THE STABBING ACHE comes first, pulsing through my head with an intensity that stirs me awake. The burns follow soon after, stinging from the endless cuts and scratches peppering my skin.
I blink my eyes open, but the darkness remains; they’ve tied a tweed bag over my face. The rough fabric sticks to my nose as I breathe in too deeply, a futile attempt to keep myself from hyperventilating.
What is the meaning of this?
I pull forward, but my arms hold me back, wrists bound against a column. Wait, not a column. I shift to explore the rough surface. A tree …
That means we’re still in the forest.
“Tzain?” I try to call out, but my mouth is gagged. The fried pork rinds from dinner churn in my stomach. Whoever these people are, they’ve taken every precaution to protect themselves.
I strain to hear another clue—running water, the shift of other captives. But no other sounds come forth. I’m forced to mine my memories for more.
Though I can’t see, I close my eyes, reliving the surprise attack: Tzain and Nailah disappearing in woven nets, the acidic stench that turned everything black. So many masked figures, quick and silent, blending with the shadows. These strange fighters are the culprits.
They took all of us down.
But why? What is it these people want? If their aim was to rob us, they already succeeded. If they desired our deaths, I wouldn’t be breathing now. This has to be something different, an attack shrouded in a greater aim. With enough time, I can decipher it. Plot a way to escape—
“She’s awake.”
I tense, keeping still as a female voice speaks. Something rustles as footsteps near. The faint smell of sage hits me when she gets closer.
“Should we get Zu?”
This time I catch a drawl in her speech, an accent I’ve only heard from the nobles hailing from the east. I picture Father’s map of Orïsha in my mind. Besides Ilorin, the only eastern village large enough to garner nobles in the palace is Warri.
“Zu can wait,” a male voice answers her, his speech carrying the same eastern lilt. The heat rising off his body hits me in a wave when he nears.
“Kwame, don’t!”
The bag is ripped off my head so hard my neck jerks forward. The pounding in my head surges with the flood of lantern light. My vision blurs as I fight against the pain to take everything in.
A divîner’s face fills my gaze, dark brown eyes narrowed in suspicion. A thick beard highlights his defined jaw. As he gets closer, I catch a small silver ring pierced through his right ear. Despite his menacing expression, the boy can’t be much older than Tzain.
Behind him, another divîner stands, beautiful with her dark skin and catlike eyes. Long white locs travel down her back, tangling over her arms when she crosses them. A large canvas tent surrounds us, built around the trunks of two mammoth trees.
“Kwame, our masks.”
“We don’t need them,” he replies, breath warm against my face. “For once, she’s the one in danger. Not us.”
Another body sits behind him, bound to a large tree root, head hidden behind a tweed bag. Tzain. I exhale as I recognize his shape, but the relief doesn’t last. A stain bleeds through the top of Tzain’s bag, thick and dark. Cuts and bruises mar his skin; transporting him here must have been rough.
“You want to speak to him?” Kwame asks. “Tell me where you got this scroll.”
The blood freezes in my veins when he waves the parchment in front of my face. Skies. What else did he take?
“Itching for your blade?” Kwame seems to read my mind, pulling the bone dagger from his waist. “Couldn’t leave your boyfriend with a weapon like this.”
Kwame cuts the gag binding my mouth, unflinching even when he nicks my cheek in the process.
“You have one chance,” he says through gritted teeth. “Don’t bother lying.”
“I took it from the royal palace,” I rush out. “We’re on a mission to bring magic back. I’ve been tasked by the gods.”
“I’m going to get Zu—” the girl behind him starts.
“Folake, wait.” Kwame’s tone is sharp. “Without Jailin, we need to go to her with answers.”
He turns back to me, narrowing his eyes once more.
“A kosidán and a noble are on a mission to bring magic back, yet not one maji is with you?”
“We have a—”
I stop myself, sifting through all the information he revealed with his simple question. It brings me back to the luncheons in the palace, times when I had to search for the truth behind all the smiles and lies. He thinks we’re alone. That means Zélie and Inan must have gotten away. Or they were never taken. It’s quite possible they’re still safe.…
I cannot decide whether this should give me hope. Together, Zélie and Inan could find us. But at the rate they were fighting, one of them might already be dead.
“Run out of lies?” Kwame asks. “Good. Tell the truth. How did you find us? How many of you are there? What’s a noble like you doing with a scroll like this?”
A scroll like this?
I dig my nails in the dirt. Of course. Why didn’t I notice right away? Kwame didn’t bat an eye when said I wanted the scroll to bring magic back. And though he’s a divîner, touching it for the first time doesn’t make his magic react.
Because this isn’t the first time he’s held it.…
In fact, it might just be the thing he and his fellow masked vigilantes are after.
“Listen—”
“No,” Kwame cuts me off, and moves to Tzain, ripping the bag from his head. Tzain is barely conscious, his head lolling to the side. Anxiety grips my chest as Kwame holds the bone dagger to Tzain’s neck.
“Tell the truth.”
“I am!” I shriek, pulling against my bonds.
“We need to get Zu.” Folake backs up to the entrance of the tent, as if distance absolves her of this horror.
“We need the truth,” Kwame yells back. “She’s lying. I know you see it, too!”
“Don’t hurt him,” I beg.
“I gave you a chance.” Kwame tightens his lips. “This is on you. I won’t lose my family again—”
“What’s going on?”
My eyes snap to the tent’s entrance as a young girl enters, her fists clenched. Her green dashiki sits bright against her coconut-brown complexion. Her white hair settles around her head, big and fluffy like a cloud. She can’t be more than thirteen, but Kwame and Folake stand to attention in her presence.
“Zu, I wanted to get you.” Folake speaks quickly.
“I wanted answers first,” Kwame finishes. “My scouts saw them by the river. They had the scroll.”
Zu’s dark brown eyes widen as she grabs the parchment from Kwame and scans its weathered ink. The way she runs her thumb over the symbols gives me all the confirmation I need.
“You’ve seen this scroll before.”
The girl looks at me, taking in the cuts on my skin, the shallow gash on Tzain’s forehead. She fights to keep her face blank, but the corners of her lips turn into a frown.
“You should’ve woken me.”
“There wasn’t time,” Kwame says. “They started moving. We had to act or they’d be out of our range.”
“They?” Zu asks. “There were more of them?”
“Two others,” Folake answers. “They got away. And Jailin…”
“What about him?”
Folake exchanges a guilty look with Kwame. “He still hasn’t returned. There’s a chance he’s been taken.”
Zu’s face falls. The scroll wrinkles in her grasp. “You didn’t go after him?”
“There wasn’t time—”
“You don’t get to make that call!” Zu rasps. “We don’t leave anybody behind. It’s our job to keep everyone safe!”
Kwame’s chin drops to his chest. He shifts and crosses his arms. “The scroll was in play, Zu. If more guards are coming, we need it. I weighed the risk.”
“We’re not guards,” I cut in. “We’re not part of the army.”
Zu glances at me before walking up to Kwame. “You’ve put us all in danger. I hope it was fun playing king.”
Though her words are harsh, each is filled with sadness. With her thin brows pinched, she looks even younger than she really is.
“Gather the others in my tent,” she instructs Kwame before pointing to Tzain. “Folly, clean and bandage his head. The last thing I need is him getting an infection.”
“What about her?” Folake nods in my direction. “What do you want us to do?”
“Nothing.” Zu turns her gaze on me, unreadable once more. “She’s not going anywhere.”