Children of Virtue and Vengeance

by Tomi Adeyemi

  Nâo pulls Zélie into a conversation. Kâmarū leans forward, resting an elbow on his prosthetic leg. Beside him, Na’imah plays with the pink butterflies in her curls. They take turns landing on her painted fingernails.

  To her left, Dakarai, the elder of the Seers, catches one. A plump boy with a thick head of curls, he keeps his chest bare with the exception of the two thin chains around his neck.

  “Come to my quarters after the meeting.” Khani pulls my attention, inspecting me with a frown on her freckled face. Though I can’t call Tzain’s old agbön mate a friend, it’s nice to sit with her again.

  “My Healers may not approve of you,” she says. “But they shouldn’t have denied you treatment.”

  “Can you blame them?” Kenyon mutters. “Her people are the reason ours are dying.”

  The broad-shouldered Burner sits with crossed arms, staring at the patterned walls. I heard he hasn’t spoken much since he found out the monarchy killed a quarter of his Burners outside the city walls.

  “I’m sorry about what happened in Lagos,” I say.

  Kenyon grunts in response.

  “Sorry I’m late,” Folake says as she enters the room. The elder of the Lighter clan shines in her flowing yellow kaftan.

  She smiles at Zélie as she takes the empty seat beside her. Her thick locs and cat-like eyes spark memories from our first meeting at Zulaikha’s divîner camp. With her arrival, all ten elders are present.

  “Where do we want to begin?” Zélie asks the table.

  “How about we start with elders who are actually maji?”

  I stiffen when the boy across from me takes his dig. Though we haven’t met, I know him to be Jahi, the elder of the Winders. A small ribbon of wind whistles between his fingers. If I’ve heard right, he’s seeing Ramaya. No wonder he doesn’t want me here.

  “Àgbààyà, leave her alone.” Nâo smacks her lips. “She won, fair and square.”

  “Their magic isn’t like ours,” Jahi responds. “There was nothing fair about it.”

  “I’d actually like to speak on that.” I rise, forcing myself to stand tall. I picture how Mother would react in this situation. Even when she didn’t belong, she always had a way of carrying herself that made others feel small.

  “I want to apologize,” I say. “I didn’t intend to lose control of my magic like that. I can only imagine how difficult that was to watch. But—”

  “Of course there’s a but.” Na’imah snorts.

  My nostrils flare, but I push forward. “I think what happened is a perfect demonstration of why it’s in your best interest to make peace with the monarchy.”

  I expect the flurry of anger that erupts at my proposition. Some elders curse at me in Yoruba. Others just roll their eyes.

  “What are you doing?” Zélie hisses under her breath.

  “I said I would apologize,” I whisper back. “But we’re losing this war. This is still the best plan.”

  “You see how this is a trap, right?” Jahi looks around the room. “I bet she’s been feeding her brother information. She’s probably the reason we lost our hold on Lagos.”

  “You are the reason you lost your hold on Lagos,” I push back. “My brother’s offer for peace was sincere. You forced his hand when you destroyed their food. If you’d only listened to me then, we wouldn’t be here now.”

  “Forget that,” Kenyon spits. Actual smoke rises from the Burner’s skin as his anger builds. “They injected majacite into my people. We’re fighting back. We’re strong enough to beat the tîtáns.”

  “No, you’re not,” I stress. “At least, not all of them. Ramaya was your fiercest soldier, and with barely any knowledge about my magic, I’ve left her comatose. How do you expect to fare against more tîtáns with that kind of power?”

  “Z, do you agree?” Nâo speaks up, directing all eyes to Zélie. A prick of annoyance hits me at the way they all quiet down, leaning in to get her perspective.

  “I don’t want to admit it, but there’s truth in what Amari’s saying.” Zélie nods. “The tîtáns operate on blood magic. They’re reckless, but when they strike, they’re fierce. If that was the only thing we were up against, we still might have a chance. But Nehanda is something else.” Zélie’s silver eyes grow distant for a moment and she releases a shaky breath. “At the rally in Zaria, Nehanda sucked magic from the tîtáns around her. She used it to split the earth.”

