Children of Virtue and Vengeance (Legacy of Orïsha #2)(96)

Ro?n reaches out and squeezes my wrist as the last few bubbles float from his lips. Though he can’t speak, I feel his command.

“Go.”

No! I shout to myself. How many times has he pulled me out from under? Dragged me back to the surface when I thrashed through water? I won’t let him drown. It’s my turn to rescue him.

èmí òkú, gba ààyé nínú mi—

Purple shadows spread like ink through the water as Ro?n’s eyes roll back. My shadows push against the stone, but they’re too weak. Too slow.

Ro?n’s limbs start to float. There’s only one way to break him free.

My heart slams against my chest as my shadows shift, wrapping around his arm. Another shadow spreads through the water, creating a serrated blade. I send a prayer to Oya and close my eyes.

My shadow slices through his shoulder as I use up my last breath.





CHAPTER SEVENTY-THREE


ZéLIE


STAY WITH ME.

I kick with the little I have left, Ro?n’s body tucked under my arm. His severed arm lies underneath the boulder.

My glowing tattoos light the rivers of crimson that leak from his gaping shoulder. I try to forget how long he’s gone without air when we finally break the surface.

“Stay with me!” I shout as I push down on his chest. Water shoots out of his mouth. He chokes as it comes out.

His body seizes when I drag him to the thin strip of land. But I won’t let him die on me.

I won’t lose another person I love.

“Zélie.” He forces out my name through shaking breaths. His stormy eyes dart in all directions, yet they can’t seem to take anything in. He grasps at me with his remaining hand. He doesn’t seem to understand.

“My arm. My a—”

“Just stay with me.” I press against the wound, but warm blood still leaks out from between my fingers. His heart pumps at double the speed, rattling against his rib cage.

The shadows of my tourniquet fade with my waning strength. Ro?n’s eyes finally stop at the moon above. His lips part as he struggles for breath.

“My mother,” he chokes. “She would sing…”

“What would she sing?” With one hand still pressed on the wound, I rip off Ro?n’s belt. Blood flows free as I tie it tight, a hand’s length below his wounded shoulder.

“Ro?n, what would she sing?” I shout at him, not caring if anyone hears. His voice is little more than a rasp, but he hums a foreign tune that grows louder with every note.

“Huh-mmm … huh-mmm…” He fights to keep it up. His voice cracks like a baby bird’s, yet I can hear the remnants of his home.

“Keep going.” I fight my tears, slipping a long stone into the knot of the tourniquet. “Please, Ro?n. It’s beautiful.”

“Huh-mmm … huh-mmm…”

I use the rock like a lever and twist. Ro?n’s belt almost snaps as it tightens, leather cracking before the bleeding stops.

“She would sing it.” His eyes start to drift. “When it rained … it always rained…”

“Hey!” I slap his face. “Keep going. What would she say?”

He tries to speak, but no words come out. His pink lips turn blue before my eyes. The bleeding may have stopped, but his skin still pales.

It’s not enough.

“Ro?n, please!” My heart rips as I cradle his head. His body is cold to the touch. My tears leak onto his face. “Keep talking. What would she say?”

“The thunder,” he manages to croak, but his voice falters. Though it feels like I may shatter, I force myself to sing the notes.

“Huh-mmm…”

Ro?n reaches up his shaking hand and grabs my own.

“Just stay with me.” I stroke his hair in between the notes. “I’ll sing it as long as you want, but you have to stay right here.”

He nods, but his breaths escape in rapid spurts. Veins bulge against his neck as he fights for air. For life.

“Ro?n, please.” I move my bloodied hand from his hair to his cheek. Beneath his skin, his lifeforce dims, slipping away like grains of falling sand.

“Z?tsōl.” He forces the word out through his final gasp. He grips me with the last strength he has. “Home.”

Confusion racks me as his fingers fall limp. But when the meaning hits, my body turns to stone.

Home …

That’s what it’s meant this entire time.

“Ro?n!” I scream, but he doesn’t move. His eyes won’t open. His chest doesn’t rise.

“Ro?n!” My shriek echoes. “Ro?n, please,” I whisper into his hair. But he’s not here.

He’s gone.

Grief tears a hole inside my heart. My bloodied hands fly to my chest. Though there’s air, I can’t draw breath. But when my tattoos shine with dim light, I see a flicker of gold in Ro?n’s heart. It’s smaller than a seed.

Smaller than a tear.

As it fades before my eyes, I think of my ìsípayá: the gold tether of life intertwining with the purple. I thought Oya was trying to show me the truth behind the cênters and the source of their magic. But what if I was the purple light?

What if the gold was Ro?n all along?