Children of Virtue and Vengeance

by Tomi Adeyemi

  “With our coin?” Harun asks.

  “Our precious princess doesn’t have it.”

  “Surprise, surprise.” The news brings a sinister smile to Harun’s face. “But after that mess of a rally, I’m sure we can find people who’ll pay double her debts.”

  Harun’s words wash over me like an ocean of ice. With Mother’s declaration, there’ll be no shortage of people who will put a price on my head. People with the gold to pay.

  “We can work something out.” I stomp after Roën, pulse spiking in my chest. Armor that once made me feel so powerful now drags down my every step.

  Roën tosses his cigarette aside as he marches over to the nearest cheetanaire. But when Zélie shouts after him, the muscles in his back tense. His steps turn rigid as she calls out his name.

  “Roën, wait!”

  Zélie slides off Nailah’s back, but the impact is too much for her majacite-filled lungs. The moment she lands, she crumples into the dirt.

  Roën’s steps slow and he exhales, pressing his fingers to his forehead. I watch bewildered as he turns back to help her; metal drifting toward its magnet.

  “I’m sorry,” she whispers, tears brimming in her silver eyes. One spills out and Roën wipes it with his thumb, his unbandaged hand lingering on the side of her face.

  They stare at each other, and it’s as if we all disappear. Unspoken words pass between their eyes. Roën’s shoulders slump when he rises to his feet.

  “Me too.”

  With that, he walks away, mounting his cheetanaire. My stomach sinks as Roën and his mercenaries ride off into the darkness, disappearing into the dense forest.

  When I can no longer hear the patter of their ryders’ paws, I don’t know who I should fear more. Mother and her legion of tîtáns.

  Or him.

  CHAPTER ELEVEN

  AMARI

  FOR A WHILE, everything is still. No one speaks in Roën’s absence. Deep down I know we need to put as much distance between us and Mother as possible, but I can’t bring myself to move. Roën’s threat hangs over my head, joined by Mother’s declaration.

  If all of Orïsha is hunting us, where can we possibly go?

  “I’ll figure it out.” I force myself to speak the words, though I don’t know if they’re true. “I-I’ll find a way to stop Mother. I’ll get Roën his coin—”

  “Take a beat.” Tzain walks over, putting his hand on the small of my back. “You’ve been through a lot. You don’t have to find the answers tonight.”

  I want to believe him. To hide in the safety of his arms. But the comfort of his touch doesn’t erase the sound of Zélie’s tears. Despite the pain that rips through my heart, all I want to do is take away hers. I slip from Tzain’s grasp and kneel by Zélie in the dirt.

  “I’ll fix this,” I whisper. “I promise. I know my mother better than anyone. If I can figure out her strategy, I’ll know how to counterattack.”

  “Counterattack?” Zélie tilts her head as if I’m speaking a foreign language. “She sent a dome crashing down on our heads. How in Oya’s name are we supposed to beat her?”

  Zélie’s voice shakes with a terror I wish I could defuse, but I don’t know what I can say. I’ve never heard of a power like the one Mother wielded today. Even as a tîtán, it shouldn’t be possible to rip the magic from someone’s veins.

  “Mother’s magic may be strong,” I speak slowly. “Perhaps stronger than any magic that’s come before her. But every great power has a weakness. With time, we can find hers.” I think back to the tîtáns she drained, wondering if that’s where our answer lies. “If we build our forces and learn how her ability works, we can dismantle her advantages. We can make her surrender the throne.”

  “And if she doesn’t?” Tzain asks.

  When she doesn’t?

  I dig my nails into my scalp; I don’t want to speak the words. Mere hours ago, I had the cheers of kosidán, maji, and tîtáns ready to become one. In seconds, Mother turned that unity into chaos.

  If she stays in the picture, every maji will be killed. Countless Orïshans will suffer. With her on the throne, all this kingdom will ever know is war. I have to stop her.

  Even if she is my mother.

  I rise to my feet and extend my sword, hands shaking as I stab it into the dirt.

  “If my mother refuses to back down, I’ll take her out,” I declare. “I’ll end her war and ascend the throne.”

