Children of Virtue and Vengeance Read online

  “If I’m using blood magic by design, then I just need control,” I say. “We can fix that if you teach me an incantation!”

  Zélie’s nostrils flare and she steps back. Her shoulders grow tense. “Yoruba is sacred to our people. It’s not just something you can learn.”

  “This is bigger than that.” I wave my hand. “For skies’ sake, we’re at war—”

  “Our magic isn’t about the war!” Zélie shouts. “Our incantations are the history of our people. They’re the very thing your father tried to destroy!” Her chest heaves up and down and she shakes her head. “Tîtáns have already stolen our magic. You can’t steal this, too.”

  “Steal?” I tilt my head. “Zélie, what are you talking about? How else am I supposed to learn control?”

  “You don’t need control,” she says. “You don’t need to use your magic at all!”

  “If I don’t have my own power, who am I supposed to count on?” I extend my arms. “It took less than five minutes with the Iyika for you to stab me in the back!”

  “Stab you in the ba—” Zélie stops, snorting to herself. “So that’s what this foolishness is about. After everything he’s done, you still want to trust Inan.”

  My cheeks heat and I turn away, hugging myself. I know there’s no way to explain it to her, but I know my brother’s heart. If he was offering that food, it had to be real. There was a chance for us to end this war, yet she destroyed it without a second thought.

  “My plans haven’t changed,” Zélie says. “I still want to see you on Orïsha’s throne. But I won’t apologize because I’m no longer stupid enough to believe your brother’s lies.”

  A hard silence settles between us, chilling the jungle air. I want to trust Zélie, but deep down I know our interests aren’t aligned. At the end of the day, Inan is my blood. To her, he’s just the bastard who broke her heart.

  I can’t leave this fight to Zélie anymore than I can leave it to Ramaya. I need my own power if I’m going to win this war.

  “I wouldn’t ask if there was another way,” I sigh. “But my mother is bringing buildings down on our heads. I can’t keep relying on my sword. It’s your duty to fight for the maji, but as queen, I’m responsible for all of them. I have to take care of the kosidán who’re running scared. The tîtán soldiers Mother’s sucking the very life from. I’m responsible for the maji who hate my guts, and I can’t help anyone until I have power of my own.”

  “Amari, no.” Zélie steps forward, softening her tone. “This isn’t all on you. It’s not your job to save Orïsha.”

  “If I don’t, who will?” I ask. “You said it yourself—you don’t trust Inan to stick to his word.”

  I rub my tired eyes, trying to keep my pain locked inside. I think of every life my actions have ruined. Every person who’s died because I’m not sitting on Orïsha’s throne.

  “I’m the only person fighting for all sides. I can’t do that without my magic. If you don’t want to help me … fine. I’ll find someone who will.”

  I start to walk away, but Zélie grabs my arm. My eyes widen as her shoulders slump and she exhales a long breath.

  “You’ll help me?” I ask.

  “On one condition,” she says. “If I’m going to teach you an incantation, you have to use it against tîtáns. Not maji.”

  I nod, understanding the weight of her words. “I promise. I’ll only use this against Mother and her forces.”

  Zélie’s feet drag as we take position, but she raises her arms.

  “Okay.” She positions my hands. “Square your legs and repeat after me.”

  CHAPTER TWENTY-FIVE

  ZÉLIE

  THE NEXT MORNING, it’s a struggle to keep my eyes open. Amari made us train all night. We didn’t get back to the sanctuary until sunrise. But as the other two Reapers in my clan prepare me for the elder ascension, I fight the urge to escape the safety of the sanctuary’s walls. I just wanted to find a way to win this war.

  I’m not ready to be an elder.

  “Grab the clean water,” Bimpe, the older of the two girls, instructs. The young Reapers flutter around me in ill-fitting sêntaro robes. Bimpe stands so tall, the hem ends at her knees. Patches of discoloration circle her eyes and mouth, creating a beautiful pattern on her brown skin.

  Beside her, Mári swims in the thick black robes, still short at the tender age of thirteen. Whenever she smiles up at me, I see the adorable gap between her front teeth.

