Children of Virtue and Vengeance Page 7

  “Hold up.” Zélie raises a hand, forcing us to stop. The branches rattle ahead. Zélie reaches for her staff.

  My pulse spikes as the footsteps draw near. Their approaching shadows loom large. But when the three bodies round the corner, my heart breaks.

  The shadows belong to children.

  “Arábìnrin, do you have any food?” A young maji steps forward, the tallest of the trio. Their clothes are weathered and worn. I don’t know if they’re related, or only linked by their white hair.

  Zélie reaches for her leather bag, but I beat her to the punch. I remove a strip of dried hyenaire meat from my knapsack. I can always hunt for more.

  “Thank you, Ìyáawa.” The girl smiles as she splits the meat between the three of them. I wonder if it was the rule of Father or Mother that left them alone on this path. Watching them walk away forces me back into the war, to our army waiting to be liberated meters below. Every day I don’t bring this fight to an end, my people suffer.

  Inan or not, I have to bring my mother down and take that throne.

  “There it is.” Zélie crouches along the cliff, the valley sixty meters below revealing our target. Gusau’s fortress matches Gombe’s in size, an iron prison along the farming town’s borders. Surrounded by fields of cassava plants, the fortress casts a shadow over its guards. Soldiers patrol every meter of the torch-lit tower, flickering flames lighting their stern faces.

  “Open the gates!” a guard shouts. My throat goes dry as the torch flames pass over his golden armor. I don’t need to see beneath his helmet to know a white streak runs through his hair.

  I tuck my own streak away as I count the other two tîtáns in their patrol. I wonder if any of them are as powerful as my mother.

  “Look.” Zélie points to a panthenaire-pulled caravan as it passes below our cliff. When it docks, chained maji are forced out. Their heads hang as they pass through the barred doors.

  My stomach churns as I take in the burns and bruises along the maji’s skin. Each broken face hits me with another wave of guilt. If I were queen, these people would be free. We’d be working together to build the Orïsha of my dreams.

  “Magic’s been back all of five minutes, and your family’s already rounding us up.” Zélie smacks her lips. The resentment in her voice makes my stomach tight.

  “Mother works fast,” I say. “That’s why we need to work faster.”

  I know she hears the name that I do not speak, but I don’t care what she believes. I know my brother; if he’s alive, there’s no way he would sanction this. He’s been through too much to fight like Father.

  We both have.

  “Let’s stake them out,” I decide. “Learn their schedules and find the optimal time to attack. With all the maji raids, they’ve got to have more than they can manage. If we can free the maji, we’ll have the start of our own army.”

  “Are you sure we’re strong enough?” Tzain asks. “When we stormed Gombe, we had Kenyon and my agbön friends to back us up.”

  “You also weren’t at war.” A voice rings from behind. “This time, the military’s prepared.”

  My blade cuts through the air and Zélie whips out her staff. But when the speaker emerges from the bushes, her hands fall limp.

  “Roën?” Zélie steps back as the mercenary finishes his ascent up the dirt trail. He leans against a tree, moonlight passing over a new bruise on his cheek.

  “Come on, Zïtsōl,” he says. “Did you really think getting rid of me was going to be that easy?”

  “What in the skies are you doing here?” I charge forward, teeth clenching as I scan the forest. “How’d you find us? Who sent you? Where are the rest of your men?”

  “At ease, Princess. You’ve seen my work.” He holds up his hands. “If I wanted you captured, you’d already be in a leather sack. I’ve tracked you down to make amends.”

  “Liar.” I close in, raising my sword to his neck.

  “What are you doing?” Zélie whispers.

  “You didn’t hear the threats he made after the rally.”

  Roën’s jaw clicks as he stares at my blade. “I’m going to give you one chance to put that down.”

  Despite his threat, I tighten my grip. Another push and I’ll draw blood.

  “Don’t listen to a word he says,” I declare. “If he’s here, it’s to knock me out and collect the bounty on my hea—”

  I cry out as Roën grabs my wrist, forcing me to drop my blade. In one smooth motion, he twists my arm behind my back.

