by Tomi Adeyemi
I push through the crowd with a new fervor, desperate to escape. I’m almost past the textiles when someone grabs my wrist.
What in gods’ names?
I whip out my compacted staff, expecting to meet the arm of a royal guard or a petty thief. But when I turn, it’s neither a guard nor a crook who’s grabbed me.
It’s a cloaked amber-eyed girl.
She pulls me into a hidden opening between two stalls with a grip so tight I can’t fight my way free.
“Please,” she begs, “you have to get me out of here!”
CHAPTER FIVE
ZÉLIE
FOR A MOMENT, I can’t breathe.
The copper-skinned girl shakes with a fear so visceral it leaks into my skin.
Shouts grow louder as the guards thunder by, getting closer with each passing second. They can’t catch me with this girl.
If they do, I’ll die.
“Let me go,” I order, almost as desperate as she is.
“No! No, please.” Tears well in her amber eyes and her grasp tightens. “Please help me! I have done something unforgivable. If they catch me…”
Her eyes fill with a terror that is all too familiar. Because when they catch her, it’s not a matter of whether she’ll die, it’s only a question of when: On the spot? Starving in the jails? Or will the guards take turns passing her around? Destroy her from within until she suffocates from grief?
You must protect those who can’t defend themselves. Mama Agba’s words from this morning seep into my head. I picture her stern gaze. That is the way of the staff.
“I can’t,” I breathe, but even as the words leave my mouth, I brace myself for the fight. Dammit.
It doesn’t matter if I can help.
I won’t be able to live with myself if I don’t.
“Come on.” I grab the girl’s arm and barge into a clothing stall larger than the rest. Before the cloth merchant can scream, I put my hand over her mouth and press Tzain’s dagger to her neck.
“Wh-what are you doing?” the girl asks.
I inspect her cloak. How did she even make it this far? The girl’s copper skin and thick robes scream of noble blood, rich with velvet and golden hues.
“Put on that brown cloak,” I order her before turning back to the merchant. Beads of sweat drip down her skin; with a divîner thief, one wrong move could be her last. “I’m not going to hurt you,” I promise. “I just need to make a trade.”
I peek out the front of the stall as the girl changes into the muted cloak, tightening my grasp when the merchant lets out a muffled yelp. The market’s crawling with enough guards to fill an army. The scrambling traders and villagers add to the chaos. I search for a way out of this madness, but no escape route emerges. We have no choice.
We’ll just have to test our fortune.
I duck back into the stall as the girl pulls the hood of her new cloak low over her forehead. I grab the fine robe she was wearing and shove it into the merchant’s hands. The fear in the trader’s eyes dims as the soft velvet passes through her fingers.
I lower the dagger from her neck and grab a cloak of my own, hiding my white hair under its dark hood.
“Are you ready?” I ask.
The girl manages a nod. A hint of determination flashes in her eyes, but I still detect a paralyzing terror.
“Follow me.” We exit the stall and step into the pandemonium. Though guards stop right in front of us, our brown cloaks act as a shield. They’re searching for noble blood. Thank the gods.
Maybe we actually have a chance.
“Walk quickly,” I hiss under my breath as we move through the spaces between the textile stalls. “But don’t—” I grab her by the cloak before she goes too far. “Don’t run. You’ll draw attention. Blend into the crowd.”
The girl nods and tries to speak, but no words come out. It’s all she can do to tail me like a lionaire cub, never more than two steps behind.
We push through the crowd until we reach the market’s edge. Though guards cover the main entrance, there’s an opening on the side manned by only one guard. When he steps forward to interrogate a noble, I spot our chance.
“Quick.” I squeeze behind a stock trader’s stall to slip from the crowded market down the stone streets of the merchant quarter. I breathe a sigh of relief as the girl’s petite frame breaks free, but when we turn, two hulking guards block our path.
Oh gods. My feet skid to a stop. The silver coins jingle in my pack. I glance at the girl; her brown skin has lost most of its color.
