MY THROAT BURNS as yellow bile splatters across the wild grass. Somehow it carries the sweet scent of fried plantain. The smell makes me nauseous again.
As Zélie and I train on the hilly terrain outside the Iyika sanctuary, I wonder what I’m doing wrong. No matter what I try, using my tîtán magic is like torture. My powers rage beyond my control.
“Maybe this was a bad idea.” Zélie flinches, turning away when I start to heave. “At this rate, your magic will do more harm to you than anyone else.”
I reach to wipe the bile off my chin, but it stings to lift my hand. Zélie shakes her head at the burns along my palm. The blistered skin turns red.
“I’m fine,” I say. “I just have to keep pushing.”
“Keep pushing and you could kill yourself. Is that really what you want?”
My arms shake as I turn over, lying on the grass. After hours of failed training, my lungs burn with each inhale. But every time I get close to giving up, I picture Ramaya’s scar.
Speak at my table again, and I’ll rip out your tongue with my bare hands.
The Iyika will never respect me unless I can prove my power. I need control of my magic if I want to win them over to my side.
I push past my pain and rise. But before I can summon my magic again, Zélie stops me.
“It’s not about how hard you push,” she sighs. “Follow me. I can explain.”
I trail after her as we descend into the jungle’s valleys, ducking under hanging vines and curving around mammoth trees. Creaking cicadas form the chorus of the night. Above us, baboonems leap from hanging vines.
Though my muscles ache, I enjoy the serenity of the space as we come to the flowing river along the sanctuary’s dirt trail. Zélie points to a section of water filtering through a pile of thick rocks as she kneels.
“Think of this water as our ashê,” she explains. “The spiritual energy in our blood. When maji use incantations, it’s like lifting one of these rocks. The magic flows freely, allowing us to cast safely.”
She picks up a rock and I follow the new path of water that moves through the natural dam. I imagine the lavender magic flowing through Zélie’s body, filling her veins like a glowing spiderweb.
“It’s like threading a needle?”
“Something like that.” Zélie nods. “The energy that flows free isn’t as powerful as yours, but it’s precise. It can be wielded to do more.”
Zélie pauses, scanning the rock pile until she lands on the largest. “As a tîtán, you’re using blood magic by design. That means you have no precision. No control.” She lifts the heavy stone and the water explodes, gushing through the new path. “It’s the equivalent of releasing all the ashê in your blood at once. Magic like that is a result.”
I stare at my scarred hands, starting to understand the source of my pain. All night, it’s felt like a fire raging from within, burning me with each attempt I make.
“If my magic is a needle, then yours is a hammer,” Zélie says. “Without control, you and the people around you get hurt. Release too much ashê and you won’t just feel pain. You’ll drown.”
I pinch my lips together as I mull over her words. If what Zélie says is true, every tîtán is a danger to themselves. How many have already perished from taking their magic too far?
“But what about my mother?” I ask. “She channeled more ashê than any tîtán. Why didn’t it kill her?”
“I don’t know.” Zélie takes a shuddering breath at the thought. “I’ve never seen power like hers. It’s like she’s something else.”
I take a deep breath, rising back to my feet. I attempt to turn Zélie’s explanation around, searching for a solution instead of a condemnation.
“If I’m using blood magic by design, then I just need control,” I say. “We can fix that if you teach me an incantation!”
Zélie’s nostrils flare and she steps back. Her shoulders grow tense. “Yoruba is sacred to our people. It’s not just something you can learn.”
“This is bigger than that.” I wave my hand. “For skies’ sake, we’re at war—”
“Our magic isn’t about the war!” Zélie shouts. “Our incantations are the history of our people. They’re the very thing your father tried to destroy!” Her chest heaves up and down and she shakes her head. “Tîtáns have already stolen our magic. You can’t steal this, too.”
“Steal?” I tilt my head. “Zélie, what are you talking about? How else am I supposed to learn control?”
“You don’t need control,” she says. “You don’t need to use your magic at all!”
“If I don’t have my own power, who am I supposed to count on?” I extend my arms. “It took less than five minutes with the Iyika for you to stab me in the back!”
“Stab you in the ba—” Zélie stops, snorting to herself. “So that’s what this foolishness is about. After everything he’s done, you still want to trust Inan.”
My cheeks heat and I turn away, hugging myself. I know there’s no way to explain it to her, but I know my brother’s heart. If he was offering that food, it had to be real. There was a chance for us to end this war, yet she destroyed it without a second thought.
“My plans haven’t changed,” Zélie says. “I still want to see you on Orïsha’s throne. But I won’t apologize because I’m no longer stupid enough to believe your brother’s lies.”
A hard silence settles between us, chilling the jungle air. I want to trust Zélie, but deep down I know our interests aren’t aligned. At the end of the day, Inan is my blood. To her, he’s just the bastard who broke her heart.
I can’t leave this fight to Zélie anymore than I can leave it to Ramaya. I need my own power if I’m going to win this war.
“I wouldn’t ask if there was another way,” I sigh. “But my mother is bringing buildings down on our heads. I can’t keep relying on my sword. It’s your duty to fight for the maji, but as queen, I’m responsible for all of them. I have to take care of the kosidán who’re running scared. The tîtán soldiers Mother’s sucking the very life from. I’m responsible for the maji who hate my guts, and I can’t help anyone until I have power of my own.”
“Amari, no.” Zélie steps forward, softening her tone. “This isn’t all on you. It’s not your job to save Orïsha.”
“If I don’t, who will?” I ask. “You said it yourself—you don’t trust Inan to stick to his word.”
I rub my tired eyes, trying to keep my pain locked inside. I think of every life my actions have ruined. Every person who’s died because I’m not sitting on Orïsha’s throne.
“I’m the only person fighting for all sides. I can’t do that without my magic. If you don’t want to help me … fine. I’ll find someone who will.”
I start to walk away, but Zélie grabs my arm. My eyes widen as her shoulders slump and she exhales a long breath.
“You’ll help me?” I ask.
“On one condition,” she says. “If I’m going to teach you an incantation, you have to use it against tîtáns. Not maji.”
I nod, understanding the weight of her words. “I promise. I’ll only use this against Mother and her forces.”
Zélie’s feet drag as we take position, but she raises her arms.
“Okay.” She positions my hands. “Square your legs and repeat after me.”