Children of Virtue and Vengeance (Legacy of Orïsha #2)(44)

CHAPTER THIRTY


ZéLIE


MY FEET DRAG as I make my way to the elder quarters. The days since my ascension have blurred together. With all the new maji and div?ners that’ve flooded the sanctuary since we lost Lagos, getting anywhere makes me feel like a salmon swimming upstream. We now have over two hundred mouths to feed, and most are still powerless div?ners. Rations decrease as our dormitories swell.

Every day, new people arrive, sharing stories of the monarchy’s raids on the maji. I don’t know how we’re going to strike back. It feels like we’re constantly losing ground, ground the monarchy is hungry to take. Victory that once felt a battle away slips further away from our grasps.

“Z, you coming?” Nao brushes my shoulder, distracting me from my concerns. The Tider’s blue-tinted armor glints in the sun, the right arm sculpted to show the waves tattooed along her dark skin.

The other elders stand under the vine-covered archway outside the dining hall, waiting for me to go to the council room. They seem to look to me more now that Ramaya’s in the infirmary.

“I’ll meet you there,” I call.

The scent of pounded yam and fried bean cakes fills the halls as I head up the spiraling steps of the elder tower. Eleven stories high, each new floor brings me to a different leader’s quarters. The only structure on this mountain built by the original clan elders, its sea glass tiles make me feel like I’m sleeping in a palace. I run my fingers through the hanging plants forming a canopy along the ceiling until I reach Amari’s new room on the fifth floor.

Stifled tears bleed through the obsidian door, but I force myself to knock. The tears quiet at once. The thud of heavy footsteps approach.

“Who is it?” Tzain calls.

“Me,” I say. “We have an elder meeting.”

The door cracks open and Tzain lowers his voice, leaning outside so Amari doesn’t hear.

“Where’ve you been?” he whispers. “She’s needed you.”

“So have my Reapers.” I push past him to enter Amari’s new quarters. “Don’t forget, she got herself in this mess.”

I pause to take in her room; like mine, turquoise tiles line the floor. A curved balcony opens outside, providing a view of the waterfall near the bathroom door.

“Be sensitive,” Tzain says. “She refuses to see a Healer.”

Amari sits in front of the cracked mirror, face puffy and red. Deep bruises line her temples and jaw. Her right arm hangs in a makeshift sling across her chest. She struggles with a canister of soft brown pigment, dotting it over her bruises to conceal them.

“You know a Healer can fix that,” I say.

“I already asked,” she keeps her voice flat. “After the fifth one refused, I gave up.”

My eyes widen, but I look away, pretending to inspect her brass tub. Healers are supposed to help everyone in need, regardless of their own feelings.

Amari continues to do what she can to cover her bruises, but she’s clumsy with her left hand. My anger still boils at the surface, but I sit her down and force myself to help.

“Thank you,” she says.

I stay silent, but nod in response. Amari glares at the wall, but every so often her armor cracks.

I see the sadness she holds inside. The loneliness she must feel.

She may have beaten Ramaya, but she’s isolated herself in the process.

“I tried to visit her.” Amari’s voice shakes. “Ramaya. I wanted to apologize, but she still hasn’t woken up.”

A bitter taste settles on my tongue, but I don’t speak. Ramaya’s been unconscious since their fight. Even Khani’s healing hasn’t been able to revive her.

“Do you hate me, too?” Amari asks, and my fingers freeze above her cheeks. I almost hate her for asking this of me. But I trained her that night. I taught her an incantation. In a way, I feel just as responsible for Ramaya’s coma.

“You promised me you wouldn’t use what I taught you against a maji,” I say.

“I know, but I didn’t have a choice—”

“You always have a choice,” I snap. “You just chose wrong.” I shake my head, putting the canister of pigment down. “You chose to win at any cost. Like your father. Like Inan.”

Anger sizzles in the air between us. It takes all my effort not to walk away. I try to block out the sight of her white streak, the reminder of her people and all the ways they continue to hurt those like me.

But before I can storm out, Amari hangs her head. New tears stream free, streaking through all the pigment on her face.

“I’m sorry, alright? I truly am.” She wipes her nose. “I know I messed up. I know I lost control. What I don’t know is how to make things right.”

Her heartbreak cools my rage. I exhale a deep breath and turn her to face me. Of course she doesn’t get it.

She’s a t?tán.

A monarch.

“If you’re going to be an elder, you need to understand that true magic isn’t about power,” I explain. “It’s something that’s a part of us, something that’s literally in our blood. Our people have suffered for this. Died for this. It’s not something you can just learn. You may have helped us get it back, but right now we’re still being hunted and killed for the very magic t?táns like you use against us.”