by Tomi Adeyemi
I take a few more steps forward and a hush falls over the crowd.
Gods, help me.
I make my way through their gathering. Dozens of masked mercenaries clad in black leer at me as I pass, each sitting on a rock structure that juts out of the ground. Some reach for their weapons, some shift into a fighting stance. Half stare like they want to kill, others like they want to devour.
I ignore their hostility as I search for gray eyes amid a sea of ambers and browns. The man they belong to emerges from the front of the cavern, the only unmasked mercenary in sight. Though he’s covered in black like the rest of the fighters, a dark red scarf wraps around his throat.
“You?” I breathe out in confusion. I can’t hide my shock. The sandstone complexion, the striking, storm-gray eyes. The pickpocket … the thief from the divîner settlement. Though only a short time has passed, it feels like a lifetime ago now.
Roën takes a long drag off a hand-rolled cigarette as his angular eyes slide up my form. He sits down, resting against a circular rock structure reminiscent of a throne. His foxer-like smile spreads wide against his lips.
“I told you we’d meet again.” He takes another drag off his cigarette and is slow to exhale. “But unfortunately, these aren’t the right circumstances. Not unless you’re here to join me and my men.”
“Your men?” Roën looks only a few years older than Tzain. Though he has a fighter’s build, the men he commands are twice his size.
“You find that amusing?” A crooked grin rises to his thin lips, and he leans forward on his stone throne. “Do you know what amuses me? A little maji. Stumbling into my cave unarmed.”
“Who says I’m unarmed?”
“You don’t look like you know your way around a sword. Of course, if that’s what you’re here to learn, I’d be more than happy to teach.”
His crudeness elicits laughter from his crew, and my cheeks grow hot. I’m a game to him. Another mark he can pickpocket with ease.
I survey the cave, taking stock of his mercenaries. If this is going to work, I need his respect.
“How kind.” I keep my face even. “But it’s me who’s here to teach you.”
Roën lets out a hearty laugh that bounces along the cave walls. “Go on.”
“I need you and your men for a job that could change Orïsha.”
Again the men jeer, but this time the pickpocket doesn’t laugh. He leans farther out of his seat.
“There’s a sacred island north of Jimeta,” I continue, “a full night’s sail away. I need you to take us there before tomorrow’s sun rises.”
He leans back against his stone throne. “The only island in the Lokoja Sea is Kaduna.”
“This island only appears every hundred years.”
More taunts erupt, but Roën silences them with a sharp hand.
“What’s on this island, mysterious little maji?”
“A way to bring magic back for good. For every maji in Orïsha’s lands.”
The mercenaries explode in laughter and taunts, yelling at me to go away. A stocky man steps out of the fray. His muscles bulge beneath his black fatigues. “Stop wasting our time with these lies,” he growls. “Roën, get this girl out of here or I wi—”
He lays his hand on my back; his touch sends spasms through my wounds. The pain takes me away, locking me inside the cell—
—rusted cuffs rip against my wrists as I pull. My screams echo against the metal walls.
And during it all, Saran stands calm, watching them tear me apart—
“Agh!”
I throw the man over my shoulder, slapping him against the rock floor with a loud smack. As he recoils, I ram my staff into his sternum, letting up just before I hear anything crack. His screams are loud, but not louder than the ones still ringing in my head.
The cave seems to hold its breath as I bend down, placing the end of my staff above the mercenary’s throat.
“Touch me again.” I bare my teeth. “See what happens.”
He flinches as I release my hold, giving him the chance to crawl away. With his retreat there’s no more laughter.
They understand my staff.
Roën’s stormy eyes dance, filled with even more amusement than before. He puts out his cigarette and walks forward, stopping only a finger’s breadth away from my face. The scent of his smoke engulfs me, sweet like milk and honey.
“You’re not the first to attempt this, love. Kwame already tried to bring magic back. From what I hear, it didn’t go so well.”