  An uneasy silence follows in the wake of my vow.

  “What about the nobility?” Tzain asks. “All those soldiers and tîtáns on her side?”

  My stomach churns at the thought of ending all those lives. I don’t want to fight my own people, let alone tîtáns like me. There have to be hundreds aligned with her war on the maji. Maybe even thousands. If I attempt to take them all out, I’ll be no better than my father. I’ll just be another monster.

  “Before my mother showed up at the rally, I had the kingdom on my side. Once I take her down, they’ll fall in line.”

  “No, they won’t.” Zélie’s voice brings a new chill to the windy night. “We’ve already lost this fight. The monarchy has magic now and they still hate us. It was never about magic at all!”

  “Zél—”

  “The answer isn’t to kill your mother,” Zélie cuts her brother off. “Kill her and another maji-hating monarch will just rise in her place. It’s time to let this go. Be free. Leave Orïsha while we can still breathe!”

  The yearning in her voice takes me off guard. I don’t understand. It’s not like Zélie to cut and run.

  “I know the odds are against us,” I push back. “But we can’t abandon these people to Mother’s reign. We have to save the kingdom. We don’t have a choice—”

  “Yes, we do.” Zélie rises to her feet. “We do. We tried to save the kingdom. Twice. Now it’s time for us to save ourselves!”

  “I am Orïsha’s queen,” I say. “Their queen even if they don’t want me. No matter how hard it gets, I don’t get to run. It’s my duty to serve and protect every person in this kingdom!”

  Zélie looks at Tzain for help, but he crosses his arms.

  “Zél, she’s right. Baba died so we could fight—”

  “Baba died for a lie!” Zélie slams her fist into a tree. “He gave his life for magic, and look who has it? Nehanda was stronger than any maji I’ve ever seen!”

  Her voice rings through the trees as she forces herself to take a deep breath. Her anger breaks for a moment, allowing me to see the pain that swells under its surface.

  “I’m tired of choosing the kingdom, the magic, the maji—everyone and everything but me. This is our chance to be free! It might be the only chance we’ll ever have.”

  She looks at me and it’s as if I have her heart in my hands. All I want to do is heal it. To take away her pain. But it’s not just her pain I must erase.

  I close my eyes, preparing for the wrath that I’ll ignite. Orïsha waits for no one.

  Not even the girl I love.

  “Zélie—”

  “For gods’ sakes!” She throws her hands into the air, stumbling as she stomps off.

  “Just take a beat.” Tzain tries to calm her down. “We’re too tired and hurt to figure this out now.”

  “No, we’re not.” The ice in Zélie’s voice extinguishes the warmth in her brother’s gaze. “That gas didn’t hurt you. It doesn’t hurt them.” She nods at me, and I clench my fist.

  Them.

  That word stings worse than any of Mother’s did.

  “What happened to the gods’ plan?” I ask. “What happened to always being on my side?”

  “How can I be on your side when Baba died so your wretched mother and her tîtáns could rise?”

  “That’s not fair.” My cheek burns from the slap of her words. She glares at me like I’m the monster. Like I shot the arrow that killed her father. “I’ve lost people in this fight, too.”

  “Am I supposed to cry for your bastard of a father?” Zélie
asks. “Pity the weakling you called a brother? I can’t look at my own back because of what your father did! Because of you and your family, both my parents are dead!”

  Zélie limps to Nailah’s side and pulls herself up even as her muscles shake with exhaustion.

  “Don’t compare your scars to mine, Princess. You’ll lose every time.”

  “I’ll lose?” I charge forward. “I’ll lose? You had two parents who loved you till their dying breath. A brother who stands by your side. Both my parents tried to kill me with their own hands! I took the life of my own father to protect you and the maji!” My voice shakes with the tears that want to break free, but I don’t let them fall. I won’t let her win. I will not allow her to bring that out of me.

  “I am sorry for everything my family’s done,” I continue, “but don’t you dare act like my pain isn’t real. You’re not the only one with scars, Zélie! My family’s hurt me just as much as it’s hurt you!”

