Children of Virtue and Vengeance

by Tomi Adeyemi

  Zélie reaches for the note, but I beat her to the punch. Ramaya bristles as I scan the report, but even she can’t dim the light of Inan’s decree. My hand flies to my heart as I read his promises, his bold attempts at peace. It’s more than I’ve seen from any monarch.

  I knew he could be this kind of king.

  “Zélie, look.” I push the parchment in her hands, fighting the lump in my throat. “He’s keeping his word!”

  My mind starts to spin as I consider everything this decree could mean. I thought I needed power to take Mother off Orïsha’s throne and build a kingdom that was safe for the maji. But if Inan’s willing to grant amnesty to the Iyika, we may not need to fight.

  If I could talk to him, we might be able to reach an agreement that satisfies both sides. With the right terms, we could get the monarchy and the maji to put down their arms!

  “You’ve faced the king.” Ramaya looks to Zélie. “What do you make of this?”

  Zélie’s face hardens as she stares at the note. My stomach drops when she throws it to the ground.

  “If the little prince is offering food to the maji, there’s poison in it.”

  “Zélie, no!” I whisper under my breath, but her words incite the other elders.

  “He’s good with his words, but you’d be a fool to believe any of them.”

  “What do you suggest?” Na’imah leans forward. “How do we strike back?”

  “That food is all they have,” Zélie says. “Burn it and let them starve.”

  “No!” I fight my way through, pushing until I can place my hands on their table. “Burn that food and you won’t just endanger the people of Lagos. You’ll escalate the war the king’s trying to end!”

  The entire cafeteria quiets down in the wake of my outburst. Ramaya blinks at me, as if surprised I can speak.

  “Apologies.” I clear my throat. “I haven’t introduced myself.”

  “Oh, I know who you are.” The ice in Ramaya’s tone chills me to the bone. “Your mother is the reason we lost Lagos. Your father is the reason I have this scar.” She rises from her seat and the others move out of her way. “What I don’t know is why you think you have a right to even breathe in my presence.”

  My cheeks heat as all eyes land on me. There’s not one warm face in the crowd. Only Mâzeli gifts me a sympathetic frown.

  “I helped bring magic back.” I square my chest. “I have magic myself.”

  “The abomination you call magic doesn’t earn you a place at this table. It certainly doesn’t earn you the right to have an opinion.” Ramaya looks me up and down before turning back to Zélie. “I look forward to working with you on the council. We’ll hold a Reaper challenge and make your ascension official tomorrow.”

  “What about the king’s decree?” Nâo asks.

  “I agree with Zélie. Give the order to our soldiers at the front. I want those rations burned by sunrise.”

  “Ramaya, wait.” I try to grab her arms, but she stops me with a look.

  “Speak at my table again and I’ll rip out your tongue with my bare hands.”

  I inhale a shaking breath as she walks away, causing the other elders to follow her path. My lips quiver with everything I want to scream. I can’t believe how easily they reject Inan’s attempt at peace.

  “What are you doing?” I turn to Zélie. “You could’ve convinced them to give peace a chance!”

  “That offer wasn’t peace.” Zélie shakes her head. “It was bait. Inan’s using food the same way he used Baba. He’ll kill any maji who tries to claim it.”

  I open my mouth to argue, but I know there’s nothing I can say. There’s no convincing her to give my brother another chance after all those two have been through.

  “Just stick to the plan,” Zélie says. “We can use the Iyika to take your family down. The elders will warm up to you when they know you can be trusted.”

  “They’ll never trust me.” I stare at the stool where Ramaya sat. I can still feel the heat of her disdain; her hatred for what I am. “But maybe they can respect me…”

  My voice trails as I look at my scarred hand.

  “What are you thinking?” Zélie asks.

  “I need you to help me with my magic.”

  CHAPTER TWENTY-THREE

  INAN

  MY HEART BEATS in my throat as Mother and I make our way down the merchant quarter to welcome the Iyika defectors. Our soldiers have wasted no time on repairs since the rebels’ last attack. In just a few days, all the bodies in the marketplace have been cleared.

