by Tomi Adeyemi
We could save the divîners.
I stare at Amari as the merchant takes the headdress and piles the gold into velvet bags. “Take the bow.” He beams. “Take whatever you like!”
Gazing around the wagon, my eyes land on a sturdy leather pack decorated with circles and lines. I lean in to inspect its firm texture but stop when I realize the design is composed entirely of dotted crosses. I run my hands over the disguised clan mark, the secret symbol of Oya, my sister deity. If the guards ever recognized the truth hidden in the bag’s design, they could seize the merchant’s entire cart. They might even cut off his hands.
“Be careful!” the merchant shouts.
I snatch my hand back before I realize he’s talking to Amari.
She turns an empty hilt over in her hands. “What is this? No blade?”
“Point it away from yourself and give it a flick.”
Like with my staff, a flick of the hilt extends a long blade with a lethal curved point. It glides through the air with a deadly grace, surprisingly nimble in Amari’s small hands.
“I’ll take this.”
“If you don’t know how to use it—” the merchant warns.
“Why do you assume I don’t?”
I arch my eyebrow at Amari and think back to her mention of a training accident. I assumed the scar came from her brother’s sword, but was she holding a sword, too? Despite her escape from Lagos, I can’t imagine the princess locked in battle.
The merchant packs up our collection of coins and goods and sends us on our way, giving us everything we need to travel to Chândomblé. We walk back to meet Tzain in silence, but between the scar, the headdress, and the sword, I don’t know what to think. Where’s the spoiled princess I wanted to choke to death? And can she actually wield a sword?
As we pass a papaya tree, I pause, shaking the trunk until a yellow fruit falls. I give Amari a few moments to move forward before whipping the ripe papaya at her head.
For a heartbeat, Amari appears oblivious—how will I explain this? But as the fruit whistles near, she drops her basket and whips around, new blade extended, speed unmatched.
I gape as the ripe papaya falls to the ground, sliced in two clean halves. Amari smiles and picks up a piece, taking a triumphant bite.
“If you wish to hit me, you will have to try a little harder than that.”
CHAPTER FOURTEEN
INAN
KILL HER.
Kill magic.
My plan is all I have.
Without it, the world slips through my fingers. My maji curse threatens to break from my skin.
I’ll make you a deal, the girl whispers in my mind, lips twisting as she speaks. No one has to know you’re a dirty little—
“Dammit.”
I grit my teeth. It doesn’t block out the rest of her vile speech. With the memory of her voice, my infection simmers to the surface, prickling hot under my skin. As it rises, the broken voices grow. Louder. Sharper.
Like forcing a brick down my throat, I fight the magic back.
One … two …
I count as I struggle. The air around me begins to chill. Sweat gathers on my forehead. By the time my magic’s pushed down, my breath escapes in rough spurts. But the threat is quelled. For a brief instant I’m safe. Alon—
“Inan.”
I flinch and check that my helmet is still secure. My thumb runs over the latch for the fiftieth time today. I swear I can feel this new white streak growing.
Right into Kaea’s view.
She rides forward, summoning me to follow in her stead. She must not realize I’ve been riding behind her all day, avoiding her line of vision. Mere hours ago she almost saw it, catching me off guard as I stared at my reflection in a stream. If she’d left a little earlier … if I’d stayed out a little later—
Focus, Inan!
What am I doing? What-ifs get me nowhere.
Kill the girl. Kill magic. That’s all I need to do.
I squeeze my thighs around my snow leopanaire, Lula, and urge her after Kaea, careful to avoid the horns protruding from her back. If I hit one too hard, my ryder will buck me from my saddle.
“Now.” I snap Lula’s reins when she growls. “Don’t be such a lazy bastard.”
Lula flashes her serrated fangs but quickens her pace. She weaves in and out of the marula oak trees, dipping under the baboonems skittering along the fruit-covered branches.
I stroke her spotted fur in gratitude when we catch up to Kaea. She lets out another low growl but rubs her face against my hand.