  “Like I said.” He pushes me to the side, taking my place at the edge of the cliff. “If I wanted to take you out, we wouldn’t be having this conversation.” He gestures to the fortress’s borders, waving Zélie over. “The Iyika have already attempted jailbreaks. Now every facility in Orïsha is armed.”

  “Majacite gas?” Zélie asks.

  “Perimeter’s riddled with mines.” Roën nods. “Triple the strength of what they used at the rally. Any maji would choke to death before they ever broke out.”

  “Then we’ll get masks,” I say. “We can find a way past the gas.”

  “Even if you could, the guards will kill everyone inside before they let one maji escape.”

  The color drains from my cheeks as his words sink in.

  “That’s impossible.” I shake my head. I know this is war, but even Mother couldn’t be that cruel.

  “With Lagos choked off, the military can’t afford to lose another city to the Iyika,” Roën explains. “They certainly can’t afford for them to gather more soldiers.”

  I stare at the twigs on the ground as my plan crumbles like sand. After our success freeing Zélie from Gombe’s fortress, I was sure this strategy would work. Liberating prisoners for our army was the foundation of my attack, the start of my path back to the throne. But if Mother will kill every maji we try to break out …

  Skies.

  We haven’t even struck, and somehow she’s already won.

  “That still doesn’t explain why you’re here,” Tzain says, stepping between Roën and Zélie. “You expect us to believe you came all this way just to warn us?”

  “Come on, brother.” Roën smiles. “Where’s the coin in that? I’ve come to collect a bounty from the only person in Orïsha who doesn’t want you dead.”

  “I knew it.” I step back. “I’m not going anywhere with you.”

  “Good. Stay here. Zélie’s the one they’re after.”

  Roën removes a note from his pocket and I see the red I that’s been tagged across our path.

  “The Iyika?” Zélie reaches for the parchment. “They’re looking for me?”

  “The lot hired me to escort you to Ibadan and paid in advance. So, you can come willingly, or I can break out that leather sack.”

  I snatch the parchment from Zélie’s hands, studying the assortment of red dots. I think of the rebel who stared me down at my rally, the hatred in her scarred eye.

  “The Iyika want to kill me and the rest of the monarchy,” I say. “We can’t go to them.”

  “Everyone wants you dead.” Roën rolls his eyes. “I don’t blame them. But why waste your time jailbreaking fighters you can’t have when you can join the maji on the winning side?”

  I give Zélie a pointed look, but she shrugs in response.

  “What other choice do we have?” she asks.

  Roën smiles at my defeat, waving at us to follow him as he takes the lead.

  “Come along, Princess. Let’s see if the Iyika want to kill you as badly as your mother and my mercenaries do.”

  CHAPTER SEVENTEEN

  INAN

  STARING AT MY REFLECTION, I don’t know what to think. I don’t recognize the stranger who stares back.

  The broken boy meant to be Orïsha’s king.

  With all the weight I lost while unconscious, I drown in Father’s crimson agbada. The royal silk still reeks of his sandalwood cologne. Breathe too deeply, and I can feel his hands wrap around my throat.

  You are
no son of mine.

  I close my eyes, muscles spasming in my stomach. The sharp ache makes my teeth grind. It’s like his sword is still buried inside. As I prepare for my first royal assembly, my fingers twist around the ghost of his sênet piece. I hate myself for missing it.

  I hate Father more for giving it to me.

  “Are you decent, Your Highness?” The oak door cracks open, and Ojore’s bearded jaw sticks through. “I’ve heard the legends of what greatness lies beneath your robes, but I fear I’m far too pure to see it for myself.”

  Despite the pain in my side, my cousin never fails to make me grin. He laughs as I wave him over, smile bright against his dark brown skin.

  “You’re looking good.” He slaps my shoulder. “Like a king. And look at that!” He pinches my face. “You’ve even got a little color in your cheeks!”

  “It’s not real.” I push him away. “Mother made the servants use her powders and paints.”

