by Tomi Adeyemi
“Then that’s where I’m going.” I look back out at the jump. “You never saw this.”
“Oh, give me more than that.” Ojore closes the door behind him. “You’re about to risk death. At least tell me her name.”
Though he jokes, Zélie’s face fills my mind. I think of her mane of white hair. Her silver gaze. Her dark skin.
For an instant, I’m alone with her in the dreamscape’s waterfall, too ignorant to understand what will come. But I don’t get to sit with the memory before I remember the pain of her black vines choking me to death.
“What happened yesterday was because of me,” I sigh. “Me and this girl. If she’s leading the Iyika now, it’s only a matter of time before they attack Lagos again.”
“So what do you intend to do?” Ojore crosses his arms. “Smooth it over with a kiss?”
“The Iyika are in that forest. If I can find their location, we can attack. I truly think Mother’s magic is powerful enough.”
I try to jump, but Ojore grabs my arm, forcing me to stay back. “You can’t go after them alone.”
“I can’t ask anyone to risk their life for me again.” I shake my head. “Not after what I caused. The Iyika achieved a great victory yesterday, but they also suffered a great loss. No matter their numbers, their guard will be down. This is the best chance I have to locate them.”
Ojore stares at me before releasing a heavy sigh. My brows furrow as he removes his brass breastplate, placing it next to my canister of black paint.
“What’re you doing?” I ask.
“What do you think?” He grabs an old pair of pants off my floor. “Like I said—you’re not going in alone.”
* * *
OJORE AND I TAKE OFF, moving under the cover of darkness. We duck past the soldiers stationed around the palace. The guards outside Mother’s door.
When we make it into the marketplace, it takes a full hour to get past Lagos’s broken gates on foot. We pick up speed when we finally reach the charred forest surrounding the capital, beyond the military’s watch.
“All we have to do is find them,” I repeat my plan. “Find them, and Mother can take care of the rest.”
I look at my own hands, wondering if my power could ever match hers. Out of curiosity, I reach for my magic, but my skin burns with the faint blue wisps that fall from my fingertips. I grab my temple as the meager attempt causes a splitting headache.
“It still hurts?” Ojore observes me, and I nod. The more time that passes, the more I worry my magic will always be like this. Before the ritual I could stun my opponents. Now I only seem to stun myself.
“It was never easy,” I say. “But it used to respond when I was in need. I almost grew used to having it around. It was like another part of me.”
Ojore wrinkles his nose, and I wonder if I’ve said too much. But before I can say more, branches rustle to our left.
My heart jumps into my throat and I grab my sword, waiting for the maji to attack. But when a spotted hyenaire runs past, relief almost brings me to my knees.
“Skies.” I press my hand against my chest, attempting to calm my racing pulse. I look back at Ojore, but he still hasn’t moved. A faraway look plagues his eyes.
“Are you alright?” I ask. Ojore’s free hand trembles by his side. It takes a few moments for him to fall back into himself. When he finally does, he turns away from me.
I feel the heat of his shame.
“You need a minute?”
“I’m fine.” He starts moving ahead, but I grab his arm, forcing him to stay still. Moments pass in silence as I wait for him to recover. It’s strange to see him this way.
The Ojore I know always rushes into battle.
He never seems afraid.
“I don’t know why it had to be Burners.” He closes his eyes. “I’m sure the Iyika have Reapers. Cancers. They could’ve attacked with anything but fire.”
He touches the burns on his neck, and his face twists with pain. I can almost see the flames burning in his mind. Staring at Ojore, I wonder if this was part of Zélie’s plan. Moons ago I brought the fire to her shores. I burnt her people. I destroyed her home.
This could be her way of paying me back.
“If you don’t want to do this—”
Ojore holds up his hand, cutting me off. “They’ve tortured us long enough. It’s time for those maggots to crawl back into the dirt.”
The hatred that settles on his face looks out of place, so different from the grin I know. I open my mouth to say more, but Ojore forges ahead. I have no choice but to follow.