  “She did the same in Lagos,” Kâmarū adds. “When she struck, her eyes glowed green. The magic was so strong, it shone through her chest. I don’t know how we face that.”

  I stare at the scars covering my hands as a blanket of fear settles over the room. This is my chance. If the elders are ever going to listen to me, it’s now.

  “You had one key advantage when Lagos was under your control,” I say. “But you overplayed your hand. Now Lagos’s roads have been re-opened. Their defenses are being rebuilt. The military is whittling down your forces, while new tîtáns flood to Lagos to join their ranks.” I shake my head. “Who knows how many you’re up against now? How many have powers like my mother?”

  “What’re you suggesting?” Na’imah arches her plucked brows. “Cause we’re not about to concede.”

  “All I want is for the maji to live in a kingdom where they’re safe,” I say. “I thought that had to be with me on the throne, but there’s a chance Inan will agree to that now. My brother is not like my father. War is not what he wants for Orïsha. Just give me a chance to contact him and figure this out. He owes me his life. I promise, he’ll listen.”

  I hold my breath as they mull over my words. I can practically see the wheels turning in their heads. But one by one, eyes drift to Zélie. I try to smile at her, but she keeps her gaze on the table.

  “Even if we want to seek peace, it would be foolish to expect Inan to do the right thing,” she says. “The tîtáns are strong, but their magic is reckless. Just look at Amari.”

  Zélie gestures to me as if I’m an object instead of a human being. Blood rises to my cheeks as I sit back down.

  “Amari overpowered Ramaya, but that’s because Ramaya played games,” Zélie argues. “If we’re disciplined and trained, we can defeat any tîtáns we meet. We can even take on the queen.”

  “You don’t know that!” I try to regain control of the room, but all my efforts are in vain. The maji are quick to overlook me now, energized by Zélie’s false promise of victory.

  “How are we supposed to train without incantations?” Nâo asks. “Before the Raid, the clans had hundreds. Now some of our clans barely have three.”

  Zélie rests her palms on the table, gaze growing distant. With a gasp, she reaches over to her leather bag, pulling out one of the black scrolls Lekan gave her at Chândomblé.

  “Where’d you get that?” Kâmarū takes the scroll, thick brows scrunching at the sacred text. “All of these were burned in the Raid.”

  “Not the ones at Chândomblé.”

  “You want us to chase a legend?” Na’imah cocks her head.

  “It’s not a legend,” Zélie says. “Amari and I have seen it for ourselves. There’s a room filled with hundreds of scrolls from every clan.”

  Excitement buzzes as the elders consider what the library of scrolls could mean for us.

  “If we could get those, we’d have an arsenal.” Kenyon’s eyes light up.

  “Imagine what remedies they might have!” Khani exclaims.

  “We can leave tonight,” Zélie raises her hand, regaining control of the room. “The monarchy’s still focused on rebuilding Lagos. This could be the perfect time to slip under their noses.”

  I watch as they begin to strategize, knowing nothing I say will change their minds. I thought being an elder would be enough to influence them, but I’m still on the outside.

  “Don’t worry,” Zélie whispers to me. “I’m not saying a bid for peace is off the table. But let’s get these scrolls first. We need new leverage against your mother in case peace doesn’t w
ork.”

  I nod, but when she walks off, my jaw clenches tight.

  I wonder if she’s just trying to placate me, or if she truly believes her own lies.

  CHAPTER THIRTY-TWO

  INAN

  AS I MAKE my way to the war room, I feel the change in the air. With the Iyika’s Lagos operations dismantled a half moon ago, the smoke that’s lingered on my city’s horizon has finally begun to clear.

  Once again, the sun shines down on us. Bright rays illuminate our efforts to rebuild. Food rolls in by the wagon. Not one villager hungers.

  “Your Majesty!” The soldiers standing guard outside the war room salute when I approach. They move to open the black oak doors, but I stop them when I spot Mother across the hall. She calls off her guards, descending into the palace cellars alone. I frown as I follow after her.

