“I DON’T UNDERSTAND.” Mâzeli reaches for Zélie’s hand, but nothing happens. Her tattoos dim as Kenyon, Jahi, and Kâmarū take turns trying to cause a reaction.
But when she touches my hand again, the cobalt glow ignites in my chest. I rest my fingers against my sternum and I can feel it: the vibration as my magic swells.
“I can see it,” Zélie says. “Your ashê. There’s so much swirling around your body, more than one person could form alone.” She studies me, seeing something the rest of us can’t. “I think you might be able to absorb tîtán magic like your mother!”
“What?” I squint. That doesn’t make sense. The way Mother moves, the way she casts—even at my strongest, I’ve never come close to that kind of strength.
“Zélie, you were with me on that hill.” I say. “My magic doesn’t work like that.”
“How do we know? You’ve barely spent any time around other tîtáns!” She drags me to the parting wall, forcing my hands open. “When Nehanda attacked at the rally, the other Grounder tîtáns were around her. She sucked their magic into her palms.”
I start to pull my hand away, but stop when I feel something beyond the wall. My magic swirls in my chest, sending shivers through my bones.
“Can you feel it?” Zélie asks, but I’m not sure if I can say yes. The pulse of distant heartbeats trickles into my ears when I press my hands against the closed wall.
Three … four … five … I count the different rhythms in my head. They grow louder the more I concentrate.
“Just try,” Zélie coaches me, putting her hands on my back. The navy light glows in my chest before softly shining out of my eyes. It builds in strength, coloring the world before me in shades of blue. I breathe deeply and concentrate on each heartbeat I sense beyond the wall.
“That’s it.” Zélie lowers her voice. “I can see the magic growing inside your core.”
My skin starts to burn as my fingers spark with dark blue light. I grit my teeth as my magic swirls.
“Just a little more,” she pushes me. “Open your hands.”
I stretch out my fingers and gasp.
Wisps of blue ashê drift through the glassy walls.
“By the skies…” I step back, staring at the magic that drifts into my hands. It nips at my skin, but the pain is warm. It almost feels good.
“That should be impossible,” Kâmarū breathes. “For any maji or tîtán!”
“They’re not tîtáns,” Zélie says. “Oya tried to show me in my ìsípayá. They can absorb the powers of tîtáns who share their magic type. They’re more like cênters.” She creates the term.
“Skies,” I curse, realizing the implication behind her words. “If I’m like my mother…”
“Exactly.” Zélie nods. “With enough Connector tîtáns, you could dominate her the way you overpowered Ramaya!”
I stare at the magic in my hand, flickering around my skin like a blaze. I didn’t know how I would defeat Mother. What leverage I could use to end this war. But with this ability, I see the path to victory. The path to the throne. I never needed an army or the maji.
I only needed my own gift.
I close my fist and look back at the wall, imagining the army on the other side. I attempt to visualize their next move, picture how to counter their strikes.
“Can you open the wall again?” I ask Zélie, and she nods. “Then everyone, keep gathering scrolls. I have a new plan.”
“EVERYBODY READY?” I call, and the others respond with tense nods. Zélie takes her place at the wall as we make the final arrangements. Kenyon positions himself on the other side of her.
You’re getting out of here. I exhale, clenching and unclenching my fists. You don’t have a choice. You finally have the power to end this war.
Jahi grunts as he pushes the last shelf against the far wall, creating our barricade. I join him in the narrow gap, holding my breath as I wait for Zélie to open the wall.
“I may have misjudged you,” Jahi says. “You’re not half bad.”
“Let’s see how you feel when we make it across that bridge.”
I crawl forward and peek out of the triangular space until I can see Zélie’s face. She places her palms flat against the stone wall, almost frozen stiff as she waits for Kenyon’s incantation.
“As soon as that wall opens, you run,” he says. “If you don’t, you’ll burn.”
When Zélie nods, Kenyon holds out his hand. My muscles tense as the incantation flies from his lips.
“Ìlànà iná, hun ara rẹ pèlú mi báàyí—”
I shield my eyes as two streams of scalding fire shoot from his palms. They intertwine like ribbons, wrapping around themselves until they form a sphere at Zélie’s back.
The air sears as the blaze grows, the ball of fire hanging in the air like a sun. As black spots form along its surface I shout.
“Open the wall!”
Zélie closes her eyes. The tattoos on her neck flicker as they light up. I hold my breath as the golden glow spreads to her fingertips before cutting through the metallic stone.
She dives for an iron case as the invisible seam splits down the wall’s center. With a crack, the entrance erupts. Soldiers’ shouts bleed in from the hall.
“Take them in!”
The general’s shouts are muffled under a blast of howling wind. My hair ruffles as the gust builds, two cyclones of air shooting down the hall.
Time slows as the cannons of air speed toward Kenyon’s growing blaze.
My hands fly to my ears as the cyclones meet the flames.