  Zélie’s face goes cold, and I stop in my tracks. I want to fix the chasm between us, yet every word we speak drags us further apart. She stares at me for a long moment, that horrible, empty look in her silver eyes. Then she turns and guides her ryder down, low enough so that she can mount.

  “Zél, stop.” Tzain walks after her. “This has gone far enough. We’re all upset. We’re all hurting. The last thing we need is to turn on each other!”

  Zélie pushes her tongue into her lower lip as she settles on Nailah’s back. “How quickly ‘you and me’ became ‘you and Amari.’”

  “Gods, Zél—”

  “Did you hear me?” she cuts him off. “When my skin was burning and I couldn’t breathe? Did you hear me scream your name, or were you too busy looking after Amari?”

  Tzain’s lips part. His forehead creases with shame. “That’s not fair,” he says. “You know that’s not fair!”

  “You two deserve each other.” Zélie squeezes her thighs, commanding Nailah to rise. “Say hello to her mother for me. I’m sure she loves poor fishermen’s sons just as much as she loves maji.”

  “I swear to the gods—”

  “Yah!” Nailah shoots forward at Zélie’s command, sprinting through the trees.

  “Zélie!” Tzain runs after her, but within moments she’s too far away to be seen. He digs his hands into his scalp before pounding his fists against the nearest tree.

  “She’ll be back,” he mutters into the bark. “Just let her breathe.”

  I nod, but as I sink to the ground, I don’t know who he’s trying to convince.

  CHAPTER TWELVE

  ZÉLIE

  TEARS BLUR MY VISION as we race through the trees of the Adichie Forest. My hands slip from Nailah’s horns. Without a saddle, I can barely hold on.

  I grip with my thighs as the world passes by, a whirlwind of mountain cliffs and blowing leaves. I try to pretend Nailah’s speed is the only reason I can’t breathe.

  Gods, help me.

  I clench my teeth, fighting it all back. It’s like everything I’ve done wrong surfaces at once, a sea drowning me in its current.

  No, I think to myself. Not them. Believing in the gods is what’s brought on this mess.

  They’re the reason Baba’s dead.

  Despair swells inside me as the terrain starts to dip. The earth beneath our feet slopes downhill. The forest trees start to thin. I clutch Nailah’s fur, struggling to stay upright when her paws slip. But the thought of how the gods used me makes me want to let go and tumble into the dirt.

  All this time I believed in the gods’ greater plan. Their path when I couldn’t see. But all they led me to were the scars on my back. The open wounds on my heart. The gods used me like a pawn and cast me aside when magic returned. I can’t trust them to bring me anything but pain.

  Mama, take me.

  The new prayer forms, my heart breaking for the only thing I can still believe in. I think of standing in alâfia with her and Baba. The peace of death and being back in her arms.

  She told me Orïsha needed me, that my work wasn’t done. But bringing magic back only made things worse. The maji are worse off than before.

  I close my eyes, muscles clenching at the memory of Queen Nehanda ripping the ashê from her tîtáns’ veins. Magic was all we had to defend ourselves, and now our magic isn’t even as strong as hers.

  It doesn’t matter what I do. It doesn’t matter how hard I fight. The maji will never be free.

  All that awaits us in this world is heartache.

  “Mama, take me!” I scream the words, throwing my head to the sky. The whipping winds cut at the burns on my face. Blood mixes with my tears.

  “Take me back,” I whisper, burying myself in Nailah’s coat. No more fighting against the monarchy. No more fighting just to exist. No more tears. No more strife. No more pain.

  No more Tzain.

  The thought creates a canyon out of the hole in my heart. It’s almost enough to make me turn Nailah around and run back into his arms.

  And Amari …

  I breathe deep, wishing I could take back every word I screamed. I don’t know how to tell her that it’s not her fault. That I scream at her because I can’t scream at Inan—

  “Whoa!” I gasp as we break free of the forest. The silver moon hangs in the night sky, shining over the black silhouettes of the Olasimbo Mountain Range. The terrain changes without warning as the trees disappear, bringing us to a steep cliff that juts out over plummeting darkness.

