help you with that,” Tzain says.

  “You’re going to help me pick out clothes?” I arch my brow and Tzain laughs.

  “I’ve spent a lot of time looking at you, Amari. You’re beautiful in everything you wear.”

  Heat rises to my cheeks as he looks at the pile of rejects on my bed. “But no tunics today. You’re about to be Orïsha’s queen.”

  He turns me toward the suit of armor I wore to the ritual grounds when we brought magic back. It’s still covered with the blood of every opponent I cut down with my sword. Father’s blood stains the front, darkest along the royal seal.

  “I can’t wear that,” I exclaim. “It’ll terrify people!”

  “That’s the point. I used to see that seal and my chest would clench. But when you wear it…” Tzain pauses and a smile like sugar comes to his face. “With you behind the seal, I’m not afraid. I actually feel safe.”

  He rests his chin on the top of my head, grabbing my hand again.

  “You’re the queen, Amari. Give everyone a new face to picture behind that seal.”

  CHAPTER FIVE

  ZÉLIE

  WHEN THE WARSHIP’S RAMP plunks into the wet sand, the people of Zaria don’t cheer. They don’t move. They don’t blink.

  The people only stare.

  Nobles line the path to the rally site, black hair occasionally marked by the white streaks of tîtáns. Magic-less kosidán gather behind them, soldiers and military officers milling through their masses. I find my people standing at the fringes, white hair barely hidden under large hoods.

  The stillness of the crowd holds the weight of this moment, this chapter of history we create. I can’t believe that after all that’s passed, we’ve finally made it here. My gods, I think to myself.

  We’re really doing it.

  “I can’t feel my legs.” Amari comes to my side, imposing in her suit of armor. Bloodstains still coat the royal seal. A helmet covers her dark hair, perfectly placed to hide her white streak.

  I don my own stolen breastplate, sliding my staff where the past owner’s sword would have gone. I feel like I’m about to vomit, but she doesn’t need to hear that.

  “You’ve faced worse.” I pat her shoulder. “You can face this.”

  Amari nods, but her hands still shake. I haven’t seen this terror in her since we were strangers in Lagos’s marketplace. Back then she was only a runaway princess. I was just a poor fisherman’s daughter. She crashed into my life and now the entire kingdom will never be the same.

  “You can do this.” I ignore the pain it brings me to look into her eyes. But with her streak tucked away, it’s easier to see her face and not the one of the brother who broke my heart.

  “Father and Inan prepared their whole lives for this role,” Amari says. “I’ve barely had a moon.”

  “Yet you’ve already given more to this kingdom than any man or woman who’s come before you. I wouldn’t have been able to bring back magic if it wasn’t for you.” I grab her hands and lace her fingers through mine, giving her another squeeze. “The gods chose you. They’re choosing you the same way they chose you to steal that scroll.”

  Though I smile, it hurts to speak the words. If the gods chose her, then they chose for me to suffer.

  They chose for me to lose Baba.

  “Do you really believe that?” Amari looks away. “Even though I’m a tîtán?”

  Her question makes my lips tense, but it doesn’t matter how I feel about her kind. The cost of my scars, the price of Baba’s blood—once Amari’s queen, it’ll all mean something. When she’s queen, I won’t have to carry this weight. I’ll finally be free of all this pain.

  “I know it.” I lean in. “This is destiny. The gods don’t make mistakes.”

  Amari hugs me with such force, I stumble back. I laugh and wrap my arms around her waist. I forgot how nice it feels to hold her like this.

  “Thank you,” she whispers into my braids, voice straining with the threat of tears.

  “You’re ready,” I whisper back. “You’ll be the best queen Orïsha’s ever seen—”

  “Don’t forget the most important part.” Roën interrupts our embrace, sauntering up with a cigarette tucked between his teeth. “Once you’
re queen you’ll be in full command of your royal treasuries.”

  “As if you’d ever let me forget.” Amari rolls her eyes. “Are your men in position?”

  “We’ve cleared the path.” Roën gestures down the ramp before shooting me a wink. “Ready when you are, my queen.”

  Amari exhales and shakes out her hands, muttering her speech under her breath. “My name is Amari Olúborí. My name is Amari Olúborí.”

