by Tomi Adeyemi
We all work together until every detail is confirmed. By the time we’ve solidified our plans, the sun has set on our final night in the sanctuary. A solemn air hangs over the dining hall as people prepare to say good-bye.
“What now?” Nâo asks.
“Summon Mama Agba.” I rise from the stone table. “I have an idea.”
* * *
IT ONLY TAKES an hour to prepare the dining hall. Kâmarū creates a stone stage as Dakarai sets up bata drums. Folake and her Lighters make twinkling orbs float through the room like stars while the young divîners lay out the rest of the sanctuary’s food. The sweet aroma of súyà and egusi soup drifts into my nose as I move through the crowded hall. The excited chatter dies down when Mama Agba limps to the center of the room.
“This sanctuary has stood nearly as long as the magic of our land,” Mama Agba says. “It has seen every elder since the beginning of time. It has served as the beating heart of the maji. When the monarchy attacked, you defended these sacred walls. You have made every one of your ancestors proud.”
Her words rouse a few cheers from the crowd. Mama Agba smiles to herself as she takes in the faces that fill the hall. Though I know not to expect much, my heart falls when I don’t see Zélie in the room.
This is bigger than her, I remind myself. I can’t fight for my friend over the fate of Orïsha.
“These past few moons have been far from easy. You have been pushed more than ever before. But because of you, we have a chance. Because of your spirit, we can still win this war. We will bring our people the freedom they deserve.”
I close my eyes and imagine the sight, what our victory will taste like. When my family’s gone, Orïsha will have a chance at peace. Perhaps the first chance it’s ever had.
We’ve proven we can come together, and under our leadership, there will be a place for every maji, tîtán, and kosidán. We just have to pull this off.
One attack, and this kingdom is ours.
“Tomorrow our elders set out on a path to make sure no life was lost in vain. We shall honor each valiant sacrifice by creating a kingdom where those with magic can reign!”
In the back of the room, Nâo and her Second chant in unison. Using magic, they lift liters of palm wine from thick barrels and pour the sweet drink into tin cups. Tahir and the other Welders start to chant, distributing each cup through the crowd.
One floats into my hand just as Mama Agba raises hers in the air. When the dozens of cups meet her toast, I feel everything we’ve been fighting for. In my Orïsha, we will craft sanctuaries throughout the land. We shall gather and celebrate as one.
“You have done all you can to prepare. The rest lies in the gods’ hands. Tomorrow you fight.” Mama Agba tips her glass. “Tonight, you live.”
CHAPTER SIXTY-TWO
AMARI
WITHIN HOURS, music and laughter bounce against the sanctuary walls. Palm wine runs free. Na’imah’s rich melodies fill the dining hall as she sings. I smile to myself as I lean against a table, taking in the bodies that fill the dance floor. If I breathe in hard enough I can almost smell the sweet scent of hope that fills the air.
“Come on!” Nâo nudges me from the side, radiant in a long blue dress. “It’s your party, for gods’ sakes. Grab a cup of wine!”
She snaps her fingers and a Welder floats a tin cup into my hands. She knocks our cups together, throwing her arm around my neck.
“To victory!” she shouts.
“To victory,” I repeat. I take a sip, enjoying the way the word tastes on my lips.
“If I decide to let you be queen, you’d better throw more celebrations like this.”
Though she jokes, her words catch me off guard. Up until now, Zélie’s the one they’ve wanted on my throne.
“Na’imah!”
Music draws to a halt as the loud scream echoes through the hall. I jerk forward, ready to fight, when Kenyon barrels his way through the crowd. His locs spill onto his bare chest. He falls to his knees before the stage.
“Na’imah, I love you!”
“For gods’ sakes.” Na’imah hides her face in her hands as the snickers ring through the crowd. “Kenyon, you’re drunk!”
“I know! But it’s still true!”
“Mo fi àwon òrìsà búra—” Na’imah stomps down from the stage as the music resumes. She starts to yell, but then Kenyon pulls a battered bouquet of sunflowers from his belt. Even she can’t help but smile.