“Is there a problem?” I ask the guards as innocently as I can.
One crosses his treelike arms. “Fugitive’s on the loose. No one leaves until she’s caught.”
“Our mistake,” I apologize with a respectful bow. “We’ll wait inside.”
Dammit. I turn and walk back toward the stalls, scanning the frantic market. If all the exits are covered, we need a new plan. We need a new way to get—
Wait.
Though I’m almost back in the market, the girl isn’t by my side. I turn to find her frozen before the guards, the slightest tremble visible in her awkwardly placed hands.
For gods’ sakes!
I open my mouth to hiss her name, but I don’t even know it. I’ve risked everything for a stranger. And now she’s going to get us killed.
I try to distract the guards, but one is already reaching for the girl’s hood. There’s no time. I grab my metal rod and flick. “Duck!”
The girl drops to the ground. I whip my staff and smack it against the guard’s skull. A sickening crack rings through the air as he collapses into the dirt. Before the other can unsheathe his sword, I thrust my staff into his sternum.
“Ugh!”
With a swift kick to the jaw, he falls back, lying unconscious in the red dirt.
“Skies!” The girl curses like a noble. I retract my staff. Skies is right. Now I’ve attacked the guards.
Now we’re really going to die.
Tzain’s imminent fury flashes in my mind as we take off, sprinting as fast as we can through the merchant quarter.
Don’t screw this up. Get in. Get out. Where in that plan did it make sense to help a fugitive?
As we tear through the streets lined with pastel-colored buildings, two troops of royal guards fight to take us down. Their shouts grow loud. Their footsteps pound even louder. With swords drawn, they close in, only a few paces behind.
“Do you know where we are?” I ask.
“A little,” she pants, eyes wide with panic. “Enough to get us to the slums, but—”
“Head there!”
She pushes forward, sprinting a step ahead of me to take the lead. I follow her as we run through the stone streets, blowing by confused merchants in our dash. Adrenaline rushes through my veins. Heat buzzes beneath my skin. We’re not going to make it. There’s no way we’ll escape.
Relax, I hear Mama Agba in my head. I force myself to take a deep breath. Be resourceful. Use the surroundings to your advantage.
I scan the compact streets of the merchant quarter in desperation. As we round the corner, I spy a towering stack of wooden barrels. That’ll do.
I expand my staff and take a giant swing at the tower’s base. When the first barrel comes crashing to the ground, I know the rest are soon to follow.
The guards’ screams fill the air as the barrels take them down. The diversion gives us enough time to sprint into the slums and stop to catch our breaths.
“What now?” the girl gasps.
“You don’t know the way out?”
She shakes her head, sweat dripping down her face. “I’ve never been to this part of town.”
The slums looked like a labyrinth from afar, but from within, the shacks and shanties cluster like a web. The narrow paths and dirt streets tangle before our eyes. There’s no exit in sight.
“This way.” I point to the street opposite the merchant quarter. “If that way leads toward the city center, this has to lead out.�
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We kick up clouds of dirt running as fast as we can. But a troop of guards cuts us off—we have no choice but to dash the other way.
“Skies,” the girl gasps as we race through an alley, riling up a group of homeless kosidán. For a moment, I’m amazed she’s made it this far. I doubt evading her soldiers was part of her noble education.
We round another corner, just paces ahead of the guards. I push myself to run faster when the girl yanks me back.
“What are you—”
She presses her hand to my mouth and pushes me against a shanty’s wall. It’s only then that I notice the narrow space we’ve squeezed between.
Please work. For the second time in over a decade, I lift up a prayer, calling to any god who might still be there. Please, I beg. Please, please hide us.
My heart threatens to break free of my rib cage, pounding so hard I’m convinced the sound will give us away. But when the troop nears, they rumble by like rhinomes chasing prey.