  She moves like she doesn’t want to be seen.

  I try to keep my steps from echoing as I descend the stone stairs. An expansive brick labyrinth with dozens of rooms, the palace cellar seems to hold all of my darkest memories.

  Father used to take Amari and me here when we were children. He forced us to spar. I still remember the way her screams bounced against the stone walls when I took things too far.

  Where are you? I look up, wishing I could connect with her now. Mother’s convinced Amari’s working with the Iyika, but that’s not the sister I know.

  Zélie may want to burn Lagos to the ground, but this is still Amari’s home. She should be here by my side. Not all alone in the world.

  “Where’s the rest?”

  I stop in my tracks as the husky voice fills the cellar’s damp halls. The boy speaks Orïshan with a strange lilt, as if he isn’t from this land. I peek around the corner to find Mother standing with two masked men clad in black. One wears a snake-like smile. The other has skin the color of sand.

  I’ve seen him before.…

  I rub my chin, trying to remember where. Something about the foreigner is familiar. I know our paths have crossed.

  “You’ll get the rest when you finish the job,” Mother answers, handing over a velvet purse that clinks with coins. “The majacite was an effective start, but it’s only the beginning. And the Iyika are still interfering with my plans—”

  “We’ve got company.”

  I freeze; all three sets of eyes land on me. Mother’s lips part in surprise. The mercenaries don’t even bat an eye.

  “You scoundrels,” she hisses at them. “Bow before your king.”

  The foreign mercenary snorts in response, counting the gold in his velvet purse.

  “What?” I walk forward. “You don’t bow before the kings of other lands?”

  “I don’t bow before anyone I can kill.”

  He looks me up and down before turning back to Mother. “This’ll work for now. We’ll be in touch.”

  I expect them to make their way up the stairs, but instead they disappear down the cellar’s dark halls. They move with confidence, as if they’ve traversed this labyrinth before.

  “What was that about?” I ask.

  “Your sister has worked with them,” Mother explains. “I was seeing if they had any information on her and the Iyika.”

  “Amari?” I lean in. “Any leads?”

  “The look in your eyes is the very reason I didn’t want you involved.” Mother grabs my arm, leading me toward the stairs. “I know she is your sister, but she is also an enemy of this kingdom.”

  “She’s also the only reason I’m alive.”

  Mother doesn’t say more until we reach the war room doors.

  “Remember, your duty is to the throne. Protect it above all else.”

  * * *

  “YOUR MAJESTY.”

  Every advisor stands when Mother and I enter the war room. Their abruptness catches me off guard. They don’t sit until I give the command.

  I smile to myself, taking my place at the head of the oak table. Ojore rises at my signal, moving toward the vast map of Orïsha that covers the far wall.

  “I’m pleased to report that after the valiant efforts of our king, we’ve managed to turn the tides in this war,” he addresses the room. “Since liberating Lagos from the Iyika, we’ve reestablished communication with our bases in the north. Assassination attempts are down, and not one fortress has been breached.”

  “Let’s not rush to celebrate yet,” General Jokôye jumps in, braid swinging as she rises from her seat. “While these gains are impressive, the Iyika still pose a significant threat. We still estimate anywhere between two hundred and five hundred soldiers in their forces.”

  “Where are we on locating their base?” I ask.

  “Closer, but not close enough.” Jokôye gestures to the mountains north of Lagos. “According to the fortresses in Gusau and Gombe, all their movements appear to originate from the Olasimbo Range. We’ve sent scouts, but none have returned. However, there are signs that the Iyika are on the move again.”

  Ojore walks back to the table, grabbing two pieces of parchment. “I’m sure you’re all familiar with the former princess.”

  Ojore hangs an old wanted poster with a sketch of my sister’s face. It’s strange to see Amari that way. The soft lines don’t capture how she’s changed.

  “Her primary accomplice is a maji named Zélie Adebola,” Ojore continues. “Native of Ibadan, and then Ilorin. She was fundamental in bringing magic back. Maji across the kingdom regard her as the Soldier of Death.”

