WIND WHIPS THROUGH my curls as we speed through the jungle on our cheetanaires. Thick vines sting when I fly past, but I still have to snap my reins to keep up.
The elders ride with a vengeance, Zélie riding fastest of all. I can’t help feeling that the closer we get to Chândomblé, the closer we are to the bloody end of this war.
Think, Amari. I rack my brain as my ryder picks up speed. As soon as the Iyika get those scrolls, they’ll want to attack. The battle will be brought right to Lagos.
If they’re strong enough to beat my mother, I doubt they’ll let me take the throne. At this point, it’s more likely to go to Zélie. But if they’re not strong enough to take down my mother …
A brick settles in my stomach at the thought.
If they’re not strong enough to face Mother and her tîtáns, she’ll wipe them out. Them, and then every maji in Orïsha.
The longer the scenarios play in my head, the fewer answers I have. I have to prove myself to the Iyika. Convince them to attempt peace first. If they’ll let me contact Inan, there’s a chance we can avoid this path of destruction—
“Amari!”
A panicked hiss snaps me back into the present. I blow past the horde of elders pulled off to the side as my ryder races through the jungle.
“Èdà Oxosi, dáhùn ìpè mi!” Na’imah’s melodic voice rings, making a pink mist swirl around my cheetanaire’s head. The cloud stops my spotted ryder in his tracks. I have to squeeze with all I have to keep from flying off.
“For Oxosi’s sake, pay attention!” she says, beckoning her cheetanaire back to the group. My cheeks heat as I slide off, joining their circle.
“What’s going on?”
Dakarai raises his hand, thick curls pasted to his forehead with sweat.
“We need to stop. I’m having a vision.”
NO ONE MAKES a sound as we all gather around Dakarai. Usually bare-chested, the boy looks out of place with the silver-tinted armor around his large frame.
“Give me some space.” He shifts, isolating himself by facing a tree. “I’m much better at seeing the past than the present. I can’t concentrate with all of you watching.”
Every maji turns away, seeming to understand his need for space. I do the same, but I can’t help glancing over my shoulder as he chants.
Sweat gathers above the Seer’s sparse brows as he summons his magic. The silver glow of his ashê spreads around his hands. A mystical window of stars forms between his palms.
Unlike Mama Agba’s vision of the future, Dakarai’s doesn’t show a clear fragment of time. Instead his window shows translucent images in brief flashes.
“Ní Sís1ntèlé—”
The Seer adjusts his hands like a compass finding its way north. The dense greens of the Funmilayo Jungle fade through his blanket of stars. Thick clouds of fog pass through the emerald trees. But by the time the window reaches Chândomblé’s temple, the images are so faint it’s difficult to make out the newly constructed bridge.
“Can you make the vision stronger?” I lean in, squinting to make out the soldiers on the battlefield.
“I can try, but the further away I am, the weaker the picture is.” A silver light glows around Dakarai’s hands as he increases the amount of ashê in his palms. With the surge in power, the image starts to crystallize, allowing us to see what’s ahead.
“Dammit.” Zélie curses at the iron bridge that sits where the old one fell. It connects the southern ledge of our mountain to the one holding Chândomblé’s sacred temple.
More than two dozen soldiers stand guard at the bridge’s base; nearly half of them are tîtáns. Battle tactics run through my mind, but they all crumble when I recognize the petite frame of the general who stands outside Chândomblé’s entrance.
“Zélie,” I warn.
“I know,” she replies.
Even under the golden mask, it’s impossible not to recognize the sharp angles of Mother’s face. I knew our paths would cross again. I just didn’t think it’d be so soon.
But if she’s here, there’s a chance Inan isn’t far behind.
“Can you see anyone else?” I ask.
Dakarai attempts to increase the range of his vision, but nothing else appears in his celestial field.
“I’m sorry.” He shakes his head. “But if there are that many on the bridge, it’s safe to assume there are soldiers surrounding the entire temple.”
“Then what are we waiting for?” Kenyon blows past us, putting his red-tinted helmet back on. “I don’t care how many there are. I’ll burn them all.”
“Last time we faced Nehanda, she sent an entire dome crashing down on our heads.” I run after him. “We might not be strong enough to defeat them.”
“Speak for yourself. I’m not weaker than some tîtán.”
“You’re definitely not stronger than my mother!” I grab Kenyon’s shoulder, forcing him to wait. “Besides, they knew we were coming. We don’t want to alert them that we’re here.”
“Then what do you propose, Princess?”
All eyes drift in my direction and I pause; this is the first time they’ve ever turned to me for answers. Maybe this is my chance.
Do this right, and I can prove myself to the Iyika while keeping the body toll down. And if Inan’s inside, getting into that temple could be our only way to speak.
“Soldiers on the bridge,” I mutter to myself. “Mostly likely, soldiers around the perimeter…”
I kneel down to the ground, sketching out different scenarios in the dirt.
“I have an idea,” I say.
“A good one?” Kenyon pries.
“It’s an idea.”
The Burner exhales a heavy sigh, but with no other options, he leans in.
“Okay, Princess. Let’s hear it.”