Children of Virtue and Vengeance

by Tomi Adeyemi

  I nod, remembering her earlier words. Without the support of the royal council, I won’t have control of the army I need to beat the Iyika and win this war.

  Mother motions to the tîtán soldiers standing guard outside the throne room and they salute before welcoming her in. As the oak doors shut again, I start to lose feeling in my legs. I always thought it would be Amari who prepared me in my quarters. Father who handed over the crown when his time was done. I wanted this for him.

  I wanted to make him proud.

  “Something tells me you could use this.” Ojore digs under his belt, reaching into the pocket of his pants. I don’t know what he could possibly have, but my eyes widen when he removes a bronze piece. Seeing the coin brings me back to the divîner settlement before magic returned, back when Zélie taught me a single incantation.

  “What’s this?” I asked when she handed me the coin.

  “Something you can hold on to without killing yourself. Have at it and stop fidgeting.”

  “I found it on you after the ritual,” Ojore explains. “Almost tossed it, but I never saw you touch a single coin in your life. Figured if you carried this into battle, it had to be important. You were always doing something stupid with your hands.”

  He drops the piece into my open palm, and my fingers close around the tarnished metal. I run my thumb over the cheetanaire engraved at its center. I’m surprised by how fast my throat closes up.

  “You don’t know what this means to me,” I say. “Thank you.”

  “It’s just a coin.” Ojore slaps my back. “No need to cry. Now let’s go. The people are ready to meet their new king.”

  With a nod from me, the soldiers open the grand doors. Sunlight spills through the widening crack. The chatter inside draws to a halt as I walk through the frame.

  Row after row of people fill the vast hall. The throne room is so packed, I can’t see the tiled floor. It seems half of Lagos stands before me. Dozens more wait outside the palace doors.

  Skies …

  The weight of their stares is like an elephantaire pressing on my chest. I can’t believe they’re all here for me. I can’t believe their well-being rests on my shoulders.

  “Presenting King Inan Olúborí,” a lieutenant shouts. “The twenty-third ruler of Orïsha!”

  It’s hard to breathe when the entire room bows, a wave moving through the crowd. But before I get lost in the moment, the sight of Father’s former advisors keeps me on guard. They stand at the front of the crowd, forming a hard line before the throne. I slow my pace as I take them in.

  “Your Majesty.” General Jokôye bows, a petite woman with russet-brown skin. Though no taller than a broom, she commands respect as the leader of our army and the oldest of Father’s royal council. Suspicion pierces through her brass spectacles as she studies me. I can’t help noticing the new white streak running down the center of her signature braid when she rises.

  “The general’s a tîtán?” I whisper to Ojore, and he nods.

  “Jokôye’s a Winder now. She’s been working with your mother to bring more tîtáns into our forces. She’s even training them to work together.”

  I give Jokôye a small tilt of my chin, inspecting the other advisors at her back. Typically a council of seven, only five members still stand after the attack on Lagos. The thirty nobles that used to sit in the front row are now only eleven strong. They all wait in front of the floor-to-ceiling windows, Lagos’s battered landscape looming behind them.

  I will win your approval. I press my thumb into Zélie’s coin as I ascend the marble steps of the dais that holds the throne. Ojore takes position to my left, offering protection. Mother stands by my side as I sit in the golden chair. I’m not a prince anymore.

  I have to be the king my father couldn’t be.

  “I know these are harrowing times,” I address the crowd. “I apologize for all you’ve suffered. All you’ve lost. The wounds I sustained from trying to stop the return of magic left me unconscious, but I’m here now.” I squeeze the arm of the chair, scanning the mass of kosidán and tîtáns sprinkled before my eyes. “I have a plan to liberate Lagos and beat the Iyika. I promise to bring peace back to Orïsha!”

  Cheers ring and my shoulders relax as I wait for the crowd to die down. I have to squeeze the bronze piece to keep the emotion from my face. At my side, Mother smiles.

  “With the events of the past moon, there are more problems than I can count,” I continue. “But I ask that you present those problems to me now. I will help you however I can.”

