As they erupt in arguments, I stare at the sunstone, within arm’s reach. If I could touch it … just a graze …
Please, Oya, I lift up the silent prayer, don’t let this be it.
I take a deep breath, preparing for the rush of Sky Mother’s soul, the fire of Oya’s spirit. My fingers brush the smooth stone—
Hope shrivels inside my chest.
Nothing.
Not even a spark.
The sunstone is cool to the touch.
It’s worse than before my awakening, before I ever touched the scroll. It’s like all the magic has bled out of my body, left on that cellar’s floor.
Only a maji tethered to Sky Mother’s spirit can perform the sacred act. Lekan’s words echo back into my mind. Without him, no other maji can be connected to Sky Mother before the ritual.
Without me, there’s no ritual at all.
“Zélie?”
I look up to find everyone staring at me, waiting for the final answer.
It’s over. I should tell them now.
But as I open my mouth to deliver the news, the right words don’t come out. This can’t be it. Not after everything we’ve lost.
Everything they did.
“Let’s go.” The words are weak. By the gods, I wish I could make them sound strong. This has to work. I won’t let this be the end.
Sky Mother chose me. Used me. Took me away from everything I loved. She can’t abandon me like this.
She can’t throw me away with nothing but scars.
“Zél—”
“They cut ‘maggot’ into my back,” I hiss. “We’re going. I don’t care what it takes. I won’t let them win.”
CHAPTER SEVENTY-TWO
ZéLIE
AFTER HOURS OF TRAVELING through the forest surrounding the Olasimbo Range, Jimeta makes its way onto the horizon. Sharp and jagged like its rumored inhabitants, its sand cliffs and rocky bluffs jut out over the Lokoja Sea. Waves crash against the base of its cliffs, creating a familiar song I know all too well. Though the crashing waves pound and rumble like thunder, just being near the water again sets me at ease.
“Remember when you wanted to live here?” Tzain whispers to me, and I nod, a half smile rising to my lips. It’s nice to feel something else, to think of something besides all the ways our plans could fail.
After the Raid, I insisted we go to Jimeta. I thought its lawless borders were the only place we’d be safe. Though I’d heard stories of the mercenaries and criminals who filled its streets, in my young eyes that danger paled in comparison to the joy of living in a city without guards. At least the people trying to kill us here wouldn’t wear the Or?shan seal.
As we pass by the small homes nestled within the towering cliffs, I wonder how different our lives would’ve been. Wooden doors and window frames stick out of the rock, protruding as if they were grown inside the stone. Bathed in the moonlight, the criminal city almost appears peaceful. I might even think it beautiful if not for the mercenaries lurking at every corner.
I keep my face hard as we pass a group of masked men, wondering where their specialties lie. From what I’ve heard of Jimeta, anyone we pass could run the gamut from common thievery to assassination requests. Rumor has it the only true way to get out of the stocks is to hire a mercenary to break you free; they’re the only ones strong and sneaky enough to defy the army and live.
Nailah growls as we pass another band of masked men, a mix of kosidán and div?ners, men and women, Or?shans and foreigners. Their eyes comb over her mane, likely calculating her cost. I snarl as a man dares to step forward.
Try me, I threaten him with my eyes. I pity the poor soul who tries to mess with me tonight.
“Is this it?” I ask Kenyon when we stop before a large cave at the base of the cliffs. Its mouth is shrouded in darkness, making it impossible to peer inside.
He nods. “They call him the silver-eyed foxer. I heard he took out Gombe’s general with his bare hands.”
“And he’s got a boat?”
“The fastest. Wind-powered, last I heard.”
“Alright.” I grasp Nailah’s reins. “Let’s go.”
“Wait.” Kenyon puts a hand out, stopping us before we take another step. “You can’t just enter a clan’s dwelling with a crew of your own. Only one of us can go.”
We all hesitate for a moment. Dammit. I’m not ready for this.
Tzain reaches for his ax. “I’ll go.”
“Why?” Kenyon asks. “This whole plan revolves around Zélie. If anyone goes, it should be her.”
“Are you crazy? I’m not sending her in there alone.”
“It’s not like she’s defenseless,” Kenyon scoffs. “With her magic she’s more powerful than any of us.”
“He’s right.” Amari places her hand on Tzain’s arm. “They might be more likely to help if they see her magic at work.”
This is where I agree. Where I tell them I’m not scared. Convincing these fighters should be easy. My magic should be stronger than ever.
My stomach churns with the truth, guilt gnawing away at me. It would all feel so much better if just one person knew we’re not relying on me at all.
Whether or not we get magic back is completely up to the gods.
“No.” Tzain shakes his head. “It’s too much of a risk.”
“I can do it.” I hand Tzain Nailah’s reins. This has to work. Whatever’s going on, it has to be Sky Mother’s plan.
“Zél—”
“He’s right. I have the best chance of convincing them.”
Tzain steps forward. “I’m not letting you go in there alone.”
“Tzain, we need their fighters. We need their boat. And we have nothing to offer in return. If we want to get to the temple, it’s best not to start the conversation with breaking their rules.” I hand Amari my pack with the three sacred artifacts, keeping only my staff. I run my fingers along the etchings and force a deep breath into my chest.
“Don’t worry.” I send a silent prayer up to Oya with my thoughts. “If I need help, you’ll hear me scream.”
I walk through the mouth of the cave. The air hangs wet and cold. I move to the nearest wall and slide my hands along the slick ridges, using the stone as a guide. Each step is slow and tentative, but it feels good to move, good to do something besides reread that damn scroll with a ritual I might not be able to do.
As I travel, giant blue crystals drip from the ceiling like icicles, hanging so low they almost brush the cave floor. They provide a faint light, illuminating the two-tailed batters gathered around their glowing cores. The batters seem to watch me as I move through the cave. Their chorus of squeaks is the only sound I hear until it’s drowned beneath the chatter of men and women gathered around a fire.
I pause, taking in their surprisingly vast domain. The ground beneath them dips into a depression, coated with a light moss that the mercenaries fashion into cushions. Rays of light peek through cracks in the ceiling, illuminating hand-carved steps that travel farther down the cliff.
I take a few more steps forward and a hush falls over the crowd.