Children of Virtue and Vengeance (Legacy of Orïsha #2)(34)

I flinch as Ojore silences her with his sword.

The Soldier of Death is coming.

I don’t need to see a face to know who the title describes. Zélie swore she’d be my end. I just didn’t expect her to attack so fast. I underestimated the resources and soldiers she had at her command.

“Are you satisfied, Your Majesty?” Jok?ye seethes at my back. “Thank the skies for your ideals!”

Raifa’s blood pools as soldiers try to extinguish the flames in the marketplace, but there’s no salvaging the food that burns. Even as my body shakes with rage, sorrow fills my heart.

I take in the despair of my advisors; the fury of my soldiers. From afar, villagers start to exit the underground tunnels. What will they do when they see I’ve condemned them to be raided by the Iyika or starve to death?

“I’ll fix this,” I shout. “I promise.”

I just wish I knew how.





CHAPTER TWENTY-FOUR


AMARI


MY THROAT BURNS as yellow bile splatters across the wild grass. Somehow it carries the sweet scent of fried plantain. The smell makes me nauseous again.

As Zélie and I train on the hilly terrain outside the Iyika sanctuary, I wonder what I’m doing wrong. No matter what I try, using my t?tán magic is like torture. My powers rage beyond my control.

“Maybe this was a bad idea.” Zélie flinches, turning away when I start to heave. “At this rate, your magic will do more harm to you than anyone else.”

I reach to wipe the bile off my chin, but it stings to lift my hand. Zélie shakes her head at the burns along my palm. The blistered skin turns red.

“I’m fine,” I say. “I just have to keep pushing.”

“Keep pushing and you could kill yourself. Is that really what you want?”

My arms shake as I turn over, lying on the grass. After hours of failed training, my lungs burn with each inhale. But every time I get close to giving up, I picture Ramaya’s scar.

Speak at my table again, and I’ll rip out your tongue with my bare hands.

The Iyika will never respect me unless I can prove my power. I need control of my magic if I want to win them over to my side.

I push past my pain and rise. But before I can summon my magic again, Zélie stops me.

“It’s not about how hard you push,” she sighs. “Follow me. I can explain.”

I trail after her as we descend into the jungle’s valleys, ducking under hanging vines and curving around mammoth trees. Creaking cicadas form the chorus of the night. Above us, baboonems leap from hanging vines.

Though my muscles ache, I enjoy the serenity of the space as we come to the flowing river along the sanctuary’s dirt trail. Zélie points to a section of water filtering through a pile of thick rocks as she kneels.

“Think of this water as our ashê,” she explains. “The spiritual energy in our blood. When maji use incantations, it’s like lifting one of these rocks. The magic flows freely, allowing us to cast safely.”

She picks up a rock and I follow the new path of water that moves through the natural dam. I imagine the lavender magic flowing through Zélie’s body, filling her veins like a glowing spiderweb.

“It’s like threading a needle?”

“Something like that.” Zélie nods. “The energy that flows free isn’t as powerful as yours, but it’s precise. It can be wielded to do more.”

Zélie pauses, scanning the rock pile until she lands on the largest. “As a t?tán, you’re using blood magic by design. That means you have no precision. No control.” She lifts the heavy stone and the water explodes, gushing through the new path. “It’s the equivalent of releasing all the ashê in your blood at once. Magic like that is a result.”

I stare at my scarred hands, starting to understand the source of my pain. All night, it’s felt like a fire raging from within, burning me with each attempt I make.

“If my magic is a needle, then yours is a hammer,” Zélie says. “Without control, you and the people around you get hurt. Release too much ashê and you won’t just feel pain. You’ll drown.”

I pinch my lips together as I mull over her words. If what Zélie says is true, every t?tán is a danger to themselves. How many have already perished from taking their magic too far?

“But what about my mother?” I ask. “She channeled more ashê than any t?tán. Why didn’t it kill her?”

“I don’t know.” Zélie takes a shuddering breath at the thought. “I’ve never seen power like hers. It’s like she’s something else.”

I take a deep breath, rising back to my feet. I attempt to turn Zélie’s explanation around, searching for a solution instead of a condemnation.

“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. “T?táns have already stolen our magic. You can’t steal this, too.”