  “Excuse me.” A soft voice rings from the back of the room. People part for the young woman who walks forward, a mother with two children. She passes the nobles and advisors at the front of the crowd with a crying infant pressed to her chest. Her other child, a young boy with sunken cheeks, clutches her patterned skirt.

  “Your Majesty.” The woman bows when she reaches the throne. From this distance, I can see the way their skin hangs from their bones. The horrible way their bellies protrude.

  “I know it is not my place to ask,” she says. “But we’re living off scraps. If you could spare some food…”

  Mother leans down, whispering to me under her breath. “The blocked roads have prevented food from coming in and the marketplace has been closed for weeks. It was destroyed in the Iyika’s first attack.”

  I nod, remembering the bazaar that was once full of scented spices and red meats. I inspect the crowd.

  “Who else is in need?” I ask.

  Hands lift throughout the hall and my chest falls. This is supposed to be the prosperous capital of my kingdom and yet in this war, my people starve.

  “Captain Kunle.” I turn to Father’s tax collector, a balding man with bushy brows and ruddy cheeks. “How much food do we have in our reserves?”

  “Around two moons’ worth, Your Majesty. But that’s meant to supply the palace. Any rations left over are distributed to the nobles and military officials.”

  “Divide its contents,” I decide. “I want rations made for every civilian.”

  Nobles rise to their feet at my declaration. Shocked whispers pass through the crowds.

  “Your Majesty, your generosity is admirable.” General Jokôye steps forward. “But how do you plan to sustain the palace? The military? Yourself?”

  “When I defeat the Iyika, the roads will reopen. I am aware of the risks.”

  “By the skies, we’ll starve!” Jokôye shouts.

  “Everyone will starve if we don’t bring this war to an end.” I stare her down, forcing her to stay quiet. “I want a mobile distribution center set up in the marketplace by the end of the day. That’s an order.”

  Everyone stirs as my words echo through the throne room, but I squeeze the bronze piece, staying firm. Though the nobles’ discontent swells, it can’t overpower the tears that fill the young woman’s eyes.

  Mother squeezes my shoulder, and I feel the warmth of her pride. A smile comes to my face as a line forms before my throne.

  “Alright.” I wave the next villager forward. “What do you need?”

  * * *

  ONE BY ONE, my people come forward, presenting their problems over the course of hours: the bodies in the streets; the orphaned children; the hundreds displaced by destroyed infrastructure. With additional rations as incentive, new workforces spring up. We organize groups to collect the dead. Under my pressure, nobles open their homes to displaced villagers and parentless children.

  That’s it. I smile as a few tîtáns volunteer for Mother’s forces. With every order, I feel my new rank. The strength I wield as a king. A moon ago, declarations like these were figments of my imagination. Now, with one word, they become law. Even those who oppose me can’t oppose my rule.

  “Your Majesty, if I may.” General Jokôye walks forward, hands clasped behind her back. Though petite, her presence is mighty. Guards stand taller when she walks past. “I admire your benevolence, but these are bandages, not solutions. The Iyika are holding us ho
stage with their attacks. It’s only a matter of time before they return to finish what they started.”

  The general’s words are like thick clouds blocking out the rays of sun. The flicker of hope that shone in the throne room extinguishes under the realities of war.

  “We can scout their location—”

  “Impossible.” Jokôye slashes her hand. “Every time we’ve sent a soldier into the forest, they’ve retaliated. And our scouts never return alive.”

  I pull at my collar as sweat gathers at my neck. “Then we’ll launch a full-scale assault. Overwhelm them before they can strike—”

  “To get our army out of Lagos would mean destroying the ruins that provide our only defense.” Jokôye adjusts her spectacles. “Do you really intend to take that risk when we can’t pinpoint the Iyika’s location?”

  Her words are like razors slashing through my solutions. She doesn’t bother to hide her disdain. The stench of disapproval gathers in the room.

  “These are important questions,” Mother comes to my defense. “Ones best discussed behind closed doors.”