Nâo throws her head back at the scene, cackling with laughter. “You’ve done good work,” she urges me on. “Have some fun.”
I wait for her to disappear before setting my cup down. Father wouldn’t drink before battle. Neither can I. More memories of him fill my mind as I drift through the crowd. I wonder if he would be proud of what I’ve done. The ruler I’ve become.
“I sense something…”
I stop as I stumble into a group of people gathered around Mama Agba. She sits in a colorful tent while Folake generates twinkling lights behind her head. People smile as Mama Agba lifts her chin, peeking out at the crowd through a poorly hidden squint.
“Why, I sense a great and powerful elder has entered my presence!”
Every eye falls on me and my cheeks heat. I try to move along, but others force me into Mama Agba’s tent.
“Come, Elder Amari.” She takes my hand in both her own. “Let me search what the stars have in mind for you!”
I can’t hide my laughter as Mama Agba shakes and shimmies like the false prophets that fill Lagos’s streets. Her hands arc in broad, sweeping motions, dancing around Folake’s rainbow lights. Though she can’t cast real incantations anymore without putting her health at risk, she gives us the next best thing.
“You have great battles ahead.” Mama Agba nods. “Great victories, too! And, oh my … I’m seeing something else!”
“Tell us, Mama Agba!” a divîner demands.
“What is it?” I play along.
“I see … great love.”
She winks at me as someone approaches from behind. I glance up and Tzain’s smile steals the air from my lungs. Jeers ring as he takes my hand, leading me away from the crowd. Na’imah’s soulful voice croons over our heads as we move to the dance floor.
“Òòrùn mi, ìfé mi, èmí mi—”
Khani harmonizes with the Tamer’s rich tones. Together, they sound like songbirds. Tzain laces his fingers with mine and we sway, getting lost in the song. I place my head against his chest, disappearing into the warmth of his arms.
“I’ve missed this.” Tzain dips his chin and kisses the top of my head. He places his hands along my waist, making my skin tingle when his thumbs brush a sliver of bare skin.
“I have, too,” I whisper, closing my eyes. Dancing with him takes me back to the fields of the divîner festival, back when it felt like tomorrow was ours.
I look up at him and he stares at me with a tenderness I don’t deserve. It’s then that I realize I don’t want to spend tonight with prophecies and palm wine. Tonight, I want him.
“What’s wrong?”
I lace my fingers through his and pull him toward the door.
“Come on. Let’s get some air.”
* * *
“WHEN YOU SAID AIR…” Tzain laughs as I push open the door to my quarters. I grin and take him by the hand, stepping into the cool breeze that passes over the balcony. We slip our legs through the bars, dangling our feet over the curved ledge. Staring out at the sanctuary makes something deflate in my chest.
“I’m going to miss this place.” It’s strange to admit after all that’s passed inside these walls. Since the day we arrived, I don’t know if there was a moment I didn’t feel ostracized. But for all that went wrong, this place was still home. It kept us safe. It’s where I found my voice. Where I found the path to my throne.
“There’s been so much—” Tzain brings a fist to his mouth and coughs. “I just want to say I’m proud of you. I don’t think you hear that enough.”
&nb
sp; My hands move before my mind can catch up. I grab the sides of his face, pulling it to mine.
“Ow!” I groan when his chin collides with the bridge of my nose.
Tzain grabs his belly and falls back with laughter. “Skies, my queen. I never pegged you for such an animal!”
“Shut your mouth!” I smack his arm as my ears heat. “How can I lead a battle if I lack the coordination required for one measly kiss?”
Tzain takes my shoulders and guides me down to his chest. “Here,” he murmurs. “Let me help.”
My fingers curl the moment his lips meet mine. I sink into him, tasting the sweet remnants of palm wine. But as he runs his hands through the waves in my hair, a pit of guilt sinks into my stomach. While we sit here, Zélie’s probably floors above. Grief-stricken and alone.