“Tell me,” Kaea says when I’m close. “What did the villager tell you?”
Again? Skies, she’s relentless.
“It doesn’t add up. I need to hear it once more.” Kaea reaches behind her panthenaire to release her red-breasted firehawk from its cage. The bird perches on the ryder’s saddle as Kaea fastens a note to its leg. Likely a message for Father. Following the scroll’s trail south. Also, I suspect Inan is a maj—
“He claimed he was a mapmaker,” I lie. “The thief and Amari visited him after they escaped Lagos.”
Kaea raises her forearm, and the firehawk spreads its wide wings before taking to the sky.
“How did he know they were going south?”
“He saw them charting their path.”
Kaea looks away, but not before I catch the doubt glimmering in her eyes. “You shouldn’t have interrogated anyone without me.”
“And the village shouldn’t have burned!” I snap. “I fail to see the point in obsessing over what should or shouldn’t have happened.”
Relax, Inan. It’s not Kaea I’m mad at.
But her lips are already pinched. I’ve pushed her too far.
“Sorry,” I sigh. “I didn’t mean that.”
“Inan, if you can’t handle this—”
“I’m fine.”
“Are you?” She trains her eyes on me. “Because if you think I’ve forgotten about your little episode, you’re sadly mistaken.”
Curse the skies.
Kaea was there the first time magic attacked me on the shores of Ilorin. The night it filled my head with sounds.
My gut clenches as I push the evil further down.
“I won’t have the prince die on my watch. If that happens again, you’re headed back to the palace.”
My heart seizes so hard an ache ripples through my chest. She can’t send me home like this.
Not until the girl dies.
I’ll make you a deal. Her voice crawls back into my mind. It’s so vivid it’s like she’s whispering in my ear. Leave me alone and I’ll keep your little secret. No one has to know you’re a dirty little—
“No!” I shout. “It wasn’t an episode. On the beach. I—I—” I take a deep breath. Relax. “I thought I saw Amari’s corpse.” That’s it. “I was ashamed at how much it rattled me.”
“Oh, Inan…” Kaea’s hardness fades. She reaches over and grabs my hand. “Forgive me. I can’t imagine how horrific that must have been.”
I nod and squeeze her hand back. Too tightly. Let go. But my heartbeat quickens in my chest. A turquoise cloud seems to radiate from my chest, billowing like pipe smoke. The smell of rosemary and ash returns. The shrieks of the burning girl surface again.…
The heat of the flames licks my face. Sweltering smoke fills my lungs. With each second the fire crawls closer to my body, eliminating any chance of escape.
“Help!”
I drop to the ground. My lungs reject the rancid air. My feet get caught in the blaze—
“HELP!”
I jerk on Lula’s reins. She lets out a menacing growl as we come to an abrupt stop.
“What is it?” Kaea whips her head around.
I dig my hands into Lula’s fur to mask their tremble. I’m running out of time. The magic’s getting stronger.
Like a parasite feeding on my blood.
“Amari,” I choke out. My throat burns as if it’s still full of smoke. “I’m worried. She’s
never left the palace before. She could get hurt.”
“I know,” Kaea soothes me. I wonder if she speaks the same way to Father when his temper flares. “But she’s not completely helpless. There’s a reason the king spent so many years making sure you could both wield a sword.”
I force a nod, pretending to listen as Kaea continues to talk. Again, I shove my curse down, ignoring the way it makes the air around me thin. But even as my magic subsides, my heart still pounds.
The power burns inside me. Taunting. Tainting.
Kill her, I remind myself.
I’ll kill the girl. I’ll kill this curse.
If I can’t—
I force a deep breath.
If I can’t, I’m already dead.
CHAPTER FIFTEEN
AMARI
I USED TO DREAM of climbing.
Late at night, when everyone in the palace had gone to sleep. Binta and I would run through the painted halls by torchlight, skidding over the tiled floors in our trek to Father’s war room. Hand in hand, we drew the torch over the handwoven map of Orïsha, a map that seemed as large as life itself to our young eyes. I thought Binta and I would see the world together.