Kwame’s name sends a pang through my heart, reminding me of the meeting he took with Roën in the divîner camp. Even back then, he must have been preparing. Deep down, he always knew we’d have to fight.
“This is different. I have a way to give all the maji back their gifts at once.”
“What kind of payment are we talking?”
“No coin,” I say. “But you’ll earn the favor of the gods.”
“How do you figure?” he snorts. “Just general goodwill?”
He needs more. I rack my mind, searching for a better lie. “The gods sent me to you. Twice. It’s no accident we’re meeting again. They’ve chosen you because they want your help.”
The crooked smile drops off his face and he’s solemn for the first time. I can’t read the expression behind his eyes when it’s not amusement or mischief.
“That may be enough for me, love, but my men are going to need a little more than divine intervention.”
“Then let them know that if we succeed, you’ll be employed by the future queen of Orïsha.” The words tumble out of me before I can even assess whether or not they’re true. Tzain told me of Amari’s intention to claim the throne, but with everything going on, I haven’t thought of it since.
Yet now I hold on to it, using my only leverage. If Roën and his men don’t help us, we won’t get anywhere near that island.
“The queen’s mercenaries,” he muses. “It has a ring to it, no?”
“It does.” I nod. “One that sounds a lot like gold.”
A smirk tugs at the corners of his lips. His gaze slides over me once more.
Finally, he holds out his hand and I hide a smile, keeping my grip firm as we shake.
“When do we leave?” I ask. “We have to hit the island by daybreak.”
“Right now.” Roën smiles. “But our boat’s small. You’ll have to sit next to me.”
CHAPTER SEVENTY-THREE
ZÉLIE
WIND FILLS THE SILENCE as we ride across the Lokoja Sea on Roën’s boat. Unlike the vast vessels of Ibeji’s arena, Roën’s ship is sleek and angular, only a few meters longer than Nailah. Instead of sails, metal turbines harness the blowing wind. They propel us through the choppy waters as they hum and rotate.
I brace myself against Tzain and Amari as another large wave crashes against the iron boat. Unlike the Warri Sea off the coast of Ilorin, the Lokoja Sea is phosphorescent; beneath the water plankton glow bright blue, making the sea sparkle like the stars in the sky. It would be an incredible sight if we weren’t packed into the boat so tightly. Between Kenyon’s team and a dozen of Roën’s crew, we’re forced to squeeze in side by side with men we can’t trust.
Ignore them, I coach myself turning to the ocean to revel in the familiarity of sea-salt spray on my skin. Closing my eyes, I can almost imagine myself back in Ilorin, back with the fish. With Baba. Before all of this began, back when my biggest worry was a graduation match.
I stare at my hands, thinking of everything that’s passed since then. I thought this close to the solstice I would feel something again, but still no magic runs through my veins.
Oya, please. I clench my fists and pray. Sky Mother. Everyone. I’m trusting you.
Don’t let me be wrong.
“Are you alright?” Amari whispers. Though her voice is gentle, her amber eyes are knowing.
“Just cold.”
Amari tilts her head, but she doesn’t pry. Instead, she laces her fingers through mi
ne and looks back out at the sea. Her touch is kind. Forgiving. Like she already knows the truth.
“We’ve got company, boss.”
I whip around to find the silhouettes of large, three-masted warships on the horizon. There’s far too many to count. The wooden beasts cut through the water, metal plates marking the cannons lining their decks. Though they fade into the sea’s mist, the moonlight illuminates Orïsha’s seal. My chest tightens at the sight and I close my eyes, willing the image away—
—the heat intensifies my pain as the knife rips through my back. No matter how much I scream, the darkness never comes. I taste my own blood—
“Zél?”
Amari’s face swims through the blackness. I squeeze her hand so hard her knuckles crack. I open my mouth to apologize, but I can’t form the words. A sob threatens to creep up my throat.
Amari puts her other hand around me and turns to Roën. “Can we avoid them?”