“Where’d you go?” Tzain asks. I blink as he pulls away.
I pick at a hole in his tunic, not wanting to meet his eye. “Do you think Zélie will ever forgive me?”
“If my lips are on yours, can you try not to think about my sister?”
I smile as Tzain touches my cheek. “I’m sorry. I just hate knowing how much I’ve hurt her.”
“She needs time,” Tzain sighs. “Space. But you’re doing the right thing. Not just for her. For Orïsha. The kingdom you’re going to build … it’s something that needs to be fought for, even if she can’t fight anymore.”
He takes my hand and it erases the entire world. My stomach flutters when our lips meet. His stubble scratches my chin as I press into him. I think of how many times I’ve imagined this moment. Imagined being here with him. My pulse races as I slip my fingers under the hem of his tunic, but Tzain stops me, grabbing my wrists.
“Am I doing something wrong?” I ask.
Tzain shakes his head, staring at the lines in my palm. “I don’t want you doing this just because you’re scared.”
“Scared of what?” I pull my hands back.
“Dying.”
He looks the other way and I exhale. That word is a tidal wave, washing away every escape he brings. The battle ahead of us taints the air as we sit back up.
“I’m sorry.” Tzain pinches the bridge of his nose. “I didn’t mean to ruin the moment. But I can’t let you do that. I care about you too much.”
“You have nothing to apologize for.” My heart warms as I press my nose to his cheek. “But you’re wrong. I’m not scared. At least not right now.”
Tzain tilts his head as I put my hands on his cheek, staring into the haven that lies in his warm brown eyes. I think of every moment we’ve had since we first met. The way he fought for me when I was only a princess.
“Tzain, I don’t want to be with you because I’m afraid of dying. I want to be with you because I love you.” I smile. “I feel like I always have.”
With a courage that doesn’t feel like my own, I rise to my feet. My fingers fumble as I remove my tunic and release the band of my skirt. He stares when both fall to the floor.
“Say it again,” he demands.
“Say what?” I ask.
“You said you love me.” He rises to meet me. “Say it again.”
My smile spreads so wide it makes my cheeks hurt.
“I love you.”
“One more time.”
“I love you,” I repeat.
“I don’t think I caught that—”
“Tzain, I love you!” I speak through my laughs, giggling when he lifts me into the air. It feels like I’m floating as he carries me inside and lays me on the bed. He kisses me and every single restraint melts away.
“I love you, too.” His lips brush against mine with every word.
The moment I feel his touch, I pray it never ends.
CHAPTER SIXTY-THREE
ZÉLIE
AS I STAND outside the dining hall doors, I wonder why I bothered to show up. Inside, the halls are filled with drink and song. In the face of Mâzeli’s death, it feels wrong.
It’s hard not to hear his giggle through the crowd. To picture the way he would shimmy up and down the hall. He always lit up when someone cooked súyà for dinner. If he were here with me, he’d probably eat too much and throw up.
Don’t be sad.
I close my eyes, wishing I could take his advice. I know he would want me to walk in. He would hand me a cup of palm wine. We would laugh and dance and he would declare his future as the greatest Reaper to ever live. He was so ignorant of how great he already was.
“You should join them.”
I freeze at the sound of Mama Agba’s voice. As her staff thuds near, my throat closes up. I haven’t seen her since that day in the infirmary. I don’t want to see her now.
“If not for yourself, go for your Reapers.” Her words carry a new rasp. “They are still here, Zélie. They still need you to fight.”
When I don’t react, Mama Agba places herself between me and the door. I have to turn my head away. I still can’t bear to look her in the eye.
“Can we talk?” Her voice shakes. “I have a special bench in the gardens.”
“I don’t care about anything you have to say.”
“Zélie, I am sorry.” Tears spill between the wrinkles in her cheeks. I hate how much it hurts to see her in pain. How much I want to take it away.
“There was no saving him,” she pleads. “Without a sacrifice to bind your connection, you both would have died. I need you to understand—”
“I understand.” I step away. “I know why you did what you did. But I know I could’ve saved him. I can’t forgive you for taking away that chance.”