I thought if we left the palace, we could be happy.
Now as I cling to the side of the third mountain we’ve climbed today, I question why I ever dreamed of ascending anything higher than the palace stairwell. Sweat clings to my skin, soaking through the rough cloth of my black dashiki. An endless swarm of mosquitoes buzz and sting at my back, feasting because I can’t bear to let go of the mountain long enough to swat them away.
Another full day of travel has passed, along with, thankfully, one night of restful sleep. Though the weather warmed once we left Sokoto and made our way farther into the jungle, I felt Tzain lay his cloak over me again just as I began to fall asleep. With our new supplies, eating comes easy. Even foxer meat and coconut milk start to taste like seasoned hen and tea from the palace kitchen. I thought things were finally improving, but now my chest is so tight I can barely breathe.
This late into the day we’ve ascended thousands of meters, giving us startling views of the jungle beneath. Greens of all hues cover the land, creating endless canopies beneath our feet. A rushing river curves through the tropical brush, marking the only water in sight. It grows smaller and smaller as we climb, shrinking until it’s only a thin blue line.
“How can anything exist up here?” I ask in between pants. I take a deep breath and give the rock above my head a firm pull. Earlier in our journey, I wouldn’t test my handholds. My scraped knees are a reminder not to repeat that mistake.
When the rock holds firm, I hoist myself farther up the mountain, wedging my bare feet into a crack. The urge to cry wells up inside me, but I force it down. I’ve already hidden my tears twice. It would be humiliating to weep again.
“She’s right,” Tzain calls from behind me, searching for an area wide enough for Nailah to clamber up. Their lionaire is skittish after almost slipping off the last mountain. Now she climbs only after Tzain proves it’s safe.
“Just keep going,” Zélie calls from above. “It’s here. It has to be here.”
“Did you actually see it?” Tzain asks.
I think back to the moment in Mama Agba’s hut, the moment the future exploded before our eyes. It all looked so magical back then. Stealing the scroll actually felt like a good idea.
“We saw ourselves climbing…,” I start.
“But did you see this legendary temple?” Tzain presses. “Just because Mama Agba saw us climbing doesn’t mean Chândomblé’s actually real.”
“Stop talking and keep climbing!” Zélie shouts. “Trust me. I know it’s real.”
It’s the same reasoning she’s been shouting all day, the stubbornness that’s carried us from cliff to cliff. Reality and logic don’t matter to her. She needs this so badly, failure isn’t even in the realm of possibilities.
I look down to reply to Tzain, but the sight of jungle trees thousands of meters below makes my muscles seize. I press my body against the mountain and clench the rocks tightly.
“Hey,” Tzain calls. “Don’t look down. You’re doing great.”
“You’re lying.”
He almost smiles. “Just keep climbing.”
My beating pulse fills my ears as I look back up. The next ledge is in sight. Though my legs shake, I push myself farther up. Sweet skies, if Binta could see me now.
Her beautiful face bleeds into my mind in all its former glory. For the first time since I watched her die, I picture her alive, smiling and by my side. There was one night in the war room when she undid her bonnet. Her ivory hair fell in silky sheets around her head.
And what shall you wear when we cross the Olasimbo Range? she teased when I told her my plans for our escape to the Adetunji Sea. Even if you were on the run, the queen herself would drop dead before she allowed you to wear trousers. She put her hand on her head and pretended to shriek, mimicking Mother’s pitch. I laughed so hard that night I nearly wet myself.
Despite the circumstances, a smile comes to my face. Binta could impersonate everybody in the palace. Yet my smile falls as I think of our lost dreams and abandoned plans. I thought we could escape through the tunnels beneath the palace. Once we got out, we would never go back. It all felt so certain in that moment, but did Binta always know it was a dream she’d never see?
The question haunts me as I reach the next ledge and pull myself over. The mountain flattens out for a brief stretch, wide enough for me to lie down in the wild grass.