  We step over the scattered debris swept to the sides of Lagos’s streets to make room for the new ration carts. The stands have only been open since dawn, yet the line of villagers waiting for food still goes all the way to the divîner dwellings.

  “Inan, are you sure about this?” Mother grabs the reins of my snow leopanaire, pulling me close. Behind us, soldiers usher the villagers into underground bunkers created by Mother and her tîtáns. “Jokôye put you on the spot. That maggot threw you off guard. You’re doing great work, but it’s alright to change your mind.”

  She voices the thoughts that’ve been bouncing around my skull all night. I have no idea if this will work. If this is truly what’s best for Orïsha.

  We ride past the remains of the divîner slums, and I don’t know whether the destruction tells me to move forward or turn back. There was something beautiful in the rainbow shanties that surrounded my city. Now they’re only mounds of rubble and ash.

  I stop in front of a giant hill that used to house fifty shacks; now only sheets of painted metal twist out of the dirt.

  “Did the Iyika do this?”

  “No.” Mother shakes her head. “I did.”

  A ferocity shines in her amber gaze, one I haven’t witnessed before. Every attempt I’ve made to do magic has almost left me comatose, but Mother seems to command the might of gods.

  “I didn’t know I wasn’t like the others until those maggots attacked,” she says. “The new tîtáns harmed themselves with their abilities, but I was able to absorb their power. I wielded it with a strength no maji could match.” Her voice rises in pitch as her conviction builds. “For so long we’ve been defenseless against the havoc the maji wreak, but now the gods have blessed us as well. We’re powerful enough to annihilate them, Inan. The only way to achieve lasting peace is to cleanse the maggots from this land.”

  Her words make my fingers grow cold. To cleanse Orïsha of maji would be finishing Father’s work. It would be another Raid.

  As we approach the ruin walls shielding Lagos from the forest, the weight of the world presses down on my shoulders. I’m out of time. I need to make a choice.

  “I can break through these ruins,” Mother says. “But I cannot bring them back. Do you really want to risk our only defense for a few rebellious maggots?”

  General Jokôye and the other advisors watch from a safe distance, but their disapproval hangs over me like the smoke in the air. If I’m wrong, we could all suffer. But if I’m right …

  Raifa’s sunken brown eyes sear their way through the noise in my head. The young Burner may have spit in my face, but like the rest of my villagers, sharp bones protruded from her sagging skin.

  “We have to try.” I exhale a deep breath. “I have to try.”

  This is my chance to bring the peace my father couldn’t.

  Mother purses her lips together, but nods as she dismounts in front of the ruin walls. At a sharp wave of her hand, her tîtáns form a circle around her, imposing in their golden suits of armor.

  “Your Majesty, this is a mistake.” Jokôye shakes her head as I join her and the other members of the royal council.

  “General, I know how you feel, but the maji need peace as much as we do.”

  “They don’t care about peace,” Ojore mutters. “They want victory no matter the cost.”

  His hand travels to the burn scars on his neck and I glance up at the sky. Please, I send the prayer to whatever gods lie a
bove. Prove me right. Let them be wrong.

  All conversation halts when Mother summons her magic. The air twists around her as she opens her hands, igniting an emerald glow within her chest. Deep greens crackle around her golden armor like lightning and veins bulge against her neck. Mother stretches out her fingers, making the circle of tîtáns around her freeze in place.

  “Skies,” I curse, flinching at the sight. The tîtáns around Mother seize, grunting as she rips the ashê from their veins.

  The soldiers fall to their knees when Mother’s eyes glow green. With a grunt, she thrusts her hands forward and her power breaks free. Emerald light cuts through the mounds of rubble like a knife, carving the dirt wall into pieces.

  We shield our eyes as the ruin wall explodes, a mess of twisted metal and debris flying through the air. My chest tightens when the smoke starts to clear. Seven members of the Iyika stand at the top of the highest hill overlooking Lagos.

  Here we go.

