by Tomi Adeyemi
The sight of Inan is like a fist driving through my gut. It knocks the wind from my chest as he raises his hands in surrender, brown lips turning into a frown.
“It’s Mother,” his voice shakes. “Amari, if you knew the things she’s done—”
“What about what you’ve done?” I scramble to my feet. “Do I look foolish enough to fall for your tricks again? How dare you summon me after attacking our base!”
“Look at me!” Inan storms forward. “Look into my eyes! If I had ordered that attack, why would I have gone out to meet you? Why would I waste time talking to Zélie if I knew Mother was about to turn that land into a war zone?”
I open my mouth, but his words force me to pause. He looked just as confused as I was when we first heard the sanctuary’s horns.
I thought it was all part of his act.
“I know you can’t trust me.” Inan shakes his head. “I know ‘I’m sorry’ will never be enough. But being queen means you don’t get to rule by your emotions.”
I narrow my eyes. “Why did you bring me here?”
“You win.” Inan’s hands go limp. “I concede. I can’t keep fighting knowing what I know. I don’t want any part in this war.”
What’s going on? My mouth falls open as my mind spins. I can’t believe a word he speaks, but real pain shines in his eyes.
“You’d really give up the throne?” I ask.
He winces, as if the very word is a curse. “For the good of Orïsha, I’d give up anything.”
I clench my jaw, legs shaking as I step back. I don’t know what happened, but I know he speaks the truth. Sacrificing for the good of Orïsha is all my brother knows how to do.
But when he holds out his hand, I think of Zélie’s father. Of her battered body sobbing over Mâzeli’s corpse. This is how Inan gets in. How he always wins.
He’s gotten so good at lying he doesn’t even know when he’s lying to himself.
“Let me go.”
“Amari, please!” Inan chokes out the words. “Everything that’s happened … it started with Mother. But it can end with us!”
“This kingdom doesn’t stand a chance of surviving until you and Mother are gone for good.” I cross my arms. “I don’t need you to win this war.”
“Yes you do.” He brings his hands to his gut, gritting his teeth with pain. “You’ll never beat her. You can’t. For Mother, no sacrifice is too great.”
“I will win,” I growl. “And when I do, I will make up for everything our family has done wrong. I will be Orïsha’s greatest queen. I will change the entire kingdom!”
I ball my fists, chest heaving up and down. “This is the last time I’ll ask. Let me go. Now.”
Inan lowers his head and it’s like he shrinks before my eyes. The sight of him makes my throat tight. I look away before I start to cry.
“I never wanted it to be this way.”
I close my eyes as the dreamscape fades.
“Neither did I.”
* * *
WITH A GASP, I shoot up, clutching Tzain’s agbada against my bare skin. He snores by my side. I lie in my quarters again.
My heart thrashes in my chest as Inan’s words run through my mind. You’ll never beat her. For Mother, no sacrifice is too great.
“You’re wrong,” I whisper under my breath. They both are. Victory hangs just beyond my fingertips. It’s so close, I can taste it. I just have to push harder. Be bolder. Outsmart every angle.
To beat them, I have to be ruthless.
I have to be willing to fight like Mother.
I move slowly as I slip out of bed, not wanting to wake Tzain. I throw an old tunic over my head and enter the hall, my footsteps echoing in the silence as I run up the stairs.
Mother and Inan were right to use those villagers as shields. Even if word got out about their location, their presence ties our hands. But if those villagers were out of the way … if they weren’t a factor at all …
The new plan takes shape in my mind as I bang on Jahi’s door. A curse bleeds through before it creaks open.
The Winder squints at me through the hall’s lantern light. “We better be under attack.”
“It’s about Ibadan. We need to adjust our plan.”
Jahi steps back, opening his door. “Are the other elders coming?”
“No.” I step into his quarters, picturing Inan’s face. “They have their plan. This one stays between us.”