As I drop to my knees, Zélie collapses in a garden of native bromeliads, crushing the vibrant red and purple petals under her feet. I bend down and breathe in their sweet scent. Binta would’ve loved these.
“Can we stay here?” I ask as the clove fragrance calms me. I can’t imagine climbing any higher. The promise of Chândomblé can only take us so far.
I lift my head as Nailah claws her way onto the ledge. Tzain follows after, dripping with sweat. He peels off his sleeveless dashiki and I lower my eyes—the last time I saw a boy’s bare body my nannies were giving Inan and me baths.
A warm flush rises to my cheeks as I realize how far from the palace I’ve truly come. Though it’s not illegal for royals and kosidán to consort the way it is for maji and kosidán, Mother would have Tzain jailed for what he’s just done.
I scoot away, eager to put more space between Tzain’s bare skin and my blushing face. But as I move, my fingers knock against something smooth and hollow.
I turn and find myself face-to-face with a cracked skull.
“Skies!” I shout, and crawl backward, hairs rising on the nape of my neck. Zélie jumps to her feet and expands her staff, ready to fight at a moment’s notice.
“What is it?” she asks.
I point to the fractured skull, lying on top of a pile of crushed bones. A gaping hole above its eye socket signals its violent death.
“Could it be another climber?” I ask. “Someone who did not make it through?”
“No,” Zélie answers with a strange confidence. “It’s not that.” She tilts her head and bends down for a closer look. A chill passes through the air. Zélie reaches down, stretching her hand out toward the cracked bone. Her fingers barely graze the skull when—
I gasp as the sweltering jungle heat around us snaps to a freezing cold. The chill bites through my skin, cutting straight to the bone. But the icy rush only lasts an instant. As quick as it comes, it vanishes, leaving us bewildered on the mountainside.
“Ugh!” Zélie wheezes like she’s been brought back to life. She grips the bromeliads so tightly the flowers rip straight off their stems.
“What in gods’ names was that?” Tzain asks.
Zélie shakes her head, eyes growing wider and wider by the second. “I felt him. It was his spirit … his life!”
“Magic,” I realize. No matter how many times I see it, the displays never fail to conflict me. Even as Father’s childhood wa
rnings of magic resurface, my heart fills with awe.
“Come on!” Zélie dashes forward, scurrying up the next incline. “That was stronger than anything I’ve ever felt. The temple has to be near!”
I scramble after her, casting aside my fear in my desire to reach the last ledge. When I pull myself up over the final cliff, I can’t believe my eyes. Chândomblé.
It’s actually here.
Moss-covered bricks are piled in mountains of rubble, coating every inch of the plateau. The destruction is all that remains of the temples and shrines that once covered this land. Unlike the jungle and mountains below, no crickets chirp, no birds squawk, no mosquitoes sing. The only signs that life ever existed are the shattered skulls littered around our feet.
Zélie pauses before a skull, brows knitting though nothing happens.
“What is it?” I ask.
“Its spirit…” She bends down. “It’s rising.”
“Rising where?” I step back, stumbling over a piece of rubble. Another chill fills me with unspoken dread, but I can’t decipher if it’s real or just in my head.
“I don’t know.” Zélie rubs her neck. “Something about the temple is amplifying my ashê. I can actually feel my magic.”
Before I can ask another question, Zélie bends down and touches another skull.
My hand flies to my chest; this time it’s not an icy cold that flashes around her, but an image, tinted in gold. Magnificent temples and towers rise, stunning structures adorned with elegant waterfalls. Dark men, women, and children in fine suede robes roam, beautiful lines and symbols dotting their skin in elegant swirls of white.
Though the flash lasts only an instant, the image of the lush grounds stains my memory as I look at the broken rubble before me. Chândomblé used to be radiant.
Now it’s only air.
“What do you think happened here?” I ask Zélie, though I fear I already know. Father destroyed the beauty of magic in my life. Why wouldn’t he have done the same throughout the world?