I look up to the sky, blinking as the clouds pass overhead. Bright rays of light shine in between their gaps. It’s almost like the gods have risen from the dead, resurrected from the graveyard formed after the carnage of the Raid. Whatever’s up there is blessing me.
I just hope that blessing doesn’t run out.
We shimmy out of the crawl space and tear down another path, accidentally slamming into a pair of curious divîners. One drops his bottle of rum, and the sharp scent wafts into my nose, so strong my nostrils burn. With its odor, another lesson from Mama Agba’s hut resurfaces.
I scoop the bottle off the ground and scan the streets for my missing ingredient. There. It’s only a few meters from the girl’s head.
“Grab the torch!”
“What?”
“The torch!” I shriek. “The one right in front of you!”
It takes her a second to wrestle the metal torch from its hold, but when she does, we take off running. As we pass the last of the slums, I rip a piece of cloth from my cloak and stuff it into the bottle.
“What is this for?” she asks.
“Let’s hope you don’t find out.”
We break free of the slums, and the wooden gate of Lagos’s entrance comes into view. The key to our escape.
Barred by a royal blockade.
My stomach sinks as we skid to a halt before the endless line of armed guards. The soldiers ride menacing black panthenaires, each giant beast baring its fangs. Their dark fur shines like a thin layer of oil under the sun, matte rainbows of color embedded throughout their black coats. Even as the panthenaires crouch, they still tower over us, primed and ready to pounce.
“You’re surrounded!” The captain’s amber eyes bore into me. “By the decree of King Saran, I order you to halt!”
Unlike his soldiers, the captain rides a vicious snow leopanaire nearly as big as my hut. Eight thick horns protrude from its back, sharp and glistening in black. The monster licks its long, serrated fangs as it snarls, eager to decorate its spotted white coat with our blood.
The captain has the same dark copper complexion as the girl, skin free of wrinkles and the scars of battle. When the girl sees him, her hands fly to her hood; her legs begin to shake.
Though the captain is young, the guards follow his lead without question. One by one, each soldier unsheathes his sword, pointing the blades our way.
“It’s over,” the girl breathes in dismay. Tears stream down her face as she kneels to the ground. She drops the torch in defeat and pulls out a scroll of wrinkled parchment.
I pretend to follow her lead and crouch, touching the cloth in the bottle to the torch’s flame. The acrid stench of smoke fills my nose. As the captain closes in, I hurl the weapon at the line of panthenaires.
Come on, I will the glass bottle, trailing its arc with my eyes. As it flies, I worry nothing will happen.
Then the world erupts in flames.
The fire burns brilliantly, sweeping men and horned panthenaires into its blaze. The beasts howl in hysteria, bucking their riders in an attempt to get away.
The girl stares in horror, but I grab her arm and force her to move. We’re only a few meters away from the gate now, only a few meters away from freedom.
“Close the gate!” the captain yells as I brush by. The girl crashes into him but manages to slip through his grasp when he stumbles.
The metal gears groan and churn and the wooden gate starts falling down. The checkpoint guards brandish their weapons, our last obstacles to freedom.
“We won’t make it!” the girl wheezes.
“We don’t have a choice!”
I sprint faster than I knew it was possible to run. The drunk guard from before unsheathes his sword, raising his arm to slash. His sluggish movement invites more laughter than fear. I smack his skull with a vengeance, taking an extra second to knee him in the groin when he drops.
Another guard manages to get in a swing of his sword, but it’s easy to block with my staff. I spin the metal rod in my hands, knocking the sword from his grip. His eyes widen as I deliver a roundhouse kick to the face, slamming him against the wooden gate before I pass.
We did it! I want to scream as I run under the cover of the jackalberry trees. I turn to smile at the girl, but she’s not there. My heart seizes as I watch her tumble to the ground, a finger’s breadth before the gate. Clouds of dirt greet her fall.
“No!” I shriek. The gate’s only moments away from shutting.
After all that, she’s not going to make it.