CHAPTER SIXTY-SEVEN
AMARI
AFTER FOUR DAYS of tunneling through the mountains outside of Ibadan, our entry point finally opens up. Kâmarū steps away from the eroding stone, revealing the glistening water that fills the underground caves. As it ripples below, my stomach turns to rock. The other elders look to me, waiting for my command.
“Are they in there?” I turn to Dakarai. Behind us, he whispers his incantation, summoning a swatch of stars between his palms. Translucent images of the different villagers in their pyramid ahérés fade in and out between his hands.
The cave walls close in with every scene he narrows in on: the children swimming in the lake; the father and daughter preparing the dinner as the sun goes down; the line of people grabbing buckets of water from the village well.
Each innocent villager feels like a mine on the battlefield.
“There they are.” I grab Tzain’s arm as a translucent image of Mother and Inan appears between Dakarai’s hands. Though the image is blurry from outside Ibadan’s mountain range, I know their silhouettes.
They sit in a pyramid ahéré surrounded by military officials. It feels strange to watch them from afar. They’re completely ignorant of what is about to come.
“We don’t have long.” My voice echoes against the cramped cave walls. “The soldiers patrolling the village change guard at sunrise. Once Nâo locates the path to Ibadan’s lakes, we’ll have to move fast to strike during their shift.”
“Let’s do this.” Nâo slides her blue helmet over her shaved head. “I’m ready. Who’s diving with me?”
Roën rises in the back of the group, no emotion on his face. Once we’re in, he’s our best chance of locating Inan’s hiding place.
“I’ll go, too,” Tzain offers. “I know the village. I can help find them.”
“Whoever goes with Roën will be stuck in Ibadan until Nâo comes back for us.” I shake my head. “We need someone with magic.”
“I’ll go.”
I have to blink, not believing my eyes when Zélie raises her hand. She hasn’t said two words to me all week. I’m surprised she’s even here.
“I remember the village,” she says. “We’ll locate the king and queen while you all make your way in.”
“That works,” I nod to her, but she doesn’t meet my eye. “Everyone else, rest up, but be ready to move. As soon as Nâo comes back for us, we leave to finish this war.”
The elders disperse in the little space we have. Only Jahi lingers behind.
“What about us?” He lowers his voice, nodding his head at Imani.
“Wait till everyone’s asleep,” I whisper. “Then head for the mountains.”
A bitter taste fills my tongue when Jahi turns to relay my instructions to Imani. The Cancer’s face falls as he whispers, but she glances at me and nods.
Relax, Amari, I coach myself. It won’t come to that. We can beat Mother and Inan. We just have to stick to the plan.
I walk up to Zélie; her lips press into a tight line as she puts on her armor.
“Thank you.” I smile. “You didn’t have to volunteer.”
“I’m not going to let my brother kill himself just so you can sit on your precious throne.”
She brushes past my shoulder, not even seeing how deep her hatred cuts. Zélie joins Nâo as the Tider gives Khani a kiss. The two hug before Nâo steps forward.
The Tider moves in front of the entry point and the stretches her palms out toward the water as an incantation leaves her mouth.
“Èyà omi, omi sí fún mi—
”
Tider blue light glows around her slender fingers, making the water foam as it twists into the air. Nâo jumps into the empty path she creates, motioning for the others to follow.
Roën pockets his blade, not even sparing Zélie a second glance as he jumps in. But Zélie hesitates in front of the entry point. Tzain lays a hand on her shoulder.
“Are you sure you don’t want me to go?” he asks.
“It’s okay.” She rests her hand above his. “I’m strong enough to finish this war.”
Tzain wraps her in his arms, squeezing tight before letting her go. I move to his side as Zélie jumps in, landing beside Nâo and Roën.
“Èyà omi, omi sí fún mi—”
Nâo continues her chant, manipulating the water around them. It closes above their heads, trapping them in a pocket of air that allows them to move freely through the underground lakes. Tzain frowns as he watches his sister walk away. His body tenses with each step she takes.
“You really think they can do this?” he asks, and I force myself to nod.