  As she paces, I put two fingers in my mouth and whistle. In seconds, the sound of claws scratching against the ship’s metal floors surges toward us. Nailah gallops from my quarters, skidding to a stop before me.

  “What’re you doing?” Amari’s brows lift as I unlatch the belt keeping Nailah’s saddle and reins in place.

  “Giving you an entrance fit for a queen.” I cup my hands to help her up. “You’re the Lionaire. The least you can do is ride one.”

  * * *

  A COLLECTIVE GASP spreads through the crowd as Amari descends the iron ramp on Nailah’s back. Even I marvel at the sight. Behind me, Tzain blinks away the tear that wells in his eye.

  Shining rays bounce off Amari’s suit of armor, glimmering every time Nailah moves. With her hands wrapped around my lionaire’s horns, she looks like more than a queen.

  She looks magical.

  “Stay sharp,” Roën whispers in my ear. “This isn’t a coronation.”

  I follow his gaze to a thin soldier in the crowd, his hand wrapped tight around the hilt of his sword. He pushes through the nobles and kosidán along Amari’s path, sunlight bouncing off his breastplate’s royal seal. With a nod from Roën, Harun intercepts the guard, dragging him away before he can close in.

  “I don’t understand,” I say. “I thought we only had to worry about the Iyika?”

  “Not everyone was happy to find out their queen still lives,” Roën explains. “The military knows she’s a maji sympathizer. Most liked her better when she was dead.”

  My body tenses and I glance up, hoping Amari didn’t see. Though the other soldiers don’t grab their swords, they don’t exactly bow before their new queen. Pairs patrol the crowd on both sides of the white sand path, nodding to each noble tîtán they encounter. But they watch the maji with beady eyes, hands hovering above the majacite blades in their swords.

  The military’s hunting maji like dogs. The new admiral’s all but declared war.

  Roën’s words return as I look back to my people at the edge of the crowd, too afraid to get close. Though the hot sun beats down from above, most hide beneath patterned cloaks. Our gifts have returned, yet my people still cower.

  “Almost there.” Roën nods to a large sand dome a few dozen meters down the coast. The structure sits along the flowing tides. Waves foam white as they crash against the rectangular pattern carved into its sides. The towering dome is so large, it almost blocks out the sun.

  “It’s perfect,” Amari whispers from above. A flash of joy lights her from within, but it flickers out when we near the smudged streaks of red along the dome’s side, the smeared paint still showing the shadow of an I.

  Amari catches my eye and I give her ankle a supportive squeeze. “Don’t worry. No members of the Iyika are getting past me.”

  “Jagunjagun!”

  I glance down to find a young maji with large ears and a mole on his chin. Unlike the others, he stands at the front of the crowd, hood obscuring his small white coils. Though he whispers the Yoruba for “soldier,” he doesn’t seem to refer to the royal seal on my breastplate. I smile at him, and his eyes become so wide I worry they’ll fall from his sockets.

  Baba wanted this for him, the realization sets in as we pass. Him and everyone like him. No more hiding after today. It’s time for my people to stand in the sun.

  Amari stops Nailah at the cracked archway of the dome’s entrance and slips into the sand. She takes a deep breath before stepping forward.

  I guard her close as we enter the rally.

  CHAPTER SIX

  AMARI

  WHEN WE ENTER the dome, the sight is so brilliant it steals my words. There are so many people, more than I’ve ever addressed at once.

  A sculpted mural fills the dome’s sand walls, carved bodies intertwined in dance and song. A large opening in the dome’s side allows a view of the sea. The tides kiss the sand at our feet.

  “Wow,” Tzain mutters under his breath, walking by my side. I lift my head to the sunlight spilling in from the large oculus in the ceiling. It bathes the crowd below in its warm rays, illuminating a wooden stage erected by Roën’s men.

  The sea of people parts as I march toward the platform in the center of the dome. They part for me the way they parted for Father.

  Strike, Amari.

  I hear his voice as I ascend the steps of the stage. In Father’s eyes, this was never my destiny, yet it’s almost like he trained me for this day. He was the one who taught me I must cut through every opponent in my way, even if that opponent was someone I loved.

  Fight, Amari.

  I take a deep breath, squaring my shoulders and lifting my chest. I made Father a vow when I drove that sword through his chest. Now it’s time for me to secure my throne or lose it.