Another hour passes as the distance stretches between us and Lagos. It feels like we’re halfway to Ilorin before we finally hear chatter. As soon as it echoes, we stop in our tracks. My muscles tense as we crouch behind a tree, scouting the Iyika’s camp.
“There it is,” I whisper, leaning forward to get a better look. A few dozen meters ahead, the rebels cook a hyenaire over an open fire. They all sport red-tinted armor as they pass around wooden plates.
From the strength of their attacks on Lagos, I expected to find dozens of maji, but only nine sit around the flickering flames. The same rage Raifa ignited in my core returns as I take in the faces of the rebels who’ve made my city burn.
“Where are the rest?” Ojore whispers. “I was told dozens stormed Lagos when magic returned.”
“Maybe this is all they could spare. After all, they only needed enough soldiers to keep us trapped in the capital.”
“Let’s turn back.” Ojore nudges me. “Your mother and her tîtáns should be more than enough to wipe them out.”
We rise to our feet, but when we turn toward Lagos, two rebels stand in our path.
“Drop your weapons!” the older of the two barks, the flames in her hand illuminating her snarl. My lips tremble as Ojore and I exchange a glance. With no other choice, we drop our swords and raise our hands into the air.
“Send word to the elders,” the girl orders. “Tell them we have the king.”
“Why wait?” The other Burner steps forward. “Let’s send them his head—”
Ojore lunges without warning, grabbing his sword from the ground. I flinch as he drives the blade through the rebel’s neck. Blood flies as the Burner falls into the dirt.
“Daran!” The girl’s shriek brings me back to life. I tackle her to the ground, driving my elbow into her temple.
“Attack position!” a maji yells from their camp, spurring the rest of the Iyika to action. My legs turn to lead as they form one circle, chanting in unison.
“Òòrùn pupa lókè, tú àwọn iná rẹ sórí ilè ayé—”
The magi lift their hands into the sky, igniting the red sun. It burns with a vengeance, so bright it covers the forest in its crimson light. The air scorches around us, almost too hot to inhale.
“We have to stop them!” Ojore tears across the forest, racing toward the flames. He runs like a man possessed as he reaches for the throwing knives clipped to his belt. No regard for his life. No fear of his death.
“Ojore, wait!” I sprint after him. Back in Lagos, someone sounds the Iyika alarm.
Ha-wooooooooo!
The siren blares, deafening despite how far we are from the city. Trees catch fire around us as the red sun grows. The flames sear my skin as I run.
Ojore grunts as he races, throwing two knives into a Burner’s chest. A guttural roar escapes the Iyika leader’s throat as her soldier falls. When she spots Ojore, her lips curl.
“Odi iná, jó gbogbo rè ni àlà rẹ!”
Ojore stops in his path as a wall of fire appears out of thin air. It builds in strength, flames lighting the horror on his face.
“Ojore!” I scream as time comes to a stop. The maji swings her hands back to attack. My mind goes blank.
Magic swells inside me, a surge beyond my control.
I raise my hand and my magic explodes with such force I hear the bones shatter in my arm.
CHAPTER TWENTY-SEVEN
INAN
A FULL HOUR passes before the monarchy’s forces find us. Soldiers hold me down as the medic bandages my arm. Others erect a canvas tent over my head, blocking out the celebration at the destroyed Iyika camp.
I grit my teeth to cage my screams. The pain is so great, I can hardly breathe. My arm aches as if every single bone has been smashed to pieces with a hammer.
“Inan, keep still!” Mother rushes in, an array of colorful glass vials in her hand. She picks up one filled with a dark blue liquid and forces the bitter sedative down my throat. “We’re still scanning their ranks for Healers, but this should help.”
I grab on to her as she props me up, keeping my bandaged arm still. The sedative hits like a wall. I exhale as it clouds my mind and numbs the pain.
I sink into the cot, rough fabric soaked with my own sweat. I still don’t understand what happened. My magic’s never caused me so much pain.
I didn’t even know what I was doing when I raised my hand. I just wanted it all to stop.