“They have to,” I say. “They’re our strongest.”
But my nails dig into my palms as they disappear from our sight.
I know what I must do if they can’t.
CHAPTER SIXTY-EIGHT
INAN
AS WE SIT in the pyramid ahéré, my hand shakes around the bronze piece. With every second that ticks by, I feel the weight of the lives that hang in the balance. Mother sits across from me, no sign of all the blood that coats her hands. There’s no trace of guilt on her face. If anything, she holds back a smile.
“Your Majesty, we’ve received word from the palace.” General Fa’izah hands me a rolled parchment. “The Iyika are nearing Lagos’s borders.”
“Are our soldiers in position?” Mother asks.
“Every single one.”
“Good.” She smiles at the officers around the table. When her eyes land on Ojore, the ache erupts in my core. I can’t look away from the burns on his neck. Burns she caused.
I don’t know how she can smile at him. Speak to him. Breathe near him. I haven’t been able to look him in the eye since learning the truth.
I don’t know when I’ll be able to.
“I need some air.” I rise, avoiding Ojore’s gaze as I make my way toward the door.
“Inan, we need to stay in here,” Mother calls after me. “The Iyika could strike at any moment—”
“I’ll be fine,” I cut her off. I don’t give her another chance to respond.
The moment I get outside, I break into a sprint. The mountain breeze chills the sweat on my skin. I wheeze as I try to take it all in. But when I hear the shout of Mother calling after me, I slip into the iron ahéré of Ibadan’s military fortress, locking the door before she can see where I’ve gone.
Distance does nothing to alleviate the weight of her crimes. To erase the blood that my family has spilled. My boots drag against the metal floors as I think of the carnage yet to come. How many people must die to protect a stolen throne? How many of them have to be maji?
I have to stop this.
I shake my head, pacing the empty room. It doesn’t matter if Amari won’t take my concession. I have to end this fight on my own.
I clench my fist as the lock clicks and the door handle groans behind me.
“Mother, it’s over—”
My voice stops at the sight of Ojore in the doorframe. He stares at me with an empty expression.
“I-I thought you were Mother.”
The door groans shut in our silence. He steps forward and the lantern light spills across the burns on his neck. I look away as nausea rises in my throat.
“We need to call off the attack.” I stare at the ground. “I was wrong. This war … we’re taking things too far.”
“Why won’t you look at me?”
The ice in his voice freezes me in place. Hairs rise on the nape of my neck as he takes a step toward me.
“You don’t have to feel bad, you know,” his voice drops to a whisper. “Your mother clearly doesn’t, and she’s known the truth for years.”
A rock settles in my throat as I look up. Ojore’s lips curl back into a sinister snarl. I don’t recognize the person who stands before me. It’s as if the Ojore I know is no longer there.
“I couldn’t stay here when the fight was in Lagos,” he says. “I couldn’t leave my soldiers to finish this war themselves. I was coming to tell you. I didn’t expect to walk in on you and your mother celebrating the death of my family.”
The tears trapped in his throat are more painful than Father’s sword to the gut. I don’t know what to say. The color drains from my face.
“It was wrong.” I shake my head. “She was wrong. That’s why I’m calling this off. Th-that’s why I want to end this war!”
But as Ojore stares into the distance, I feel my words bouncing off deaf ears. “Do you know the things I’ve done for your family?” Tears well in his eyes. “The maji I’ve killed?”
“I know…” I put a hand on his shoulder. “Believe me, I know.”
Zélie’s face fills my mind and I picture the life she could’ve had. The life she should have had. If things were different, she might still live in these mountains with her family. The Raid never would’ve broken her home. She wouldn’t have made the mistake of trusting me. She wouldn’t have the scars on her back.
“All these years, I thought the maji were the enemy,” Ojore says. “I blamed them. I hated them. And it was her all along!”
His voice turns dark and something shifts behind his eyes. He straightens up, hatred transformed to a new resolution. My blood runs cold when he removes his sword.