  “Secrecy will serve no purpose when we’re all dead. Until we eliminate the Iyika, all these efforts are in vain.”

  I flip the bronze piece between my fingers and gaze out the long windows. Father always respected Jokôye most for her honest tongue. All conversation stops as people wait for my response. I take a deep breath before rising from the throne.

  “Given more time, I’ll come up with a plan—”

  Shouts ring from the main hall. I flinch as the sound of broken glass follows.

  Though we can’t see what’s happening, the commotion might as well be the Iyika alarm.

  Guards form a barrier around Mother and me as villagers dash for cover. Ojore sprints toward the noise in the main hall. The soldiers usher us toward the palace cellars. But before I take cover, I hear the assailant scream.

  “Let me go!” she shrieks.

  I double back, forcing my way through my guards. A broken vase lies on the tiled floor. Stale loaves of bread litter the main hall. The young thief struggles against Ojore’s hold as he forces her to her knees. When he removes her hood, a head full of bright white coils springs free.

  “Your Majesty, stay back.” Jokôye removes her sword, holding it to the maji’s neck. She gestures to the red insignia on the girl’s chest that marks her as a member of the Iyika. “She’s one of them.”

  “At ease, General.” I raise my hand. “She’s just a child looking for food.”

  “You weren’t here when Lagos fell,” Jokôye snarls. “When it comes to the maji, children might as well be fully trained soldiers.”

  Staring at the girl, I don’t see the same threat. Her brown eyes crinkle with rage, but her breaths turn ragged as she hyperventilates. Mother tries to keep me by her side, but the bronze piece burns in my hand. I move Jokôye aside and approach the young maji, kneeling until we’re face-to-face.

  “I don’t care if you’re the king,” the girl spits. “I’ll burn you where you stand!”

  “What’s your name?” I ask.

  She blinks in surprise before narrowing her angular eyes.

  “My name is Raifa, and I will live to see a maji sit on that throne.”

  Jokôye charges forward at the threat, but I force her to stay back. I pick up the loaves on the floor, placing them back into Raifa’s cotton bag.

  “You don’t have to steal,” I tell her. “We’re giving fresh food away for free.”

  “Inan!” Mother hisses, eyes shining with concern. Behind me, Jokôye’s jaw ticks. Soldiers glare at my back. The approval I need diminishes by the second, but looking at the girl, I remember the promises I made to Zélie. I don’t just want to be king.

  I want to be the king my father couldn’t be.

  “Take this back to your people and spread the word.” I hand Raifa the bag. “Let them know any defector who volunteers for the reconstruction efforts shall receive double the food rations.”

  The color drains from Mother’s face. Her legs buckle as she finds her seat. The crowded hall erupts in anger as I hand Raifa to Ojore. He’s the only one I can trust.

  “Make sure she gets back to the forest in one piece.”

  Ojore clenches his jaw so tight I worry he’ll crack a tooth, but he forces himself to bow. Rage builds as the people watch their admiral walk the rebel out the palace doors.

  “Your Majesty, you spit in our faces!” Jokôye roars, inciting her soldiers’ cheers. “These maggots have destroyed our home. They’ve killed the people we loved—”

  “So have we!” I cut her off. “For decades. We strike them. They strike us. The cycle never ends!”

  Mother’s cheeks are so pale, she looks like she may faint. But she doesn’t understand the things I’ve seen. No one knows the things I’ve felt.

  “If you were a maji and your powers returned, what would you have done?” I address the crowd. “Their families were slaughtered under Father’s reign. We sent half their people to the stocks! Until this moment, the maji have had two choices—fight against us or face persecution. With this decree, they will have another option. An opportunity for lasting peace they’ve never been afforded.”

  Though I look for support in the crowd, no one comes to my defense. The advisors keep me under cold glares. Any goodwill I built with the military slips away.

  “You may not agree with my methods, but this is a chance for peace.” I face Jokôye again. “We only survive if both sides put down their arms.”

  Jokôye shakes her head, but she doesn’t push back on my rule. Father always valued her loyalty. If I could earn her trust, I know I would value it, too.

