NO ONE SPEAKS as we make our way down Orïsha’s coast, sailing on a boat powered by Nâo’s magic. There’s no need when every heartbeat pulses through our throats. The ocean spray coats our skin as the salt-filled air whips around us. A new magic roars through our blood, ready to tear through Lagos’s impenetrable walls.
Every beat. Every chant.
I hold on to Mama Agba’s words as the tides of my old home draw near. With their melody, I’m back on Baba’s boat, drawing out the fishing net. I think of him as I turn to the others, not wanting to see the ruins of Ilorin. After tonight, our kingdom will never be the same.
“We’re close.” I turn to the others. “We can hide out on these shores until sunset.”
Then we’ll strike, I think to myself. We’ll save our people and make the monarchy pay for all the pain they’ve caused.
I picture Mári and Bimpe trapped with our army in the palace cellars; the rest of the Iyika waiting for their execution. I think of all those who stand in our way. Every tîtán who will have to die.
“Get some rest,” I continue. “Prepare yourselves. There is no telling what will happen when we take that palace down—”
“Zél,” Tzain calls, forcing me to turn to him. His arms hang limp. My brows knit and I follow his line of sight.
I walk to the front of our boat, not believing my eyes.
In the distance, a single ahéré stands above the tides.
Confusion mounts as Nâo redirects us from the shore, bringing us closer to the sight. The memories of Ilorin burning moons ago cloud my mind. I can still remember the way the scent of ash choked my throat.
The entire village sunk to the bottom of the sea. I collapsed with my home. Yet somehow, my hut still stands above the crashing waves, untouched by all that’s followed since the day I was forced to leave it behind.
When we reach the reed ahéré, the elders wait as Tzain and I climb. It’s like a dream.
A dream or a nightmare.
My old home sits on wooden planks, a single safe haven above the sea. There’s no sign of the fire that burned it to the ground. No sign of everything else that was lost. But staring at the home we shared with Baba is like finding a missing part of me.
I hold Tzain’s arm as we walk toward it, waiting for the illusion to shatter. It doesn’t make sense. Outside our ahéré, it’s like the fires never happened.
Tzain drags his fingers against the doorframe and I find the lines Baba drew above the two of us. Each moon a new crooked line marked our changing heights. I always cried when my line couldn’t beat Tzain’s.
“I don’t understand.” My breath hitches as I walk through the doorway. The reed walls curve around me, reeds just like the ones Baba and I wove together with love. It’s all here: the cotton cots, the agbön ball that sat in the corner. Even a black calla lily hangs in the window. The petals pass like velvet between my fingers, stems freshly cut.
The only break from my memories is the parcel wrapped in parchment that lies on my cot. A folded note sits on top:
I’m sorry.
It’s like I’m drowning again. A gaping hole opens in my chest as the words Inan spoke to me moons ago return.
“When this is over, I’ll rebuild Ilorin,” he said. “It’ll be the first thing I do.”
Inan promised to bring back my home. I never thought he’d keep his word. My throat grows tight as I unravel the parcel’s strings. I don’t know what to make of the dozens of letters that fall to the ground.
Why? The question rings through my mind as they spill across the floor. I reach down to pick one up, bracing myself for the words written inside.
There are nights when you visit my dreams. Nights where I can forget.
When I wake, I drive myself insane thinking of what could’ve been …
My throat closes up and I throw the letter to the ground. Walk away, I command myself. But another lures me in.
All this time I thought I was choosing my kingdom over my heart. I was naïve. Too blind to realize that you were both …
Tears drop onto the parchment, bleeding into its ink. How dare he try to crawl back into my heart after all the pain he’s caused me?
I slap the letters away, wishing Kenyon were here to burn them to ash. But when one letter clinks against the ground, I lift my head. I open up the parchment and a bronze piece falls into my hands. I tilt my head as I lift it by its silver chain.
Then I remember the piece I gave him …
“What’s this?” he asked.
“Something you can hold on to without killing yourself.”
I placed the cheap metal in his hands.
He kept it all this time?
My tears continue to fall as I unfold the parchment.
I know this might end up at the bottom of the ocean. But as long as there’s a chance, I have to write it.
I have to try to make things right.
I could apologize until the end of time and it still wouldn’t be enough, but I’m sorry for hurting you. I’m sorry for all the pain I’ve caused.
It’s clear to me now that the plague of Orïsha has never been magic at all. It’s us—Father, Mother, and me. Even Amari has been twisted by this throne. The monarchy poisons us all.
As long as it stands, Orïsha doesn’t have a chance. So I’m doing the only thing I can and ending it once and for all.
I grip the parchment so tight, it nearly rips in half. I didn’t even know ending the monarchy was something a king could do.
I don’t know what comes next, but I know it’s time for this reign to end. I will work till my dying breath to protect this kingdom, to be the man I thought I could be when I was with you.
But should our paths collide again, I will not raise my sword.
I am ready to end my life at your hand.
“What is it?” Tzain stands behind me. I wipe away my tears, handing him the letter. His eyes widen as he combs over the words.
“He did all this?”
I nod, and Tzain rubs his jaw. “You two.” He shakes his head. “Even when you crash, you intertwine.”
I stare at the bronze piece in my hand, wanting to throw it into the ocean. I hate Inan for doing this. I hate the part of me that wants to believe he’s telling the truth.
“What’re you going to do?”
“What I have to.” I shrug. “It doesn’t matter what he says, what he promises. Our people are still behind those walls. I have to do whatever it takes to get them out.”
A silence hangs in the air and I grab his hand, staring at all the parchment on the ground. “What’re you going to do about you and Amari?”
Tzain’s face twists as he winces. He holds back his tears, but I feel their sting behind my own eyes. Throughout all the pain we’ve endured, she’s been the only one to make him smile. Even when I resented her to my core, I loved Amari for that.
“There is no me and Amari,” he finally speaks. “Not anymore.”
“Tzain, how you feel about her, that’s not something you can just turn off—”
“She almost killed you,” he interrupts. “There’s no coming back from that.”
He sinks onto the replica of his old cot and I sit by his side. I squeeze the bronze piece in my hand as I lean my head against his shoulder, listening to the crash of waves outside our window.
“Next time let’s fall for a pair of siblings that don’t come with a crown.”