Children of Virtue and Vengeance (Legacy of Orïsha #2)(79)

I can’t stomach the sound of her screams.

Her shriek rings through the swinging doors, and I clasp a hand to my mouth to stifle my tears.

I’ve ruined everything.

And I don’t know if I can fix it again.





CHAPTER FIFTY-SEVEN


INAN


IT’S NEVER ENOUGH.

The simple truth is a sword through my abdomen. A spear in my heart. As I stare at the carnage outside the Iyika’s base, my hand trembles around the bronze coin. This was supposed to be the place where we brokered peace. Instead, we can’t even count our dead.

“I thought we had them.” Ojore’s jaw quivers and he has to look away. Mother takes him in her arms, shielding him from the slaughter. Bodies lie in the remains of the jungle. The rolling hills are now battered mounds of dirt. Every colossal tree lies ripped from its roots. Jok?ye’s body still hasn’t been recovered.

I’ve been training my t?táns. The general’s last words to me return. The next time we face the Iyika, we’ll be ready for their games. We’ll annihilate those traitors where they stand.

I hang my head, crossing a fist to my chest to honor Jok?ye’s spirit. She gave everything to this kingdom. Everything to protect its throne.

The general was supposed to be our secret weapon. A force even Zélie couldn’t beat. Her strength was the only reason I felt powerful enough to enforce peace, but what kind of peace could last when our enemy is capable of this?

“I don’t want to be crass,” Mother says to me. “But there is no time to mourn. We can’t give the Iyika a chance to regroup. If they retaliate in Lagos…”

Her voice trails off, but she doesn’t need to speak the words. It only took moments for the jungle to become a wasteland. If this had been a city, thousands of civilians would’ve died in our fight.

“Duty before self,” I whisper the vow. If Father were here, that’s what he would yell now. This war has spun out of control. Soon there won’t be an Or?sha left to protect.

I wanted to be a better king, but after all that’s passed, there are no more options. It doesn’t matter if I didn’t sanction this attack. Any hope of peace lies with my dead on this battlefield.

Duty before self. I squeeze the bronze coin. Duty before self. The next time we meet, there will be no reconciliation. Only complete annihilation.

One victor shall stand at the end of this war. One ruler shall sit on my throne. I can’t hold back anymore. I have to take out the Iyika no matter what it does to Amari and Zélie.

This war ends with me.

“Summon the rest of our soldiers.” Mother turns to Ojore. “We’ll lead another assault while they’re down.”

“No.” I shake my head. “As long as they’re united, they’ll defeat us all. It doesn’t matter how many soldiers we have.” I close my eyes and try to visualize our next moves like pieces on a sênet board. “We need to weaken them beyond repair. Divide, conquer, and then force their surrender.”

“How do we do that?” Ojore asks.

I look down at the bronze piece, picturing Zélie’s face. For an instant, I thought we had a chance to move beyond all this pain. Now I know that day will never come.

“By using the one thing Amari and Zélie hate most,” I answer. “Me.”





CHAPTER FIFTY-EIGHT


ZéLIE


DON’T BE SAD.

Mazeli’s voice still echoes in my head. Silent tears run down my face, falling onto the bathroom tiles of my elder quarters. My ribs ache as I cradle my chest, struggling to draw breath. After three days, the world has still lost its color. Mazeli’s blood still stains my skin.

“Zélie?”

I freeze as Tzain’s voice bleeds through my bedroom door. I clasp a hand over my mouth, trying to stifle my strangled breaths.

“The sanctuary assembly’s starting,” he says softly. “The elders are asking for you.”

“I don’t care.” I look away. “Just go.”

With the sanctuary’s location exposed, everyone stays on high alert. But I can’t see or do anything beyond how much I hurt. All we do is fight and fight and fight.

What’s the point when our people only die?

“Don’t be sad.” I whisper Mazeli’s last words. “Don’t be sad.” My legs shake as I drag myself to my feet to face the copper bathtub that’s spent hours waiting for me. I dip my fingers into the cool water, but the air around me thins. It happens every time I try to wash away the last remnants of him.

Dammit.

My hand flies to my throat as the guilt suffocates me. The bathroom starts to spin. It’s like all the air’s been sucked out of the room.

He could’ve lived. He should’ve lived. It was my duty to keep him safe. But I failed.

Now I have to live with the weight of my mistakes.

Soft knuckles rap against my bedroom door. A painful spasm erupts in my chest when it creaks open.

“Go away,” I wheeze. I can’t have Tzain see me like this.

I crawl across the floor, trying to shut the bathroom door. But before I can, a bandaged hand props it open. I don’t know if I can trust my eyes when its owner walks through.