There’s not an ahéré in our sector that isn’t engulfed in flames, yet still I run forward, hoping mine won’t share the same fate.
The walkway wobbles beneath my feet and my lungs scream for air. I tumble to the ground before my home, burned from the heat radiating off the flames.
“Baba!” I shriek in horror, searching for any life in the blaze. “Tzain! Nailah!”
I scream till my throat rips raw, but no one answers my call. I can’t tell if they’re trapped inside.
I can’t see if they’re even alive.
I crawl to my feet and extend my rod, thrusting open our ahéré door. I’m about to run in when a hand clamps my shoulder, pulling me back with so much force I topple over.
Tears blur my vision. It’s difficult to make out the face of my assailant. But soon flickering flames illuminate copper skin. Amari.
“You can’t go in there!” she screams between her coughs. “It’s coming down!”
I shove Amari to the ground with half a mind to drown her in the sea. When she releases her grip, I crawl toward my ahéré.
“No!”
The reed walls we spent a full moon building collapse with a sharp crack. They burn through the walkway and into the sea, sinking to the bottom.
I wait for Tzain’s head to bob up from the waves, for Nailah to let out a roar of pain. But I only see blackness.
In one sweep, my family’s been wiped away.
“Zélie…”
Amari grips my shoulder again; my blood boils under her touch. I grab her arm and yank her forward, grief and rage fueling my strength.
I’ll kill you, I decide. If we die, you die, too.
Let your father feel this pain.
Let the king know unbearable loss.
“Don’t!” Amari screams as I drag her to the flames, but I can barely hear her over the blood pounding in my ears. When I look at her, I see her father’s face. Everything inside me twists with hate. “Please—”
“Zélie, stop!”
I release Amari and whip toward the open sea. Nailah paddles in the ocean water with Tzain on her back. Trailing behind him, Baba and Mama Agba sit safely inside a coconut boat attached to Nailah’s saddle. I’m so overwhelmed by the sight that it takes a moment to grasp that they’re actually alive.
“Tzain—”
The entire foundation of the fishermen’s sector slants. Before we can jump, it goes down, taking us with it. Ice-cold water engulfs our bodies in a rush, soothing the burns I’ve forgotten.
I allow myself to sink among the lumber and shattered homes. The darkness cleanses my pain, cooling the rage.
You can stay down here, a small thought whispers. You don’t have to continue this fight.…
I hold on to the words for a moment, grasping my only chance for escape. But when my lungs wheeze, I force my legs to kick, bringing me back to the broken world I know.
No matter how much I crave peace, the gods have other plans.
CHAPTER TEN
ZéLIE
WE FLOAT TO a small inlet across from the northern coast in silence, unable to speak after such horror. Though the crashing waves grow loud, the memory of Bisi’s screams crashes even louder in my head.
Four deaths. Four people who couldn’t escape the flames.
I brought the fire to Ilorin.
Their blood stains my hands.
I grip my shoulders to keep everything inside as Mama Agba dresses our injuries with cloth ripped from her skirt. Though we made it through the flames, small burns and blisters dot our skin. But that pain is welcome; almost deserved. The sears on my skin are nothing compared to the guilt that scalds my heart.
A sharp pressure clamps my stomach as the memory of a burnt corpse crystallizes behind my eyes. Charred skin peeling from every limb, the stench of burning flesh still coloring my every breath.
They’re in a better place, I try to ease my guilt. If their spirits have ascended to the peace of alafia, death would almost be a gift. But if they suffered too much before they died …
I close my eyes and try to swallow the thought. If the trauma of their deaths was too much, their spirits won’t rise to the afterlife. They’ll stay in apadi, an eternal hell, reliving the worst of their pain.
When we land on the rocky stretch of sand, Tzain helps Amari while I tend to Baba. I promised I wouldn’t mess this up. Now our entire village is in flames.
I stare at the jagged rocks, unable to meet my father’s eyes. Baba should’ve sold me to the stocks. If he had, he’d finally have peace. Baba’s silence only intensifies my misery, but when he bends down to meet my gaze, tears soften his eyes.
“You can’t run from this, Zélie. Not now.” He takes my hands. “This is the second time these monsters took our home. Let it be the last.”
“Baba?” I can’t believe his fury. Since the Raid, he hasn’t whispered a single curse against the monarchy. I thought he’d given up all fight.
“As long as we don’t have magic, they will never treat us with respect. They need to know we can hit them back. If they burn our homes, we burn theirs, too.”
Tzain’s mouth falls open and he locks eyes with me. We haven’t seen this man for eleven years. We didn’t know he was still alive.
“Baba—”
“Take Nailah,” he orders. “The guards are close. We don’t have much time.”
He points across the shore to the northern coast, where five figures in royal armor herd the survivors together. The flickering light of the flames illuminates the seal on one soldier’s helmet. The captain … the same one who chased me and Amari.
He burned my home to the ground.
“Come with us,” Tzain argues. “We can’t leave you behind.”
“I can’t. I’ll only slow you down.”
“But Baba—”
“No,” he cuts Tzain off, rising to place a hand on his shoulder. “Mama Agba told me about her vision. It’s you three who will lead the fight. You need to get to Chandomblé and figure out how to bring magic back.”
My throat tightens. I clutch Baba’s hand. “They already found us once. If they’re after us, they’ll come after you, too.”
“We’ll be long gone by then,” Mama Agba assures me. “Who better to evade the guards than a Seer?”
Tzain looks back and forth between Mama Agba and Baba, his jaw clenching as he fights to keep his face even. I don’t know if he can leave Baba behind. Tzain doesn’t know his place without keeping others safe.
“How’ll we find you?” I whisper.
“Bring magic back for good,” Mama Agba says. “As long as I have my visions, I’ll always know where to go.”
“You have to leave,” Baba presses, forceful as a new round of screams rings out. One guard grabs an elderly woman by her hair and holds a sword to her throat.
“Baba, no!”
I try to pull him forward, but he overpowers me, kneeling down to wrap his arms around my shaking frame. He holds me tighter than he has in years. “Your mother…” His voice cracks. A small sob escapes my throat. “She loved you fiercely. She would be so proud right now.”
I cling to Baba so hard that my nails dig into his skin. He squeezes me back before rising to embrace Tzain. Though Tzain towers over Baba in height and might, Baba matches the ferocity of his hug. They hold each other for a long moment, as if they never have to let go.