  “What about those who won’t join us?” Jokôye asks. “Those who shall spit on your offer?”

  “Any maji who makes that choice will suffer my wrath. I promise, I will not hold back.”

  CHAPTER TWENTY-TWO

  AMARI

  I BRACE MYSELF as Nâo and Mâzeli lead us past the sanctuary’s narrow dormitories and half-constructed towers. Bodies crowd along the second mountain of the Iyika’s base as word of our arrival spreads like wildfire.

  “Out of my way!” Mâzeli revels in the attention. “Soldier of Death coming through!”

  The title echoes around Zélie as we move, inciting whispers through the crowd. People stare at her as if she were a goddess. They look at me like I’m a bug.

  I don’t know if they glare because they know who I am or because of the white streak in my hair. I attempt to tuck it away as we pass under the vine-covered archway of the mountain’s largest tower.

  “The elder quarters fill the floors above,” Nâo explains. “But we use the ground floor as the cafeteria.”

  “Thank the skies.” My mouth waters at the scent of spiced chicken and fried plantain. Platters of jollof rice line the far wall; it’s more food than I’ve seen in moons. But my appetite quells when Nâo leads us toward the table of elders in the back. Though they wear the same suits of armor as their counterparts, the five clan heads present radiate natural power.

  “Council, allow me to introduce the future of the Reaper clan.” Mâzeli charges forward. “The legend of the lands. The eventual mother of my three sons—”

  “Mâzeli, shut up.” Nâo hits the boy over the head before taking her place on an empty stool. “Elders, the Soldier of Death joins us at last.”

  Zélie tenses as every elder stops talking. All eyes fall to her. “Jagunjagun Ikú” echoes around the cafeteria.

  I clear my throat, waiting for my introduction to follow, but it’s like I’m not even here. Not one elder seems to care.

  “Jagunjagun.” A girl with a scar over her left eye speaks first. A few years older than us, she sits with her back against the wall, one arm draped over her knee. My lips part as I take in the forest of white coils that frame her light brown skin; the freckles splattered across her flat nose. I’ve seen this girl before.

  The rebel from the rally!

&nb
sp; She glared at me from the crowd, red paint staining her hands. From the way the others wait on her word, I can tell she’s their unspoken leader.

  “Ramaya.” She drops to one knee. “Elder of the Connector clan. It’s an honor to meet the soldier who brought our magic back.”

  “I didn’t act alone.” Zélie gestures to me. “I had a lot of help.”

  Ramaya’s eyes flick in my direction, but she looks through me as if I was glass. My insides burn when she steps closer to Zélie, extending her hand.

  “We look forward to having you on the council.”

  “Oh, I don’t know about that,” Zélie says. “I’m only here to win this war.”

  “Winning’s just the beginning,” Ramaya pushes back. “With your strength, we can annihilate Nehanda and her tîtáns. Once the monarchy’s out of the way, we can place you on the throne.”

  “Wait, what?” Zélie jerks her head back and the two of us lock eyes. I don’t even know what to say. I can’t find my voice.

  “Who better to lead us than the Soldier of Death?” Ramaya asks.

  My throat dries as I step forward, a feeble attempt to insert myself into the conversation. But before I can get a word out, another elder blows past us.

  “There’s word from Lagos.” The Tamer sits down, a thick girl with broad shoulders and rich curves. Sunflowers rest in her luscious head of curls. Small hummingbirds flutter around their petals.

  The Tamer’s pink-tinted armor glistens as she hands Ramaya a small parchment from the yellow hummingbird on her shoulder.

  “You’re kidding.” Ramaya’s face falls when she reads the note. “The prince is alive?”

  Inan? I lean forward, attempting to see the black ink.

  “I know.” The Tamer rolls her eyes. “Killing these royals is like killing roaches.” She locks eyes with Zélie and nods, tossing her white curls. “Na’imah,” she introduces herself. “I would bow, but I don’t bow to anyone.”

  “This doesn’t make sense.” Ramaya shakes her head. “Why would the king offer food and gold to any maji who defect?”