  Their presence warms the weathered walls of the Reaper Temple, a sacred site. Painted tiles create a mosaic over our heads, purple and red swirls depicting the Reaper elders of the past. Tear-shaped lanterns hang from the domed ceilings, lavender light bleeding through their tinted glass. I stare up at them as Bimpe scrubs me from head to toe, replacing the dirt along my skin with lemon-scented oils.

  “Have you thought about your Second?” Mári whispers, ignoring Bimpe’s glare. She pulls down her hood, revealing her two large buns. “Because if you haven’t—”

  Mári cringes when Bimpe slaps the back of her head.

  “Jagunjagun, please ignore her,” Bimpe says. “She knows not to bother you before your ascension.”

  I hide my laughter as Mári sticks out her tongue. When Bimpe walks away to grab a comb, Mári leans in close.

  “I can make four animations.”

  “Four?” I raise my brows. “That’s impressive.”

  “With your training, I’ll learn to make more,” she whispers. “Maybe ones even bigger than Mâzeli’s!”

  She snaps her mouth shut when Bimpe returns, but we exchange knowing smiles. I stay quiet as Bimpe works the iron comb through my hair. Mári slides thick gold rings onto my fingers. When I’m clean, they help me into a billowing red skirt, its train so long it glides across the stone floor. Bimpe grabs a matching swatch of deep red silk.

  “Almost done,” she says.

  I try to ignore the way my scars lie on full display as they drape the fabric over my chest. They tie a thick bow in back to hide the horrible marks.

  “These symbols,” Mári breathes, hands hovering over the golden tattoos that start at the base of my neck. “Should we cover them?”

  “Not completely,” Bimpe says. “They’re a part of her.”

  I bow my head as Bimpe takes the traditional collar away and fastens a gold band around my neck. Lines of glittering beads spill from the collar, falling over my chest and down my back. They brush the leather sandals strapped to my feet. With the beaded headdress they place along my coils, I look like Mama.

  Like Oya come to life.

  “Our work is finished.” Bimpe bows, an action Mári mimics.

  “You look incredible!” Her brown eyes shine. “Much prettier than Mâzeli!”

  “Thank you.” I smile as they bow again. But when they walk out the door, all the tightness returns to my chest.

  The Reaper Temple sits at the top of the third mountain, yet I can hear the chatter of all the maji waiting at its base. I don’t know how I’m supposed to protect an entire clan when I couldn’t protect Baba. I can barely protect myself.

  The ships I watched from Roën’s mercenary den sail through my mind as I sit back down. I know being an elder will help me take out Inan, but with each passing day, the freedom I crave seems to slip further and further away.

  “Wow.”

  I turn to find Tzain standing in the doorframe. He lets out a low whistle, a dazed smile on his face.

  “It’s like you’re getting married.”

  “I basically am.” I sink into his hug. “But instead of tying my life to one person, I’m shackling myself to an entire clan.”

  “Ay, come on now. Before the Raid you wouldn’t shut up about joining the other Reapers.”

  “I was just a child. But now…” My voice trails off and I close my eyes, not knowing what to say.

  “Too much has passed?” he asks.

  “Too much has been taken away.”

  Silence descends as I sit b
ack down, thinking of everything and everyone we’ve lost. Magic used to be the thing that made me feel most alive, but now it’s impossible to wield it without thinking of everyone who’s died.

  I know I have no choice; I can’t defeat Inan without the Iyika’s help. But to become an elder and take on this sacred role?

  It just feels wrong.

  “You’re scared.” Tzain kneels in front of me. “But there’s no one better for this job. Say what you want, but I remember the way your eyes lit up after you and Mama watched that Reaper elder ascend.”

  The memory he speaks of comes flooding back in. I see Mama’s beautiful dark skin; her crown of thick white hair.

  The last time a new Reaper elder was chosen, we traveled all the way to Lokoja to witness his ascension. Mama squeezed my hand as the ritual started. Her palms always smelled of coconut oil.

  I remember holding my breath when the ascension site lit up with a deep purple light, the sign of Oya’s presence. Black smoke filled the ritual grounds, obscuring the new elder from our view.

  “What’s happening?” I whispered.

