Children of Virtue and Vengeance (Legacy of Orïsha #2)(48)

“What about the moat?” Captain Kunle dabs the sweat at his temple. “It’ll take weeks before the Tiders can fill it!”

I put my fingers to my ears as panic fills the room. Something doesn’t add up.

“Admiral, they’re already south of Lagos. What would they gain by doubling back?”

“We believe this route gives them direct access to the palace.” Ojore illustrates the winding path. “I’ve taken the liberty of moving more troops to Lagos’s borders, but we’re going to need significant resources to stop them.”

I scrunch my nose, extending their path in my head. The line takes me straight into the Funmilayo Jungle.

Right through an ancient temple.

I slap my hands against the oak table, rising to my feet.

“I know where they’re going!” I run to the map, tapping the old canvas. “There’s an ancient temple for the maji located here. It has the capability to amplify their powers.”

Mother’s face falls. “If they retrieve what they’re searching for, they could become too powerful to defeat.”

“Not if we intercept them,” I say. “If they’re coming from the mountains, we’re closer to the temple. Leave tonight, and we may be able to catch them!”

“Can you really face your sister?” Ojore voices the question no one else will. Gazes flick between me and Mother before finding any excuse to look away.

I walk over to the wanted posters, gazing at Amari’s face. I think of how she challenged Father for me. If she hadn’t intervened, I probably would have died.

“It would be a lie to say I could hurt my sister.” I face the room. “But I can take her in. Especially when she and the Iyika pose a threat to the kingdom.”

Mother’s lips pinch, but she nods to me in respect.

“What about the others?” Ojore asks. “Do we aim to kill?”

I glance back at the posters, this time stopping on Zélie’s face.

“Let’s focus on taking them down first,” I decide. “Once they’re captured, we can figure out a proper punishment.”





CHAPTER THIRTY-THREE


AMARI


WIND WHIPS THROUGH my curls as we speed through the jungle on our cheetanaires. Thick vines sting when I fly past, but I still have to snap my reins to keep up.

The elders ride with a vengeance, Zélie riding fastest of all. I can’t help feeling that the closer we get to Chandomblé, the closer we are to the bloody end of this war.

Think, Amari. I rack my brain as my ryder picks up speed. As soon as the Iyika get those scrolls, they’ll want to attack. The battle will be brought right to Lagos.

If they’re strong enough to beat my mother, I doubt they’ll let me take the throne. At this point, it’s more likely to go to Zélie. But if they’re not strong enough to take down my mother …

A brick settles in my stomach at the thought.

If they’re not strong enough to face Mother and her t?táns, she’ll wipe them out. Them, and then every maji in Or?sha.

The longer the scenarios play in my head, the fewer answers I have. I have to prove myself to the Iyika. Convince them to attempt peace first. If they’ll let me contact Inan, there’s a chance we can avoid this path of destruction—

“Amari!”

A panicked hiss snaps me back into the present. I blow past the horde of elders pulled off to the side as my ryder races through the jungle.

“èdà Oxosi, dáhùn ìpè mi!” Na’imah’s melodic voice rings, making a pink mist swirl around my cheetanaire’s head. The cloud stops my spotted ryder in his tracks. I have to squeeze with all I have to keep from flying off.

“For Oxosi’s sake, pay attention!” she says, beckoning her cheetanaire back to the group. My cheeks heat as I slide off, joining their circle.

“What’s going on?”

Dakarai raises his hand, thick curls pasted to his forehead with sweat.

“We need to stop. I’m having a vision.”



* * *



NO ONE MAKES a sound as we all gather around Dakarai. Usually bare-chested, the boy looks out of place with the silver-tinted armor around his large frame.

“Give me some space.” He shifts, isolating himself by facing a tree. “I’m much better at seeing the past than the present. I can’t concentrate with all of you watching.”

Every maji turns away, seeming to understand his need for space. I do the same, but I can’t help glancing over my shoulder as he chants.

Sweat gathers above the Seer’s sparse brows as he summons his magic. The silver glow of his ashê spreads around his hands. A mystical window of stars forms between his palms.

Unlike Mama Agba’s vision of the future, Dakarai’s doesn’t show a clear fragment of time. Instead his window shows translucent images in brief flashes.

“Ní Sís1ntèlé—”

The Seer adjusts his hands like a compass finding its way north. The dense greens of the Funmilayo Jungle fade through his blanket of stars. Thick clouds of fog pass through the emerald trees. But by the time the window reaches Chandomblé’s temple, the images are so faint it’s difficult to make out the newly constructed bridge.