But he’s lost in his own world, a place far beyond where my words could go.
“And Baba…” His body seizes; he clenches his fists to try and stop the trembling. “I told Baba. I—I told him I would…”
I lay my hand on Tzain’s back, but he retreats from my touch. It’s as if every tear Tzain has ever fought back comes pouring out of his body at once. He crumples into the dirt, pressing clenched fists against his head so hard I worry he’ll get hurt. His heartache bleeds raw, breaking through his every wall.
“You cannot give up.” I drop to Tzain’s side to wipe away his tears. Despite everything, he has always stayed strong. But this loss is too much to bear. “We still have the scroll, the stone, and the dagger. Until my father has retrieved the artifacts, his men will keep her alive. We can save her and get to the temple. We can still make this right.”
“She won’t talk,” Tzain whispers. “Not if we’re at risk. They’ll torture her.” His hands clench the earth. “She’s as good as dead.”
“Zélie is stronger than anyone I know. She’ll survive. She’ll fight.”
But Tzain shakes his head, unconvinced no matter how hard I try. “She’ll die.” He squeezes his eyes shut. “She’ll leave me all alone.”
Nailah’s whimpers grow as she nuzzles Tzain, attempting to lick his tears away. The sight crushes everything inside me, destroying the last fragments that were whole. It’s like watching the magical light explode from Binta’s palms only for Father’s sword to rip through her chest. How many families has Father left like this, broken beyond repair, mourning their dead? How many times will I allow him to do it again?
I stand on the hill and turn toward the town of Gombe, a speck of pluming smoke before the Olasimbo Range. The map in Father’s war room reappears inside my mind, crystallizing the Xs that marked his military bases. As the layout forms in my head, a new plan falls into place. I cannot let Tzain endure this loss.
I will not let Father win.
“We need to move,” I say.
“Amari—”
“Now.”
Tzain lifts his head from the ground. I reach down and grab his hand, wiping the dirt sticking to the tearstains on his face.
“There is a guard fortress outside Gombe. That has to be where they took her. If we can get in, we can get her out.”
We can bring Father’s tyranny to an end.
Tzain stares at me with broken eyes, fighting the spark of hope that tries to light. “How would we get in?”
I turn back to the silhouette of Gombe against the night sky. “I have a plan.”
“Will it work?”
I nod, for once not fearing the fight. I was the Lionaire once.
For Tzain and Zélie, I shall be her again.
CHAPTER SIXTY-THREE
ZéLIE
MAJACITE CUFFS SCALD my skin, searing straight through my wrists and ankles. The black chains suspend me above the floor of my jail cell, making it impossible for me to cast an incantation. Sweat drips down my skin as another warm blast funnels through the vent. The heat must be intentional.
Heat will make the coming pain worse.
Live … Lekan’s words echo, a taunt as I face my death.
I told him it was a mistake. I told him, I told everyone. I begged them not to waste this chance on me; now look what I’ve done. I laughed and spun and kissed as the king prepared our slaughter.
Metal-soled boots clank outside. I flinch as they near my door. It would be easier if my cell had bars. At least then I could prepare myself. But they’ve locked me in an iron box. Only two burning torches keep me from being left in the dark.
Whatever they plan to do, they intend to hide it even from the guards.
I swallow hard, a feeble attempt to quench my dry mouth. You’ve done this before, I remind myself, more times than you can count. For a moment I ponder whether Mama Agba’s constant lashings weren’t to punish, but to prepare. She beat me so often I got good at taking it, good at loosening my body to minimize the aches. Could she sense that my life would end this way?
Dammit. Tears sting my eyes at the shame of all the corpses I’ve left in my wake. Little Bisi. Lekan. Zulaikha.
Their sacrifice will never amount to anything.
This is all my fault. We never should have stayed. Somehow we must’ve led the army to that camp. Without us, they might still be alive. Zu could’ve survived.…
My thoughts slow.
Tzain’s glare flashes into my mind. My heart seizes at the thought. Could Inan have done this?
No.
My throat burns with the fear I choke back like bile. He wouldn’t. After everything we’ve been through, he couldn’t. If he wanted to betray me, he had countless opportunities. He could’ve made off with the scroll without taking all those innocent lives away.
Amari’s face overtakes Tzain’s, her amber eyes dripping with pity. Either he’s about to betray us or something else is taking place.
Inan’s smile breaks through their hate, the soft gaze he gave me before we kissed. But it blackens and it twists and it burns until it wraps around my throat with the strength of his grip—
“No!” I close my eyes, remembering the way he held me in his arms He saved me. Twice. And he tried to save me again. He didn’t do this. He couldn’t have.
A clink sounds.
The first lock outside my door opens. I brace myself for pain, holding on to the last good things I have left.
At least Tzain is alive. At least he and Amari survived. With Nailah’s speed, they had to have gotten away. I have to focus on that. One thing turned out alright. And Baba …
The threat of tears burns behind my eyes as I remember the crooked grin I prayed I would see once more. When he finds out about this, he’ll never smile again.
I close my eyes as the tears fall, stinging like tiny knives. I hope he’s dead.
I hope he never experiences that pain.
The final lock unhinges and the door groans open. I steel myself.
But when Inan fills the entryway, my every defense breaks.
My body jolts against the chains as the little prince walks in, flanked by two lieutenants. After days of seeing him in muted kaftans and borrowed dashikis, I forgot how cold he looks in a guard’s uniform.
No …
I search him for any sign of the boy who promised me the world. The boy I almost gave up everything for.
But his eyes are distant. Tzain was right.
“You liar!” My scream echoes in the cell.
The words aren’t enough. They can’t cut the way I need them to, but I can barely think. I grip the metal chains so hard they rip through my skin. I need the pain to distract myself, otherwise nothing will stop my tears.
“Leave,” Inan orders his lieutenants, looking at me as if I were nothing. Like I wasn’t in his embrace just hours ago.
“She’s dangerous, Your Highness. We can’t—”
“That was an order, not a suggestion.”
The guards exchange glances but reluctantly leave the room. Gods know they can’t defy a direct order from their precious prince.