  I try to avert my gaze, but I can’t look away from the illustration. It’s like Zélie stares at me from afar, ferocity piercing through her silver gaze. Look too long, and I feel her vines around my neck. Her lips against my ear.

  If I can’t even be in a room with her illustration, I don’t know what I’ll do when we’re face-to-face.

  “Do we know where they’re headed?” I ask.

  “Our best guess is Lagos,” Jokôye answers. “They eluded our forces after an insurgent rally in Zaria, but today they were spotted moving south.”

  “They’re coming here?” The color drains from Mother’s face. “We’re still a half-moon from completing the new wall.”

  “What about the moat?” Captain Kunle dabs the sweat at his temple. “It’ll take weeks before the Tiders can fill it!”

  I put my fingers to my ears as panic fills the room. Something doesn’t add up.

  “Admiral, they’re already south of Lagos. What would they gain by doubling back?”

  “We believe this route gives them direct access to the palace.” Ojore illustrates the winding path. “I’ve taken the liberty of moving more troops to Lagos’s borders, but we’re going to need significant resources to stop them.”

  I scrunch my nose, extending their path in my head. The line takes me straight into the Funmilayo Jungle.

  Right through an ancient temple.

  I slap my hands against the oak table, rising to my feet.

  “I know where they’re going!” I run to the map, tapping the old canvas. “There’s an ancient temple for the maji located here. It has the capability to amplify their powers.”

  Mother’s face falls. “If they retrieve what they’re searching for, they could become too powerful to defeat.”

  “Not if we intercept them,” I say. “If they’re coming from the mountains, we’re closer to the temple. Leave tonight, and we may be able to catch them!”

  “Can you really face your sister?” Ojore voices the question no one else will. Gazes flick between me and Mother before finding any excuse to look away.

  I walk over to the wanted posters, gazing at Amari’s face. I think of how she challenged Father for me. If she hadn’t intervened, I probably would have died.

  “It would be a lie to say I could hurt my sister.” I face the room. “But I can take her in. Especially when she and the Iyika pose a threat to the kingdom.”

  Mother’s lips pinch, but she nods to me in respect.

  “What about the others?” Ojore asks. “Do we aim to kill?
”

  I glance back at the posters, this time stopping on Zélie’s face.

  “Let’s focus on taking them down first,” I decide. “Once they’re captured, we can figure out a proper punishment.”

  CHAPTER THIRTY-THREE

  AMARI

  WIND WHIPS THROUGH my curls as we speed through the jungle on our cheetanaires. Thick vines sting when I fly past, but I still have to snap my reins to keep up.

  The elders ride with a vengeance, Zélie riding fastest of all. I can’t help feeling that the closer we get to Chândomblé, the closer we are to the bloody end of this war.

  Think, Amari. I rack my brain as my ryder picks up speed. As soon as the Iyika get those scrolls, they’ll want to attack. The battle will be brought right to Lagos.

  If they’re strong enough to beat my mother, I doubt they’ll let me take the throne. At this point, it’s more likely to go to Zélie. But if they’re not strong enough to take down my mother …

  A brick settles in my stomach at the thought.

  If they’re not strong enough to face Mother and her tîtáns, she’ll wipe them out. Them, and then every maji in Orïsha.

  The longer the scenarios play in my head, the fewer answers I have. I have to prove myself to the Iyika. Convince them to attempt peace first. If they’ll let me contact Inan, there’s a chance we can avoid this path of destruction—

  “Amari!”

  A panicked hiss snaps me back into the present. I blow past the horde of elders pulled off to the side as my ryder races through the jungle.

  “Èdà Oxosi, dáhùn ìpè mi!” Na’imah’s melodic voice rings, making a pink mist swirl around my cheetanaire’s head. The cloud stops my spotted ryder in his tracks. I have to squeeze with all I have to keep from flying off.

  “For Oxosi’s sake, pay attention!” she says, beckoning her cheetanaire back to the group. My cheeks heat as I slide off, joining their circle.