  Stillness descends as we take the rebels in. Dirt mars their faces and white coils. Frayed kaftans hang from their limbs. They don’t look friendly, but their presence is enough. It’s the first sign of hope.

  The first sign this peace could work.

  “Raifa.” I raise a hand to the young Burner standing in front. She takes the first step forward. I mirror her approach.

  “I’m glad you came.”

  Mother tries to keep me from stepping beyond the broken gates, but I push her away. If this is going to work, they need to see that I trust them. They must think I’m not afraid.

  “It’s alright.” I wave the others forward. “You’re protected under my orders.”

  Raifa doesn’t say a word. Despite our distance, I can hear her labored breaths. But as she nears, she extends her hand. I smile at her resolve, extending mine as well.

  Then I see the sparks firing at her fingertips.

  “Protect the king!” Mother’s voice turns shrill. In a second, chaos abounds. Soldiers drag me back as Mother’s tîtáns storm forward, deploying every majacite bomb they have.

  Shattered glass rings as their orbs break. Someone forces a golden mask over my face. My head spins as the poisonous gas coats the battlefield, making it impossible to see the action.

  “Mother!” My scar burns as I wait for the blackness to clear. When the smoke thins, I break free, praying the bodies on the ground aren’t any of my soldiers.

  “Is everyone alright?” My voice cracks as I approach the maji lying in the scorched earth. The rebels are burned beyond recognition. Their skin sizzles as the majacite lingers over their corpses.

  Though some of my soldiers sport new scrapes and bruises, all of my men and women still stand. Mother wipes a line of blood from her lips and spits.

  “Filthy maggots.”

  “I’m sorry.” I stumble back, struggling to stay on my feet. My body starts to shake as everything that just happened hits me. I thought I was taking the first step toward peace. I risked everything to be a different kind of king. But the Iyika didn’t even make it into the city before they staged their attack.

  Ojore was right; the maji don’t want peace.

  They want victory no matter the cost.

  Mother’s brows soften as she takes in my despair. She sighs and takes me by the hand. “You were leading with your heart, but you must realize that not every person in Orïsha deserves it.”

  I force myself to nod, squeezing the bronze piece to quell the tremor in my hand. “I won’t make that mistake again.”

  “Wait.” We look up as Ojore walks among the corpses on the ground. “There are only six bodies here. I counted seven on top of that hill.”

  I jog forward, stomach dropping when I realize which face is missing.

  “Where’s the girl?” I shout. “Where is Raifa?”

  Confusion spreads as people search the woods, but I catch her lanky silhouette behind the broken ruin walls. She whips around when she hears her name, a golden mask fixed over her face.

  Panic fills her large brown eyes and she looks to the single path leading back to the marketplace. It’s then I understand her true target.

  The others were just a distraction.

  “Stop her!” I command.

  Raifa rips off her mask, sprinting as fast as her thin legs will allow. Her white hair bounces along her back as she races past the divîner dwellings, reaching the ruins of the merchant quarter.

  Soldiers defending the ration carts move into her path, but Raifa stretches out her hand. Sparks fly from her fingers as she shouts.

  “Iná òrìsà, gbó ìpè mi!”

  A tîtán tackles her to the ground, but her embers still take to the air. They grow brighter as they fly through the sky. Horror floods me when the flames reach their full size.

  Five comets race toward the ration carts. People dive out of the way. My heart seizes when they strike.

  In a flash, the rations go up in flames.

  “No!” I fall to my knees and clutch my chest, struggling to breathe as our food burns. A rage that doesn’t feel like my own floods me from my core.

  Half of our rations.

  Destroyed in seconds.

  “This is only the beginning!” Raifa shouts, thrashing as more soldiers hold her down. She trembles when Ojore stomps toward her, but she continues to yell. “Your time is over! All of Lagos will burn! The Soldier of Death is coming—”

  I flinch as Ojore silences her with his sword.

  The Soldier of Death is coming.