I didn’t think I could stun every Iyika at once.
“Give the king space.” Mother ushers everyone out before kneeling at my side. She shakes her head as she runs her fingers through my sweat-soaked curls. “I could kill you.”
“I’m sorry,” I croak. “We weren’t supposed to get caught.”
“You’re the king, for gods’ sakes! If you have a plan, you fight with soldiers. You fight with me!”
She presses our foreheads together, squeezing me tight. Her hands tremble at the base of my neck. She stiffens as she holds back her tears.
“Please, next time, let me be involved,” Mother whispers. “I just got you back. I can’t afford to lose you again.”
I nod and close my eyes; my mind still burning with the memory of the flames lighting Ojore’s face. But as it drifts, it takes me to the first time I discovered my power, stunning Admiral Kaea back in Chândomblé.
“Have you done that before?” Mother asks.
“Yes. But never that many people at once.”
“Well, don’t use it again,” she says. “Let your subjects bear this pain.”
“Your Majesty!” General Jokôye enters our tent; something resembling a smile on her face. She pushes her spectacles up her nose and bows. “I am relieved that you’re alright.”
Ojore follows after her, bandages over his new burns.
“I owe you one.” He smacks my foot.
“You keep saving my ass. It’s about time I saved yours.”
“I had my doubts,” Jokôye says. “But I am not afraid to admit when I am wrong. You’ve done an incredible job of subduing these rebels. With the liberation of Lagos, we can turn the tide in this war!”
I pull back the tented walls and peek outside. Our soldiers shout with celebration, pulling generous swigs from their flask.
In the center of it all, the captured Iyika kneel in the dirt. Each rebel is bound in majacite chains, heads covered with bags.
Staring at them, I want to feel my victory, yet something hollow sinks in my chest. Last time I saw maji with bags over their heads, it was Father leading the charge.
“Now, for answers.” Jokôye straightens and puts her hand on her sword. “It’s time to locate and exterminate the rest of these maggots.”
She marches into their camp, waist-length braid bouncing against the small of her back. With a wave, she halts the celebration. The determination in her gaze makes a new coat of sweat break out along my skin.
“Remove the bags,” she orders, and her soldiers step forward, ripping the bag from each maji’s face. Crackling flames fill the silence as Jokôye walks before them, inspecting every rebel.
“You’ve been efficient in your destruction,” she shouts. “Now it’s time for you to pay the price. Tell me where the rest of you maggots are hiding and I promise—your deaths will be quick.”
Some rebels hang their heads. Others try to hide their tears. But one Burner stares up at the moon, her white hair blowing in the night wind.
Jokôye stops in front of her, teeth grinding at the girl’s defiance. I flinch when Jokôye lunges for the Burner’s throat.
“I asked you a question.”
The girl struggles, choking under Jokôye’s tightening grip. My general lifts her into the air. The sight makes my stomach twist.
“Answer me!” Jokôye shouts.
The Burner gasps for air, but keeps her eyes fixed on the night sky.
“If I’m to die where we stand,” she chokes out, “then I choose the moon over your ugly face.”
Jokôye throws the Burner into the charred dirt. The maji coughs as air rushes back in. But the way Jokôye looks at her, I know her breaths are short-lived.
My scar throbs as Ojore hands the general a vial of black liquid and a hollowed-out needle.
It’s like watching Father torture Zélie all over again.
I start to get up, but Mother holds me back. She digs her hand into my thigh to keep me down.
“Whatever you’re thinking, stop,” she hisses. “You already gave them a choice. You can’t save everyone.”
I know she’s right, but nausea still rises in my throat. This doesn’t feel like being a better king.
This doesn’t feel like being a king at all.
“Do you know what it feels like to have majacite in your veins?” Jokôye’s voice rises as she fills the needle to the brim. Its metal glints in the firelight. “First it blocks the illness you call a gift. Then it burns you from within.”
Pressure builds like a bomb waiting to go off in my chest. Watching the girl, I see Zélie in chains.
