A shudder runs through me at the thought, but it’s quickly met with an unearthly calm. The fear in Saran’s presence is undeniable, yet it doesn’t overwhelm my desire for vengeance.
In this man—this one wretched man—is an entire kingdom. An entire nation of hate and oppression, staring me in the face. It may have been the guards who broke down the doors in Ibadan that day, but they were simply his tools.
Here lies the heart.
“What of Admiral Kaea?” Saran lowers his voice. “Is this her killer?”
Inan’s eyes widen and drift to me, but when Saran follows his gaze, Inan realizes his mistake. No matter what he says now, he can’t stop the king of Or?sha from approaching me.
Even in the sweltering room, Saran’s very presence chills my blood. The burning in my skin intensifies as he nears with his majacite blade. This close to him, I can make out the pockmarks in his deep brown skin, the gray hairs of old age speckled throughout his beard.
I wait for the slurs, but there’s something worse about the way he looks at me. Distant. Removed. Like I’m some beast dragged from the mud.
“My son seems to think you know how the admiral died.”
Inan’s eyes bulge. It’s written all over his face.
Someone died, his words from the festival come back to me. Someone I loved.
But it wasn’t just someone …
It was Kaea.
“I asked you a question,” Saran’s voice breaks back in. “What happened to my admiral?”
Your maji son killed her.
Behind Saran, Inan jerks back, likely horrified at my thoughts. They’re secrets I should scream to the world, secrets I should spill onto this floor. But something about Inan’s terror makes it impossible for me to break.
I look away instead, unable to stomach the monster who ordered Mama’s death. If Inan’s truly on my side, then when I die, the little prince might be the div?ners’ only ho—
Saran’s grip jerks my chin back to his face. My whole body flinches. The calm that sat in Saran’s eyes before explodes with a violent rage.
“You would do well to answer me, child.”
And I would. I would do well indeed.
It would be perfect to have Saran find out here, try to kill Inan himself. Then Inan would have no choice to attack back. Kill his father, take the throne, rid Or?sha of Saran’s hate.
“Plotting, are we?” Saran asks. “Cooking up those precious incantations?” He digs into me so hard his nails draw blood from my chin. “Make any moves and I will personally rid your body of its wretched hands.”
“F-Father.” Inan’s voice is faint, but he forces himself forward.
Saran glances back, wrath still burning in his eyes. Yet something about Inan reaches him. With a violent jerk, he releases my face. His lips curl as he wipes his fingers against his robe.
“I suppose I should be angry with myself,” he muses quietly. “Pay attention, Inan. When I was your age, I thought the children of the maggots could live. I thought their blood needn’t be spilled.”
Saran grabs on to my chains, forcing me to meet his eyes.
“After the Raid you should’ve been desperate to keep magic away. You were supposed to be afraid. Obedient. Now I see there is no educating your kind. You maggots all crave the disease tainting your blood.”
“You could’ve taken magic away without killing us. Without beating our bodies into the ground!”
He jumps as I pull against my chains, wild like a rabid lionaire. I itch to unleash magic fueled by the blackest part of my rage. A rage born because of everything he took away.
A new searing burns my flesh as I fight the majacite, doing everything I can to call forth my magic despite the power of the black chains. Smoke sizzles from my skin as I fight in vain.
Saran’s eyes narrow, but I can’t be silent. Not when my blood boils and my muscles shake to break free.
I will not let my fear silence the truth.
“You crushed us to build your monarchy on the backs of our blood and bone. Your mistake wasn’t keeping us alive. It was thinking we’d never fight back!”
Inan steps forward, jaw taut, eyes traveling back and forth between us. The fury in Saran’s gaze flares as he lets out a long, low chuckle.
“You know what intrigues me about your kind? You always start in the middle of the story. As if my father didn’t fight for your rights. As if you maggots didn’t burn my family alive.”
“You can’t enslave an entire people for the rebellion of a few.”
Saran bares his teeth. “You can do whatever you want when you’re the king.”
“Your ignorance will be your downfall.” I spit in Saran’s face. “Magic or not, we won’t give up. Magic or not, we will take back what’s ours!”
Saran’s lips curl back in a snarl. “Brave words for a maggot about to die.”
Maggot.
Like Mama.
Like every brother and sister slaughtered by his command.
“You’d be wise to kill me now,” I whisper. “Because you’re not getting any of the artifacts.”
Saran smiles slow and sinister like a jungle cat.
“Oh, child.” He laughs. “I wouldn’t be so sure of that.”
CHAPTER SIXTY-FOUR
INAN
THE WALLS OF THE CELLAR close in. I’m trapped in this hell. It takes everything in me to stand, not to buckle under Father’s glare. But while I can barely breathe, Zélie rises. Defiant and fiery as ever.
No regard for her life.
No fear for her death.
Stop, I want to scream over her. Don’t talk!
With each word, Father’s desire to break her grows.
He pounds against the door. With two sharp knocks, the metal door flies open. The fortress physician walks in, flanked by three lieutenants; all fix their gazes on the floor.
“What’s going on?” My voice comes out hoarse. It’s hard to speak through the strain of suppressing my magic once more. Sweat pours down my skin as another blast of heated air funnels through the vent.
The physician glances at me. “Does Your Highness—”
“You’re under my orders,” Father interrupts. “Not his.”
The physician scurries forward, drawing a sharp knife from his pocket. I stifle a cry as he slices into Zélie’s neck.
“What’re you doing?” I yell. Zélie grits her teeth as the physician digs with his blade.
“Stop!” I shout in panic. Not now. Not here.
I start forward, but Father presses his hand into my shoulder so hard I nearly stumble. I watch in horror as the physician cuts a shallow X into Zélie’s neck. With an unsteady hand, he pushes a thick, hollowed-out needle into the exposed vein.
Zélie tries to jerk her head back, but a lieutenant holds it still. The physician removes a small vial of black liquid and prepares to pour the serum down the needle.
“Father, is this wise?” I turn to him. “She knows things. There are more artifacts. She can find them. She’s the only person who understands the scroll—”
“Enough!” Father’s grip on my shoulder tightens until it aches. I’m angering him now. If I keep going, he’ll only cause Zélie more pain.