  “Anything to hide that horrible face.”

  The warmth he carries into Father’s frigid quarters stirs something in my chest. Tall, lean, and handsome, Ojore looks like a portrait in his new admiral’s armor, but it doesn’t cover the burn scars feeding onto his neck.

  We haven’t been together since he was my captain at the naval academy, yet he’s still like the brother I never had. He seems to sense my thoughts as he slings an arm around my shoulder, joining my reflection in the mirror.

  “The admiral and the king.” He shakes his head, and I grin.

  “Just like we planned.”

  “Well, not exactly like we planned.” Ojore ruffles my hair, drawing attention to my white streak. Though he keeps his voice light, he can’t suppress his disdain.

  “You hate it.”

  “It.” He looks away. “Not you.”

  I stare at the reflection of the jagged white line, the mark of my curse. Since I woke up, every time I reach for my magic it feels like someone’s driving an axe into my skull. I don’t know if it’s because of the way Zélie hurt me in the dreamscape, or if my abilities changed after the sacred ritual.

  But after all that’s passed, I don’t even know if I want to use my magic. How can I when it’s the reason Father tried to wipe me from this earth?

  “What about the tîtáns in your ranks?” I ask. “Mother wasn’t the only one wearing a golden suit of armor.”

  “We’re at war. Are we supposed to charge at their fire with our swords?” Ojore rubs his thumb against his burn scars, still scaly after all these years. “We may need the tîtáns to put those maggots in the dirt, but magic is still a curse.”

  I almost want to laugh; moons ago, I would have said the same thing. But even after all I’ve learned, I know nothing could make Ojore see magic another way. His mind was set the day Burners tore through the palace and scorched his parents alive. He was lucky to escape with just those scars.

  “I thought they got you, too.” His voice gets quiet and he stares at the floor. “When I found you on the ritual grounds, there was so much blood. Even after they stabilized you, I didn’t think you’d ever wake up.”

  I think back to the dreamscape. The dying reeds. The gray haze. Perhaps if Zélie hadn’t found me, I could’ve remained frozen in the dreamscape forever.

  “I owe you my life.”

  “Oh, you owe me a lot more than that. When this war is over, I want a title. I want gold. Land!”

  I laugh and shake my head. “You talk as if the end is in sight.”

  “You’re back, my king. Now it is.”

  “Inan?”

  I turn, not even realizing the door opened again. Mother stands in its frame, sunlight reflecting off her crimson gown. The beaded fabric drapes over her shoulders, forming a cape that falls to the small of her back. It glides as she makes her way into Father’s quarters.

  Ojore releases a low whistle. “Even in a war zone, my auntie’s still got it.”

  “Hush, boy.” Mother narrows her eyes, but smiles as she grabs Ojore’s chin. Though not related by blood, Ojore might as well have been Mother’s first son. She took him in after his family was killed, grooming him until he could rise through the ranks on his own.

  “The assembly’s gathered in the throne room.” Mother shifts her attention to me. “We’re ready when you are.”

  “But the cellar’s the safest place—”

  Mother cuts me off with a wave of her hand. “Your people will meet their new king as tradition dictates. Not cowering in the dark.”

  Ojore nods in approval. “You don’t miss a beat.”

  “We can’t afford to,” she says. “The entire council will be watching, General Jokôye closest of all. You must prove yourself to them if you’re going to command the army you need to win this war.”

  My throat dries and I swallow, wishing I had more time to prepare. I know it’s up to me to free Lagos and Orïsha from the Iyika’s wrath, but the problems feel far too great to solve. With the blocked roads, the dwindling food supply, the unknown seconds until their firebombs rage again, how am I supposed to stop them when I couldn’t even stop magic from coming back?

  “Now for the final touch.” Mother’s painted nails glisten as she snaps her fingers, making a servant enter the room. He carries a velvet cushion with Father’s crown. The sight of the polished gold sends a painful spasm through my abdomen.

  “I’ll wait outside.” Ojore pats my back before making his way out. “But you’re ready. Your father would be proud.”