  “His ìsípayá,” she whispered back. “Every clan elder receives a piece of their god’s wisdom when they ascend. The prophecy is meant to help them lead their clans.”

  “I want an ìsípayá!” I said, and Mama laughed.

  “Me too.” She held me tight. “One day we might get one for ourselves.”

  I didn’t know what it meant to be an elder back then. I just knew that whatever Mama wanted, I had to have.

  “You can do this.” Tzain helps me to my feet. “I know it. You just need to prove it to yourself.”

  I nod and exhale a deep breath, looking back to the temple door.

  “Okay,” I say. “Let’s go.”

  * * *

  A HUSH FALLS over the crowd of maji as Mama Agba steps into the stone circle at the base of the third mountain. Almost eighty members of the Iyika watch from the stone’s borders, accompanied by the divîners in their clan. Mama Agba looks like a goddess in a tall, silver headwrap and matching patterned cloak. The shining silk glides behind her as she walks to the center of the circle, white paint highlighting her brow and tracing her cheekbone.

  “The gods are smiling today,” she addresses the crowd. “Your ancestors smile as well. Each time a new elder rises to lead their clan, we breathe life into what our enemies tried to destroy!”

  Cheers echo throughout the crowd and I have to inhale to take it all in. It’s a sight I wish I could carry to Baba’s grave. For the first time, his death feels like it means something.

  “Before the Raid, the role of elder was reserved for the most powerful maji in a clan,” Mama Agba continues. “If one believed that title belonged to them, they had the right to challenge for the chance to prove it. Alternatively, an elder could recognize a new power and step aside. It has been brought to my attention that is what one of you would like to do now.”

  Mama Agba clasps her hands together and turns to the three Reapers gathered in the far corner. Though it’s the smallest clan at the sanctuary, seeing that many Reapers in one place makes my throat tight. A few moons ago, there were no Reapers in Orïsha at all.

  “Mâzeli Adesanya,” Mama Agba declares. “Elder of the Reaper clan. You are faced with a challenger. Do you want to concede or accept?”

  Mâzeli puffs out his chest as he walks across the bloodstone. A black silk robe hangs off his shoulders, its dark base accented with Reaper purples.

  “I happily concede.” He bows in my direction. “Who else could lead the Reapers than the Soldier of Death herself?”

  His call makes hollers erupt throughout the mountain. The shouts should bolster me, but instead sweat gathers along my temples. It feels like the world presses down on my shoulders as I rise. Every footstep I take across the bloodstone stretches into an eternity.

  I think of my fantasy of sailing away. I feel the burn of my scars. But as I meet Mama Agba in the center, I can’t deny the hunger in my heart.

  “Zélie Adebola.” Mama Agba’s voice thickens with emotion as I kneel before her. Her mahogany eyes sparkle with tears; I have to dig my nails into my palm to keep my own in.

  “Ṣé o gba àwọn ènìyàn wònyí gégé bí ara rẹ? Ṣé ìwọ yóò lo gbogbo agbára rẹ láti dábòbò wón ni gbogbo ònà?”

  Do you accept these people as your own?

  Will you use your strength to protect them at all cost?

  The burden of her questions expands in my chest as I look to the Reapers gathered around Mâzeli. Bimpe watches with fingers pressed to her lips. Mári frantically waves her hand, almost immune to the gravity of the moment. Though I’ve only known them for a few hours, they already feel like blood. Like home. Being around them feels more right than anything has felt in years.

  “What do you say?” Mama Agba asks.

  I square my shoulders and nod. For the first time since the Raid, I see our potential. The beauty in what we could become.

  “Mo gbà. Mà á se é.” My throat tightens with the weight of my vow. “I will protect these Reapers with everything I have.”

  Mama Agba wipes the single tear that falls from her eye before dipping her thumb into a canister of glittering purple pigment. She paints a crescent along my forehead and a sharp line along my jaw. The entire mountain is silent as she finishes her blessing with an intricate design over my left eye. I keep still as she surrounds my feet with offerings of cinnamon and sweetgrass.

  “I know your parents are proud.” She kisses my forehead. “As am I.”

  I smile, thinking of what they would say if they were here now. Mama would’ve become the youngest Reaper elder in history. Now that honor falls to me.