  “My name is Amari Olúborí.” The declaration booms against the curved walls. “Daughter of your fallen king. Sister to the late crown prince.”

  Someone moves toward me in the crowd and my pulse spikes; I brace myself for their attack. But when the young kosidán kneels, my lips part.

  I’m not prepared for him to bow.

  “Your Majesty.” He dips so low, his head touches the sand. His bow starts a wave throughout the dome as more people fall to their knees. A warm wave radiates through my skin as others bow along Zaria’s coast.

  There’s something sacred in the way they arc. Something I want so desperately to deserve. I left the palace a scared princess on the run.

  Now I’m one speech away from taking the throne.

  “Two moons ago I sat at a palace luncheon as my father murdered my best friend. Her name was Binta, and she was a divîner whose only crime was the magic that coursed through her skin.” I clear my throat, forcing myself on though the pain of that day returns with each word. “My father forced Binta to awaken her gift against her will. Then, when her powers revealed themselves, he killed her where she stood.”

  Murmurs of dissent pass through the crowd. A few tears, some shakes of the head. In the back of the dome, a group of maji push their way in. Across the room, two burly soldiers exchange glares.

  Our peace feels as fragile as glass, but I cannot shy away from the truth anymore. The maji have been silenced for far too long. If I don’t speak for them, who will?

  “You may not have known Binta’s name before this moment, but I know you know her story. It is the tale countless Orïshans have faced, an unjust persecution that has plagued our divîners and maji for decades. For generations the story of Orïsha has been the story of divide. A story of violence and persecution that must end today.”

  The timbre in my voice surprises me; I can almost see it ripple through the dome. Someone shouts in agreement, and others join in. I blink as more cheers erupt.

  The small show of faith emboldens me as I walk the length of the platform. The Orïsha I dream of is within my grasp.

  Then I see a member of the Iyika.

  The rebel stands in the middle of the room, a thick scar running down her left eye. Unlike the other maji in the dome, her forest of white coils is on full display, spilling onto her soft brown shoulders. Red paint stains her hands, the same color as the paint smeared outside the dome’s walls. Though she stands still, the snarl on her face tells me everything I need to know.

  She doesn’t want me to take this throne.

  Sweat gathers beneath my helmet as I scan the crowd, looking for more rebels like her. I reach to make sure the metal still hides my streak, but looking back at the maji forces me to pause.

  She doesn’t hide from my sight. She doesn’t con
ceal who she is. Why should I?

  Strike, Amari.

  My fingers tense as I grab my helmet, preparing for what I might cause. Revealing my transformation is far from the smart move. But if I cower and hide the truth, I’m no better than Inan.

  Be brave, Amari.

  I take one last breath. My white streak tumbles free when my helmet hits the ground.

  “She’s one of them!”

  “The queen is a tîtán!”

  Gasps ripple through the crowd. A handful of maji push toward the front. Unrest builds in the dome as soldiers dive in after them.

  My voice withers as Roën’s mercenaries form a ring around the stage, but the dried blood across my breastplate reminds me of my strength. I am the only one who can bring Orïsha together. I am the queen who can keep all of these people safe.

  “I wanted to hide my truth,” I shout. “My apprehension about what I’ve become. But the return of magic and the birth of tîtáns are living proof that we are finally returning to the Orïsha the gods have always wanted for us! We’re so full of hatred and fear, we’ve forgotten what blessings these abilities are. For centuries these powers have been the source of our strife, but the gods ordained us with magic so the people of Orïsha could thrive!”

  The commotion in the dome stills as people become ensnared by my words. Our peace may be fragile, but as long as they’re listening, I have a chance.

  “Think of how Grounders could farm our land. How teams of Tiders could cut the work of fishermen in half,” I say. “Welders could erect new cities in days. Healers could ensure those we love don’t perish from wounds or sickness!”

  I speak to the rebel maji with a scar over her eye. The young soldier with a scowl on his lips. I paint each dissenter a picture with my words, seeing my dreams almost as clearly as the mural carved into the ceiling above.

  “Under my rule, this will be a land where even the poorest villagers are fed, housed, and clothed. A kingdom where everyone is protected, where everyone is accepted! The divisions of the past are over!” I extend my hands and lift my voice. “A new Orïsha is on the horizon!”