  Despite the way my insides clench, I paste a smile on my face. But it falls the moment Mother takes the crown in her hands, gesturing for me to bend down. The shining metal rises like a two-tiered cake, every ounce of the royal heirloom forged from gold. Diamond-studded designs swirl around an elephantaire—the original royal crest. A glittering red ruby sits at its top, so dark it looks like blood.

  “I know.” Mother’s eyes grow distant as she stares at the crown. “If I could burn it, I would.”

  “At least you don’t have to wear his clothes.”

  “I’ll have new robes tailored when I can.” She places the metal on my head. Her hard shell cracks at the sight. She presses her fingers to her lips and exhales.

  “Skies, Mother, please don’t cry.”

  She swats at me before straightening my collar. Though I hate how she fusses, I love how she smiles.

  “Your father was far from a good man,” she says. “But he was a good king. He protected this throne at all cost. As his successor, you must do the same thing.”

  She places her hands on my shoulders and turns me toward the mirror. With her head next to mine, the person who stares back starts to look more familiar.

  “I don’t want to be like him, Mother. I can’t.”

  “Don’t be your father, Inan.” She takes my arm. “Be the king he couldn’t.”

  CHAPTER EIGHTEEN

  ZÉLIE

  “HOLD UP!”

  I stifle a grunt of frustration and lean against a canopy tree at Roën’s command. Nailah yawns and stretches out by my side, her injured paw still too fragile for us to ride her. We pause amid the thinning stretch of rain forest lining the mountainside near the center of the Olasimbo Range. Though we’re more than a half-moon from meeting the Iyika in Ibadan, each delay feels like a lifetime.

  “Don’t give me that look, Zïtsōl.” Roën wags his finger in my face before walking ahead. “We’re about to lose our cover. I need to stop and do a check.”

  I tap my foot as he takes the lead, making his way through the thinning trees. Rich greens surround us, coating every sloping branch and tangled vine. As the rain forest breaks, the grass-covered slopes expand, stretching beneath the mountain peaks. The hot sun shines down on them from above, rays bright in the cloudless sky.

  “All clear?” I call after Roën. “Or should we wait while you pat down the sheep?”

  “I’m sure these maji wouldn’t have minded traveling with someone like me.”

  He steps away from a dip
in the wild grass, and my chest grows tight. Two maji lie at his feet, neither one much older than I am. Dried blood stains their worn tunics, darkest around the blade wounds in their chests. The burns along their skin point to the majacite Nehanda’s soldiers must have used to stop them.

  “Don’t stare.” Tzain nudges my arm, moving straight ahead. Amari follows after him, lightening my load by taking Nailah’s new reins.

  “From the gods comes the gift of life.” I bend down. “To the gods, that gift must be returned.” Though I don’t want to feel magic’s rush, I whisper the words of the ìbùkún, laying the poor souls to rest. My eyes sting as the memories of Baba’s death resurface, but I push them down. Roën crosses his arms as I rise.

  “That’s the first time I’ve seen you do magic since the ritual.”

  I brush past him without saying a word, covering the maji with palm ferns before forging ahead.

  “Really? This again?” He falls in step by my side. “Are we just going to pretend you didn’t call after me when I left?”

  “Are we just going to pretend you didn’t leave at all?”

  Roën pushes his tongue into the side of his cheek, a coy smile dancing across his lips.

  “At least tell me what changed,” he says. “I thought you wanted to be free.”

  I turn my focus back to the mountain path, stepping over the thick stones littered throughout the wild grass. At times my thoughts still drift to the seas. To the lands that could be waiting beyond all this pain. But each time, Inan’s face returns, keeping me anchored to Orïsha’s soil.

  “My plans haven’t changed,” I say. “I just need to take care of something first.”

  “I see.” Roën smiles. “I hope that something is savoring his last breath.”

  He winks and I glare back at him. I hate the way he cuts through my words. It’s like when Inan would read my mind, but with Roën there’s no magical cause.

  “Why’d you really come back?” I ask. “You would’ve had an easier time selling us out.”