I smell the way her flesh burned as Father’s soldiers carved through her back.
“You have a good heart, Inan,” Mother whispers. “It will make you a good king. But you will destroy yourself if you don’t distinguish between those you need to protect and those you need to eliminate.”
“But, Mother—”
“These rebels burned your city to the ground. They wanted you and your people to starve. They are the poison of Orïsha! If you do not cut off the hand now, eventually you will be forced to sever the entire limb.”
I clamp my mouth shut, digesting her words. I know as long as these rebels terrorize us, every maji in Orïsha will be seen as a criminal. The Iyika have to go.
But despite knowing this, my insides twist as Ojore grabs the Burner by her hair. He yanks the girl’s head to the side, exposing her neck for Jokôye’s attack.
“Last chance to talk,” Jokôye offers, but the Burner spits. The girl cries out when the needle pierces her skin.
She tumbles from Ojore’s hand like a brick, body seizing in the dirt as the majacite kills her from within. Mother tilts my chin, forcing me to look away.
“You’ve done more good in a few days than other monarchs have done in their entire reigns,” she soothes. “Stay the course. End this war so you can continue to do good for the entire kingdom.”
I nod, but my eyes drift back to the girl’s corpse. Jokôye reaches for another needle.
“Who’s next?”
CHAPTER TWENTY-EIGHT
AMARI
I’M SURPRISED AT THE LONGING in my heart that follows Zélie’s ascension to Reaper elder. The celebration goes for hours, taking us deep into the night.
I watch with Tzain as she’s celebrated through the sanctuary’s mountain, every maji and divîner clamoring for her attention. All the while, her three Reapers crowd around her like ducklings, never more than an arm’s length away.
Even before Mother interrupted my rally, the support of the Orïshans didn’t touch the boundless joy of these maji. I wonder what it would be like to be embraced like that. To actually have a place where you belong.
“I wish Baba could see this.” Tzain smiles. “Mama, too. I haven’t seen Zél laugh like that since before the Raid. Growing up, she was always happiest around Mama’s clan.”
I nod, beginning to understand what it means to be an elder. All this time I assum
ed it was like occupying the throne, but now I realize that it’s so much more. It isn’t simply a position of power. An elder forms the foundation of their clan’s home.
Across the bloodstone, Ramaya sits within her circle of Connectors, more like a mother than a cruel general. A young divîner puts a lily in her forest of curls. Ramaya’s scar crinkles as she smiles.
I look down at my scarred hands, wondering if I will ever be allowed to sit among them. It feels like I could be as strong as my mother and they still wouldn’t accept me.
A sharp bell echoes through the mountains, quieting all celebration at once. The majority of the maji seem to know what it signifies, but Zélie and I exchange a look.
People go still as a Burner runs over the stone bridge, metallic red armor splattered with blood.
“What’s wrong?” Ramaya rises.
“It’s Lagos.” The Burner slows to a stop. “Our soldiers are gone.”
The Burner’s words suck the air from everyone’s lungs. Ramaya’s thick brows furrow as she steps forward.
“What do you mean, gone?”
“The king struck back,” the Burner pants. “He and the tîtáns decimated our camp. By night’s end, they’ll reopen their roads. They’re already reestablishing military communication.”
The mountain erupts in chatter as everyone reacts to the loss. What was once a scene of boundless joy suffocates under the changing tides of war.
This is their fault. I clench my fist, thinking the words I can never speak aloud. Where would we be if they’d taken Inan’s offer? If they’d simply heard me out?
“Elders,” Ramaya calls, drawing each leader to the center of the bloodstone. I rise and get close, trying to catch their new plan.
“What do we do now?” Kâmarū’s iron leg groans as he nears. “It won’t be long before they get reinforcements.”
“There’s still a chance we can overwhelm them if we strike fast.” Ramaya turns to Zélie when she joins them. “What do you think? Do you feel strong enough to take on the queen?”
I force myself into the circle before Zélie can respond, drawing glares from every elder.