  “Your hand, my child.”

  I extend my palm and she pulls out a black dagger.

  “Let your vow be recorded in blood,” she declares. “Before your people. Before your gods!”

  Mama Agba makes a clean cut across my palm and slams my hand into the center of the circle. I lurch forward as the stone lights up. Magic heats the air around me as more than blood is pulled from my form.

  Gasps echo throughout the crowd as my hand bonds to the stone surface. The purple light spreads like the threads of a giant spiderweb. Embers crackle around my head. Veins bulge against my skin.

  With a flash, the light beneath me explodes in clouds of purple smoke. The fog is so thick that even Mama Agba disappears. The smoke swallows all sound.

  The rest of the mountain fades away as my vision blacks out. My tattoos hum against my neck.

  Then Oya lights up the dark.

  My gods …

  No matter how many times I witness her power, it always steals the air from my throat. I can’t breathe as Oya swirls before me, larger than life itself. Her skirts spin in a brilliant hurricane of red. A deep purple light glows around her obsidian skin. A teardrop of ashê breaks from her hand, glowing brighter as it falls through the blackness.

  Every muscle in my body tenses as I prepare for her gift, the sacred wisdom only an ìsípayá can give. It was a Tamer’s ìsípayá that led to the massive ryders we use today. A Reaper’s ìsípayá that gave birth to the first animations. The same hunger I had as a child consumes me now as I open my hands, waiting for mine.

  The teardrop of ashê floats into my palms and my eyes light with its purple glow. My skin heats as the ìsípayá takes hold.

  It starts with a purple ribbon of light, spinning from my chest like a thread. A ribbon of gold appears next, twisting out of the blackness. Tangerines and emeralds join the fold, each light weaving themselves together. They intertwine like the roots of a mammoth tree, creating a power so great it roars like a lionaire.

  Questions fill my mind as I extend my hand, reaching out to touch the spinning rainbow of magic. But as my fingers approach its searing heat, the ribbons of light disappear.

  I snap back into the present.

  “Ugh!” I wheeze, pitching forward onto my knees. I hold up my shaki
ng palm, but any sign of Mama Agba’s cut is gone.

  When the smoke clears, Mama Agba extends her hand. Pride shines through her brown eyes as she helps me to my feet.

  The rainbow of my ìsípayá fills my mind as Mama Agba turns me to face the crowd. When she raises up my arm, my heart sings as the entire mountain roars.

  CHAPTER TWENTY-SIX

  INAN

  AS THE SUN sets on Lagos, I finally decide how to respond to the Iyika’s attack on our rations. Right now we’re sitting ducks, but if I could locate their camp, we could launch our own offense.

  If I don’t free Lagos from their grasp, we won’t have a shot at winning this war. At this rate, they’ll storm our broken walls or let us starve to death.

  I have to act now. Before it’s too late.

  I wait until night falls. Until the sliver of candlelight turns to blackness outside Father’s door. By the time all falls quiet in the palace, a half-moon hangs in the smoke-filled sky.

  I crawl out of bed, replacing my embroidered robe with a tattered kaftan. A stolen canister of black pigment sits under my pillow. I pull it out and cover the white streak in my hair.

  Hopefully this is enough. I shift, inspecting my reflection in Father’s mirror. The last time I wore something so simple, I was with my sister and Zélie in the divîner camp. It all seems so far away, it feels like it never happened at all. Back then I was only a prince. Zélie wasn’t the Soldier of Death.

  This is only the beginning! Raifa’s words terrorize my thoughts. All of Lagos will burn!

  If I don’t find a way to stop the Iyika, the fall of Orïsha will be my fault.

  I crack open my window, inspecting the drop from above. Father’s quarters sit on the fifth floor of the palace, but a series of balconies and railings stand below. I climb onto the ledge, holding the windowsill for support. If I time it just right …

  “You’d better be sneaking out to meet a girl.”

  I jump at the deep voice, nearly tumbling from the windowsill. Ojore stands in my doorway, arms crossed with a sly smile on his face.

  “If you are, I’ll look the other way,” he says. “You could use a nice lay.”