Roën pulls a collapsible telescope from his pocket and presses it against his eye. “That one’s easy, but not the fleet behind it.”
He hands me the telescope, but Amari comes to my rescue and snatches it away. Her body goes rigid as she takes in the sight.
“Skies,” she curses. “Father’s battleships.”
Saran’s cold eyes flash into my mind and I whip around, gripping the wooden ledge of Roën’s boat to stare out at the sea.
I wouldn’t be doing my job as king if I didn’t remind you what you are.
“How many?” I manage to croak, but that isn’t what I want to ask.
How many of his lieutenants are on the ships?
How many wait to scar me again?
“At least a dozen,” Amari answers.
“Let’s take another path,” Tzain offers.
“Don’t be foolish.” The mischievous glint in Roën’s gray eyes reignites. “Let’s take the closest ship.”
“No,” Amari objects. “That will give us away.”
“They’re in our way. And by the looks of it, they’re headed to this island, too. What better way to get there than on one of their own warships?”
I stare at the colossal vessels in the crashing sea. Where’s Inan? If Saran’s aboard one of those ships, is Inan with him?
The thought is too hard to speak out loud. I lift up another silent prayer. If any god above cares for me, I’ll never have to face Inan again.
“Let’s do it.” Dozens of faces turn to me, but I keep my gaze on the sea. “If all those ships are headed to the island, we have to be smarter, efficient.”
“Exactly.” Roën tilts his head in my direction. “Käto, head for the nearest ship.”
As the boat speeds up, my heart beats with enough force to break free of my rib cage. How will I face Saran again? What good will I be without my magic?
I grab my staff with shaking hands and flick to expand it.
“What’re you doing?”
I look up to find Roën at my side.
“We need to take the warship.”
“Love, that’s not how this works. You hired us for a job. Sit back and let us do it.”
Amari and I glance at each other before turning to the monstrous battleship.
“You really believe you can accomplish this without our help?” Amari asks.
“Taking it is easy. The only question is how fast we can do it.”
He gives a hand signal to two men. They withdraw a crossbow with a hook and rope. Roën raises a fist, presumably to release the arrows, but pauses and turns to me. “What’s your limit?”
“What?”
“What are we allowed to do? Personally, I prefer a clean throat slit, but with the sea, drowning could be efficient, too.”
The ease with which he speaks of ending human life sends a chill through my skin. It’s the calm of a man who fears nothing. The calm that sits in Saran’s eyes. Though I can’t sense the spirits of the dead right now, I don’t want to imagine how many spirits would swarm around Roën.
“No killing.” The order surprises me, but as soon as it leaves my lips, it feels right. So much blood has already been spilled. Whether we win or lose tomorrow, these soldiers don’t need to die.
“You’re no fun,” Roën groans before turning to his men. “You heard her—take them out, but keep them breathing.”
A few mercenaries grumble and my heart shivers; how often is death their first answer? Before I get a chance to ask, Roën flicks out two sharp fingers.
The crossbow releases and hooks through the wooden hull of the ship.
Roën’s biggest man ties the end of the rope around his massive frame to keep it secure.
The mercenary Roën calls Käto rises from the boat’s steering wheel and makes his way to the newly taut rope.
“Pardon,” Käto mutters in Orïshan as he brushes past. Though a mask obscures much of his face, he shares Roën’s coloring and angular eyes. But where Roën has been brash and taunting, Käto has only been cordial and serious.
Käto reaches the other side of the boat and pulls on the rope to test its hold; satisfied, he jumps on and wraps his legs around it. My lips part in surprise as he shimmies up with the speed of a bat-eared foxer. Within seconds, Käto disappears over the railing, fading into the blackness of the other ship.
A weak grunt sounds, followed by another; a few moments later Käto reappears to give the go-ahead. As the last of his men board the ship, Roën beckons to me.
“Level with me, my mysterious maji. What will the gods give me if I take down this boat? Do I get to say what I’m interested in, or do they already know?”