  I don’t need to see a face to know who the title describes. Zélie swore she’d be my end. I just didn’t expect her to attack so fast. I underestimated the resources and soldiers she had at her command.

  “Are you satisfied, Your Majesty?” Jokôye seethes at my back. “Thank the skies for your ideals!”

  Raifa’s blood pools as soldiers try to extinguish the flames in the marketplace, but there’s no salvaging the food that burns. Even as my body shakes with rage, sorrow fills my heart.

  I take in the despair of my advisors; the fury of my soldiers. From afar, villagers start to exit the underground tunnels. What will they do when they see I’ve condemned them to be raided by the Iyika or starve to death?

  “I’ll fix this,” I shout. “I promise.”

  I just wish I knew how.

  CHAPTER TWENTY-FOUR

  AMARI

  MY THROAT BURNS as yellow bile splatters across the wild grass. Somehow it carries the sweet scent of fried plantain. The smell makes me nauseous again.

  As Zélie and I train on the hilly terrain outside the Iyika sanctuary, I wonder what I’m doing wrong. No matter what I try, using my tîtán magic is like torture. My powers rage beyond my control.

  “Maybe this was a bad idea.” Zélie flinches, turning away when I start to heave. “At this rate, your magic will do more harm to you than anyone else.”

  I reach to wipe the bile off my chin, but it stings to lift my hand. Zélie shakes her head at the burns along my palm. The blistered skin turns red.

  “I’m fine,” I say. “I just have to keep pushing.”

  “Keep pushing and you could kill yourself. Is that really what you want?”

  My arms shake as I turn over, lying on the grass. After hours of failed training, my lungs burn with each inhale. But every time I get close to giving up, I picture Ramaya’s scar.

  Speak at my table again, and I’ll rip out your tongue with my bare hands.

  The Iyika will never respect me unless I can prove my power. I need control of my magic if I want to win them over to my side.

  I push past my pain and rise. But before I can summon my magic again, Zélie stops me.

  “It’s not about how hard you push,” she sighs. “Follow me. I can explain.”

  I trail after her as we descend into the jungle’s valleys, ducking under hanging vines and curving around mammoth trees. Creaking cicadas form the chorus of the night. Above us, baboonems leap from hanging vines.

  Though my muscle
s ache, I enjoy the serenity of the space as we come to the flowing river along the sanctuary’s dirt trail. Zélie points to a section of water filtering through a pile of thick rocks as she kneels.

  “Think of this water as our ashê,” she explains. “The spiritual energy in our blood. When maji use incantations, it’s like lifting one of these rocks. The magic flows freely, allowing us to cast safely.”

  She picks up a rock and I follow the new path of water that moves through the natural dam. I imagine the lavender magic flowing through Zélie’s body, filling her veins like a glowing spiderweb.

  “It’s like threading a needle?”

  “Something like that.” Zélie nods. “The energy that flows free isn’t as powerful as yours, but it’s precise. It can be wielded to do more.”

  Zélie pauses, scanning the rock pile until she lands on the largest. “As a tîtán, you’re using blood magic by design. That means you have no precision. No control.” She lifts the heavy stone and the water explodes, gushing through the new path. “It’s the equivalent of releasing all the ashê in your blood at once. Magic like that is a result.”

  I stare at my scarred hands, starting to understand the source of my pain. All night, it’s felt like a fire raging from within, burning me with each attempt I make.

  “If my magic is a needle, then yours is a hammer,” Zélie says. “Without control, you and the people around you get hurt. Release too much ashê and you won’t just feel pain. You’ll drown.”

  I pinch my lips together as I mull over her words. If what Zélie says is true, every tîtán is a danger to themselves. How many have already perished from taking their magic too far?

  “But what about my mother?” I ask. “She channeled more ashê than any tîtán. Why didn’t it kill her?”

  “I don’t know.” Zélie takes a shuddering breath at the thought. “I’ve never seen power like hers. It’s like she’s something else.”

  I take a deep breath, rising back to my feet. I attempt to turn Zélie’s explanation around, searching for a solution instead of a condemnation.