  Nailah roars and digs her nails into the ground to slow us down. Gravel and dirt fly as we careen across the mountainside.

  “Hold on!” I yank back on her horns with all the force I have. With a yelp, my lionaire tumbles onto her side. I cry out as the collision throws me from her back.

  I claw at the sky as I fly toward the forest. My body smashes through wiry branches before slamming into a tree. I wheeze as my chest collides with hard bark. My ribs fracture with a loud crack.

  Blood flies from my lips as my vision blacks out and I tumble to the ground. I curl into myself, lying there until my sight returns.

  After a few moments, my cheek grows slick with licks from Nailah’s tongue. Her wet nose nudges my face as the world fades away. For once, I don’t try to hold on.

  Take me back. I lift up the prayer once more. Mama was wrong to keep me on earth.

  I’m far too broken to help anyone.

  Mama, please …

  I release it all, allowing the blackness in. But when I open my eyes, I see white.

  I see dirt.

  I see reeds.

  CHAPTER THIRTEEN

  ZÉLIE

  I DON’T KNOW if I’m trapped in a dream or a nightmare.

  No chains bind me, but I can’t move.

  Crisp air fills my lungs, yet I can’t breathe.

  Gray, wilting reeds surround me, a haze of white peeking through like a blanket of clouds. Brittle dirt presses against my bare skin, falling away as I force myself up.

  How?

  The question pulses through my mind when I look around the dreamscape. The last time I was brought to this ethereal space, Saran’s knife had just carved through my back. I kissed Inan through my tears.

  Now there’s no lush forest. No trickles of flowing water.

  There’s only me.

  And him.

  Inan lies in the dying reeds, far closer than I ever want him to be. I don’t know if he’s just in my head.

  If he’s still alive or dead.

  But seeing him now is a hand squeezing around my throat. Another wrapping tight around my heart. It’s mountains crashing down inside me as he stirs and lifts himself from the dirt.

  I step back when he groans, muttering to himself in a stupor. His chest is bare, his skin dull, his brown body now thin. The white streak shines bright in his unruly hair, a curl falling between his amber eyes. He blinks slowly as he steadies himself, coming alive when he spots me.

  “Zélie?”

  My hands shake at the sound of my name on
his lips. It’s a different kind of knife. One that digs into the deepest corners of my heart and begins to twist.

  This isn’t happening. I shake my head. This isn’t real.

  But Inan stands here. He holds the scarred flesh of his abdomen as if it still leaks blood. His eyes widen, and I can almost see the memories coming back to him. The pain of his father’s sword driving into his gut.

  I reach for my back and my fingers graze the MAGGOT etched into my skin. We’ve fallen so far. The dreamscape used to be the one place in the world where we were free of our scars.

  “They weren’t supposed to shoot,” Inan exclaims, his words rushing together. “You have to believe me. I ordered them not to!”

  My hand snaps to my mouth. A sob I can’t fight breaks out.

  Each word he speaks makes the magic I suppress breathe through my skin. Though I push it back, I can’t keep it down. I can’t keep the memories in—

  “No!”

  The shout echoes in my head. Echoes against the sacred temple walls. This time I see its source. Not my brother, but Inan.

  My body slams against the stone floor. Baba follows with a heavy thud.

  The arrow pierces straight through his chest.

  His warm blood pools at my fingertips—

  “Please,” Inan begs. “I thought I was doing the right thing.”

  It’s difficult to hear him over the pounding in my head. My magic howls, crying out to strike him.

  “I trusted you.” My words are so quiet I don’t know if he can hear them. I feel the pieces of my heart like broken glass. Pieces that broke because of him.

  “I’m sorry.” He shakes his head. “I’m so sorry…”

  He reaches out his hand, and it all comes back: the scared little prince. Lips that promised me the world. Hands that caressed my skin.

  “I’ll make this right,” he says. “I promise. Even if it costs me my life.”

  But he’s made me promises before.

  Then he marched Baba to his death.

  “Zélie—”

  I roar like a lionaire as my magic breaks free.

  A fire I haven’t felt since the sacred ritual ignites inside of me.