Children of Virtue and Vengeance (Legacy of Orïsha #2)(18)

My eyes fly open. My hands shoot to my throat. My body convulses with grating coughs, fighting me as I choke.

I grip the nearest surface, trying to steady myself through the pain. There’s nothing beyond the darkness.

Only the war in my brain.

Run. Zélie’s voice rings through my skull. Pray. Her hatred anchors me in this moment. The vengeance she swore to claim. Though my lungs still gasp for air, I begin to see through the pain.

It didn’t work …

Magic lives again.

The realization is like a sedative spreading through my skull. Though my head pounds, it numbs all pain. For an instant, every other thought dissolves.

I gave up everything to stop magic’s return. I betrayed my sister and the girl I love. Father’s sword plunged through my stomach.

Yet the poison still runs through my blood.

Count to ten. I curl my fingers, exhaling a slow breath. I sink back into the sweat-soaked pillow as the pain in my stomach returns. My hands shake when I reach down and find the thick scar left from Father’s sword. The gruesome mark is still tender to the touch.

As I run my fingers over the raised skin, I see the snarl on Father’s lips. Hear the growl in his throat. Rage burned through his brown eyes as he stabbed his majacite blade through my gut.

How did this happen? I search the fog in my mind for answers. When I fell into a pool of my own blood, I didn’t think I would rise again. The last thing I can remember is Amari running to my defense, choosing to face Father herself.

I don’t know how I ended up in the dying dreamscape. How much time has passed since that fateful day. What happened to my father and my sister. Where I lie now—

Ha-woooooooo!

My head snaps up at the deep and thunderous howl. The alarm begins as a steady rumble, but in seconds it blares with the force of a thousand horns. The bed around me shakes with its vibrations. The siren makes my blood run cold. It sounds like terror and bloodshed and death.

It sounds like war.

What in the skies? I scramble out of the silk sheets, my limbs moving like water. I try to stand, but my legs give out. With a lurch, I slam into the ground.

I lift my throbbing head from a velvet rug as the horn blares. My body goes stiff when I come face-to-face with the piercing green glare of an embroidered snow leopanaire.

“What’s going on?” I whisper, questions mounting by the second. My eyes start to adjust to the dim candlelight and I take in the crimson walls; the marbled archways and lush upholstery of Father’s royal quarters.

I turn to the gold-paned windows as the alarm grows louder. Sharp screams echo through the thick drapes. Hairs lift on the nape of my neck as the sliver of night that peeks through the velvet folds begins to turn red—

“Your Majesty, please!”

The door slams open. Candlelight floods in. I stumble into the wall, blinded as a general and armored troops storm into Father’s room.

“Quick!” The general runs to the bed. “We need to get him to the cellars!” But as the woman scrambles across the silk sheets, I realize that she’s not a general at all.

It’s Mother.

I hardly recognize her petite frame in the golden suit of armor. Her bone-straight hair now falls to her shoulders in frizzy waves. But strangest of all is the white streak that falls behind her ear.

“Where is he?” she shrieks, tearing at the empty bed. “Where is my son?”

Soldiers drag her toward the door.

Then she spots me against the wall.

“Inan?”

The color drains from her face. A hand flies to her open mouth. Tears well in her amber eyes and she stumbles back, doubling over as if she’s been punched in the stomach.

“You’re awake!”

I can’t tell how much time has passed since we last saw each other. I feel lifetimes in our distance. She still has her bronze skin, her pointed chin. But the light in her eyes has dimmed.

“Mother—”

Before I can ask what’s going on, two guards lift her by the arms.

“Put me down!” she commands, but her orders fall on deaf ears.

“Get them to the cellars!” a lieutenant shouts. In seconds, soldiers lift me as well. Mother screams for me as they pull her back, carrying her and racing down the stairs.

“What’s going on?” I yell. “Who’s attacking us?”

Outside the palace walls, the horn blares louder. The night sky continues to burn red. The world passes in a blur as the soldiers drag me from Father’s quarters and carry me down the ivory stairs. But the more I see of the palace, the more answers I need.

Gone are the spotless marble floors. The slender vases that lined every hall. Servants and soldiers sprint across the cracked tiles. Shattered glass and crooked frames stain the barren walls.

When we reach the bottom of the stairs, I can’t believe my eyes. The entire east wing of the palace lies in ruins.

Nothing more than mounds of rubble and broken columns.

This is a dream. I close my eyes. A nightmare. Nothing more.

But no matter how many times I blink, I can’t wake up.

“What’s going on?” I shout, but no one acknowledges me. I can’t just run and hide.

I need to get answers myself.

I slam my feet down and throw my elbows back; the guards wheeze when I punch them in the throat. Their grips loosen and I break free, ignoring the way they scream as I sprint for the balcony.