“It doesn’t work like that—”
“Or maybe I need to impress them?” Roën talks over me, pulling his mask over the bridge of his nose. “What do you think I’ll get if I clear this boat in five minutes?”
“You won’t get anything if you don’t shut your mouth and go.”
His eyes crinkle through the holes of the mask; I have no doubt his foxer smile shines behind it. With a wink, he climbs up and we’re left to wait with only the mercenary anchoring the rope as company.
“Ridiculous.” I click my tongue. Five minutes for a boat of that size? The deck alone looks like it could support the whole army. They’ll be lucky to take it at all.
We sit in the night, cringing at the faint screams and grunts from above. But after the initial skirmish, the sounds fade into silence.
“There’s only a dozen of them,” Tzain mutters. “You really think they can take a whole shi—”
We stop as a shadowy figure slides down the rope. Roën lands on the boat with a thud and removes his mask, revealing his crooked smile.
“You did it?” I ask.
“No,” he sighs, and shows me the colored crystals of the hourglass in his timepiece. “Six minutes. Seven, if we’re rounding up. But if you’d let me kill, it would’ve been under five!”
“No way.” Tzain crosses his arms.
“See for yourself, brother. Ladder!”
A ladder flies over the side of the ship and I grab on, ignoring the pain in my back as I climb up the rungs. He’s joking. More games, more lies.
But when I hit the deck, I can hardly believe my eyes: dozens of royal guards lie unconscious, bound from head to toe in rope. Each is stripped of his uniform and their bodies are strewn across the deck like litter.
I release a breath I didn’t realize I was holding when I see that Inan and Saran aren’t among the new captives. Yet somehow I doubt they’d fall so easily to Roën and his men.
“There’s more below deck,” Roën whispers in my ear, and even I can’t help but smile. I quickly roll my eyes, but Roën shines at this small hint of approval.
He shrugs and brushes nonexistent dirt off his shoulders. “I suppose it’s to be expected when you’re chosen by the gods.”
His smile lingers before he steps forward, a captain taking charge.
“Get these men in the brig. Sweep for any tools they can use to escape. Rehema, keep this ship
on track. Käto, sail behind us in our boat. At this speed, we hit the island’s coordinates at daybreak.”
CHAPTER SEVENTY-FOUR
INAN
TWO DAYS HAVE PASSED.
Two days without her.
In her absence, the ocean air hangs heavy.
Every breath whispers her name.
Staring over the railing of the warship, I see Zélie in everything. A mirror I can’t escape. Her smile shines through the moon, her spirit blows with the ocean wind. Without her, the world is a living memory.
A ledger of all the things I’ll never enjoy again.
I close my eyes, reliving the sensation of Zélie against the reeds of the dreamscape. I didn’t know it was possible to fit so perfectly inside someone else’s arms.
In that moment—that one, perfect moment—she was beautiful. Magic was beautiful. Not a curse, but a gift.
With Zélie, it always is.
I wrap my hand around the bronze piece she gave me, holding it tight as if it’s the last piece of her heart. Something inside tempts me to throw it into the ocean, but I can’t bear to let the last part of her go.
If I could’ve stayed in that dreamscape forever, I would have. Given everything up. Never looked back.
But I woke up.
When my eyes opened, I knew it’d never be the same again.
“Scouting?”
I jump. Father appears beside me. His eyes look as black as the night.
They feel as cold.
I turn away, as if that could hide the longings buried deep in my heart. Father may not be a Connector, but his retaliation will be swift if he senses anything less than steadfast resolve.
“I thought you were asleep,” I manage.
“Never.” Father shakes his head. “I don’t sleep before battle. Neither should you.”
Of course. Every second is a chance. An opportunity, a strategized counterattack. All things that would be so easy to concern myself with if I was positive I was doing the right thing.
I squeeze the bronze piece tighter, allowing its ridges to dig into my skin. I’ve already let Zélie down once before. I don’t know if I have the stomach to betray her again.