After coming so close, she’s going to die.
Run, I order myself. Escape. You have Tzain. Baba. You’ve done all you can.
But the despair in her eyes pulls me back, and I know my blessings have run out. Because despite every protest in my body, I dash through the gates, rolling through moments before they slam shut.
“You’re done.” The captain steps forward, bloody from the firebomb. “Drop your weapon. Now!”
It seems like every guard in Lagos is staring us down. They circle us in droves, blocking each path before we can attempt another escape.
I pull the girl to her feet and hold my staff high. This ends here. They will not take me. I will force them to kill me where I stand.
My heart slams against my chest as the guards close in. I take a moment to enjoy my last breaths, picturing Mama’s soft eyes, her ebony skin.
I’m coming, I think to her spirit. She probably roams alâfia now, floating through the peace of the afterlife. I imagine myself beside her. I’ll be with you so—
A thunderous roar rings through the air, freezing the guards in their steps. The cry grows louder and louder, deafening in its approach. I barely have enough time to pull the girl out of harm’s way when Nailah’s monstrous figure leaps over the gate.
Guards tumble back in fear as my lionaire lands on the dirt path, saliva dripping from her massive fangs. I’m convinced she’s a hallucination until I hear Tzain shouting from atop Nailah’s back.
“The hell you waiting for?” he yells. “Get on!”
Without wasting another second, I hop onto Nailah’s back and pull the girl aboard. We take off, jumping from shack to shack before the shanties crumble under her weight. When Nailah gets enough height, she makes a final leap, flying toward the gate.
We’ve almost cleared it when a shock like lightning surges through my veins.
The shock travels through every pore in my skin, igniting my being, catching my breath. Time seems to freeze as I look down, locking eyes with the young captain.
An unknown force burns behind his amber gaze, a prison I can’t escape. Something in his spirit seems to claw onto mine. But before I can spend another second locked in his eyes, Nailah flies over the gate, severing our connection.
She lands on the ground with a thud and takes off, thundering through the jackalberry trees.
“My gods,” I breathe. Every part of my body screams with strain. I can’t believe we actually made it.
I can’t believe I
’m still alive.
CHAPTER SIX
INAN
FAILURE.
Disappointment.
Disgrace.
Which insult shall Father brand me with today?
I run through the possibilities as I enter the gate and ascend the white marble steps of the palace. Failure would be fitting. I’m returning with no fugitive in hand. But Father might not waste his words.
He could lead with his fist.
This time, I cannot blame him. Not truly.
If I can’t defend Lagos from a single thief, how in the world am I supposed to become Orïsha’s next king?
Curse the skies. I pause for a moment, gripping the smooth alabaster railing. Today was to be my victory.
Then that silver-eyed wretch got in the way.
The divîner’s face flashes behind my eyes for the tenth time since I watched her fly over Lagos’s gate. The image of her obsidian skin and long white hair stains. Impossible to blink away.
“Captain.”
I ignore the salute of the front guards as I enter the main hall. The title feels like a taunt. A proper captain would’ve sent an arrow through that fugitive’s heart.
“Where’s the prince?” A shrill voice echoes against the palace walls.
Dammit. This is the last thing I need.
Mother pushes toward the castle entrance, gele tilting as she fights through the guards blocking her path. “Where is he?” she cries. “Where is—Inan?”
Mother’s face softens with relief. Tears spring to her eyes. She leans in close, pressing a hand against the cut on my cheek.
“There were reports of assassins.”
I pull away from Mother and shake my head. Assassins would’ve had clearer targets. They’d be easier to track. The fugitive was just one runaway. One I couldn’t catch.
But Mother does not care about the attackers’ true identity. About my failure. Wasted time. She wrings her hands together, fighting back more tears.
“Inan, we must…” Her voice trails off. It’s only then that she realizes everyone is staring. She straightens her gele and steps back. I can almost see the claws extending from her hands.