“I’ll kill her,” he whispers under his breath. “I’ll kill her before she kills anyone else.”
“Ojore, wait.” I hold up my hands, positioning myself between him and the door. “Mother will answer for her crimes, I promise. But right now there are lives at stake.”
“Move.”
My throat dries as he raises his sword to my neck.
“Move,” he growls. “Or I’ll make you move!”
I stare at the sword in his hand before looking at him. There’s no waver in his stance. No sign that he’ll give me a chance.
“Ojore, this isn’t the way.”
“I won’t ask you again.”
As soon as the blue light sparks in my hand, Ojore strikes.
I dive to avoid his blade, my magic extinguishing like a flame. Ojore doesn’t hesitate before attacking again. I lunge as his sword collides with the metal wall.
“I don’t want to hurt you!” I shout, but a blind fury fills his eyes. I can’t hold back.
I pull a dagger from my belt, throwing it at his thigh. But with a wave of his hand, the dagger halts in midair.
Dark green ashê surrounds Ojore’s fingers as the dagger hangs between us.
CHAPTER SIXTY-NINE
ZÉLIE
“ÈYÀ OMI, OMI sí fún mi—”
Nâo continues to chant as the hours tick by. Her melodic voice weaves over the constant pulse of flowing water, making her magic form a protective barrier around us. I inhale the algae-scented air as we move meter by meter, lanterns at our hips lighting the way.
“It doesn’t feel real.” Nâo’s hands fall to her sides as the wall of water solidifies. The tunnel darkens the deeper we go, bringing us closer to Ibadan’s lakeshores. “It’s actually happening. We’re bringing this war to an end.”
I try to meet her smile with one of my own, but it hurts to pretend. The victory we’ve been fighting for is mere moments away, yet I haven’t felt this empty since Baba died.
One more fight. I close my eyes. One more fight and I can leave this all behind. At least when this war is won, Tzain will be safe. Baba and Mâzeli will have died for something. And I …
I don’t know how to finish the thought. Being this close to Roën makes my chest tight. But when this is over, I’ll be free of him. I’ll be free of every
ounce of pain and guilt.
“Z, we’re okay, right?” Nâo glances back at my silence. “No one blames you for wanting to run. We all lost something when Mâzeli died.”
Don’t be sad.
The boy’s large ears fill my mind, another puncture to my heart. If he were here, he’d be running through the underground caves. He’d be itching to reach Ibadan’s shores and end this war.
“I know we let you down,” Nâo sighs. “But we need you. No matter what happens, you’re still our soldier.”
“You should know that your soldier is a coward,” Roën retorts at our backs. “All Zïtsōl wants is to run away. Don’t expect her to fight for you when this is over.”
My jaw clenches at Roën’s snark as I turn. He meets my glare with a hollow smirk as he speaks.
“What?” he challenges. “Am I wrong?”
I narrow my eyes and get in his face. “What? I hurt your feelings and now you want to play games?”
“I just want her to know the truth.” Roën shrugs. “I seem to be the only one who can see right through you.”
Nâo slows to a stop, eyes flitting between the two of us. “Do you need to talk—”
“Keep walking,” I bark. “Roën just wants attention.”
I turn on my heel, putting my hands to my ears as he continues to shout.
“These idiots bleed for you. They die for you. And all you want is to run away and lick your scars—”
“What right do you have?” I whip around. “You left your home!”
“Because I had nothing!” he yells at me. “I had no one. You’re going to win and you still have so many of the people you love! I don’t feel sorry for you. Stop feeling sorry for yourself!”
My throat burns as I come to a stop, inhaling a shaking breath. The air tastes strange on my tongue. The cave walls start to close in.
“You don’t get to judge me,” I whisper. “I didn’t ask for any of this!”
“No one ever asks, but you’re here. You’re here when so many people aren’t!” Roën grabs his head as if he could pull out his hair. “You survived the Raid. The guards. You survived the wrath of a king. You’re not a victim, Zélie. You’re a survivor! Stop running away!”