Children of Virtue and Vengeance (Legacy of Orïsha #2)(60)

“Yem?ja, ? ?é o.” Nao drops to her knees and kisses the wild grass with gratitude. I almost join her, but if I fall now, I won’t be able to rise again. It feels like a sin to enter these hallowed grounds with the blood, dirt, and grime coating our weary bodies. My legs sway and I stumble forward, resting against the obsidian wall of the main tower.

“Need a hand?”

I look up to find Tzain’s smile, and it warms me to my core.

“Were you waiting for me?” I ask, and he shrugs.

“I missed you too much.”

I rest my head against his broad chest, finding refuge inside his arms.

“I missed you, too,” I whisper. “It was strange being out there without you.”

I don’t know the last time I went into battle without Tzain by my side. It used to be the two of us who didn’t have magic at our disposal, yet I always trusted him more than I trusted anyone else. I squeeze him tight, attempting to close the space that’s grown between us since I became a t?tán. I don’t want it to increase now that I know I’m a cênter.

Behind me, Tzain catches Zélie’s eyes as she dismounts Nailah. She waves at him with a smile before turning back to Mazeli.

“Did you get what you wanted?” Tzain asks.

“In a way.” I look back as the elders start unloading their scrolls, taking them to the council room. “After what we learned at Chandomblé, we have a fighting chance. I might even have enough power to face my mother and force the monarchy to surrender.”

Tzain’s muscles relax at the news, and he pulls me closer to his chest. “Then you can take the throne?”

I smile. “Then I can take the throne.”

But as we stand wrapped up in each other’s arms, his touch erases all thoughts of the war; of cênters; of the throne. Breathing in his sandalwood scent, I realize how much I want him. How much I want more.

“What is it?” Tzain pulls away, sensing my shift. I wrap my arms around his neck.

“What’s it going to take for you to carry me to a bath?”

Tzain purses his lips in false contemplation, scratching his chin. Then without warning, he sweeps me off my feet. I laugh as he carries me across the stone bridge.

“It’s that easy?” I ask.

“Of course.” Tzain grins. “I live to serve, my queen.”

Though he jokes, his words heat my skin. He’s the only one who looks at me like I deserve that title. The one person who believes I can lead.

I raise my hand to his stubbled cheek and my gaze settles on his lips. I imagine what a few hours with him might entail. How his kiss might feel.

“Is there anything else I can help you with, my queen?”

My smile widens as he leans in. My heart speeds up in my chest as I dig my nails into his neck.

Our lips meet, and the rush is so strong it spreads through my entire body. A flutter erupts between my legs as I shift, pressing into him—

“Where do you think you’re going?”

Our heads snap apart to face Jahi. My cheeks flush at the Winder’s glare. I force Tzain to put me down.

“We have work to do.” Jahi gestures to the line of elders making their way to the council room, and I groan.

“Can’t we sleep?”

“Don’t complain now,” he says. “You’re the one who wanted this job.”

My shoulders slump and I turn to Tzain, wrapping my arms around him again. I feel his chest deflate as he slides his hands across my back.

“Another time?” I ask.

“Do what you need to do.” His lips meet mine once more and I sink into the safety of his kiss. He squeezes my waist, sending shivers along my skin.

As I pull away, I wish I never had to leave his embrace. But Or?sha waits for no one. Not even him.

Jahi eyes me when I pass, but I ignore his glare.

“Wake Mama Agba,” I order. “If anyone can get us answers, it’s her.”



* * *



NO ONE SPEAKS as Mama Agba studies the golden script along Zélie’s skin. My shoulders burn from holding up the blanket that shields Zélie’s scars and bare back from the other elders. Mama Agba pauses to scribble more sênbaría translations onto a brown parchment, the scratch of her reed brush echoing against the stained glass windows of the council room. A full hour passes before Mama Agba sets her brush down, ready to share what she’s uncovered.

“I haven’t seen markings like these since I studied with the sêntaros,” she says. “The tattoos are the mark of the moonstone, a sister to the sunstone you retrieved from Ibeji.”

“But the sunstone was destroyed in the ritual.” Zélie tilts her head. “It shattered in my hands after I used it to bring our magic back.”

“Unlike its sister stone, the moonstone is not one you can hold,” Mama Agba explains. “It is a power bestowed by the gods. They must have granted it to you during the solstice.”

Mama Agba waits as Zélie slips into a sleeveless kaftan, its deep purple fabric shimmering like wine against her complexion. When dressed, Zélie takes her place at the table, sitting in front of a bronze statue with amethyst crystals for eyes.

“The moonstone ignites by command,” Mama Agba continues. “Few can summon its power.” She rests her weathered fingers along Zélie’s sternum before reciting the sacred words. “? t?nná agbára yin.”