“Zélie, please—”
I ignore the tightness in my chest as I turn my back on her.
“I should’ve died that day,” I say. “Just pretend that I did.”
Mama Agba sobs and it hits me in the heart. I’ve never heard her cry like that.
I nearly run away from her tears as I move up the stairs toward my quarters. Leaving my room was a mistake. There’s nothing for me out here.
“You’re back.”
I look up to find Roën sitting outside my bedroom door. Two thick bags hang from his shoulders, clinking as he rises. He gestures for me to grab the smaller one.
“Let’s go,” he says.
I roll my eyes and brush past him. “I’m going to bed.”
“No you’re not.” He follows me into my room. “I need your help.”
“Roën, please. Not tonight,” I beg.
“You get to ask for my help whenever you want, but the moment I need something in return, you’re too tired?”
I glare at him and he smirks. “That’s what I thought.”
I frown as he slides the smaller bag over my shoulder. “Will you at least tell me where we’re going?”
“Do you know what Zïtsōl means in my tongue?” He tightens the bag’s strap before marching off. “‘Beautiful girl who asks far too many questions.’”
* * *
HOURS PASS IN SILENCE as we ride on the back of Roën’s cheetanaire. The jungle humidity leaves us first, followed by the mountain rock. We gallop across the Opeoluwa Plains, heading north from the sanctuary. I hook my chin over Roën’s shoulder, lifting my face to the biting winds.
“Can you please tell me what we’re doing?” I yell.
“I see no point,” he shouts back.
“Can you at least tell me if it’s legal?”
“Zïtsōl, I never ask you all these silly questions.”
I roll my eyes and bury my face into his back. Forget it. It doesn’t really matter.
The farther away we get from the sanctuary, the better I can inhale. Mâzeli’s absence doesn’t strangle every breath. Beyond those walls, I can think of more than his death.
As we ride, I savor the break, not knowing when it will come back. I wonder if Roën always feels like this, unshackled from the weight of the world. From all those he’s lost.
“Here we go.”
I lift my head as Roën pulls on the reins of his cheeta
naire. We stop along a thin stretch of the coast, meters before a rugged shore. Black waves crash against the shallow bluffs, foaming over the smooth and glassy rocks. The silver moon casts a path down the rippling water, beckoning me to come in.
“What’s going on?”
Roën takes both bags and walks across the shore, guided by the rays above. A wind-powered boat sits anchored against the coast, filled with more supplies.
“How far are we going?”
“Again with the questions.” Roën clicks his tongue. “It doesn’t matter. Get in.”
Though I don’t trust him, the prospect of the sea is far too great to pass up. The last time I saw the shore, we were racing from Zaria’s sands. My body itches to float above the rocking water. It only takes a few moments before we’re off. The boat’s hum intertwines with the crashing waves as we sail. I close my eyes and inhale the salt-filled air. I forgot how much I missed the sea. How close it made me feel to Baba.
Roën steers us until the coast is only a speck on the horizon. The wind turbine shudders as it comes to a stop. He throws the anchor overboard before removing his shirt and kicking off his pants.
“Is this a ploy to get me naked?” I ask.
“Zïtsōl, we both know I don’t need ploys for that.”
He unzips the smaller of the two bags and pulls out two strange-looking masks. As he works, I remove my tunic, leaving only the wrap fastened around my chest.
“Listen closely.” Roën fastens the first mask around my head. “Bite down. Breathe in. Don’t let go of my hand.”
I stay still as he tightens the straps, running my tongue over the built-in mouth guard. It takes a few breaths before the oxygen begins flowing. The stale air dries my throat.
“Do everything I do,” Roën continues before fitting the second mask over his head. “There’s no time to hesitate.”
Before I can ask a single question, he pulls his mask over his face. With a grunt, he throws one bag overboard and stretches out his hand. I don’t get a chance to brace myself before we jump in.