THERE WAS A ROOM in the palace that Father disappeared into. Every day, always at half past noon.
He would rise from his throne and walk through the main hall, Admiral Ebele on one side, Commander Kaea on the other.
Before the Raid, I would trail behind them, curiosity driving my small legs. Every day I watched them disappear down those cold marble stairs until the day I decided to follow them instead.
My legs were so short I had to grip the alabaster railing, scooting from step to step. I imagined a room full of moín moín pies and lemon cakes, the shining toys that might lie in wait. But as I neared the bottom, I didn’t smell the sweet tang of citrus and sugar. I didn’t hear joy or laughter. The cold cellar only held shouts.
Only a young boy’s screams.
A loud crack rang through the air—Kaea’s fist against a servant’s face. Kaea wore sharp rings on her fingers; when she smacked the servant, the rings cut into his skin.
I must have screamed when I saw the bloodied boy. I must have screamed, because they all turned to stare. I didn’t know the servant’s name. I just knew he was the one who made my bed.
Father picked me up and rested me against his hip, carrying me out without a passing glance. “Prisons are no place for a princess,” he said that day.
Another crack rang as Kaea’s fist made contact again.
As the sun sets and the long day passes into night, I think back to Father’s words. I have to wonder what he would say if he could see me now. Perhaps he would string me up himself.
I ignore the strain in my shoulders and pull at my restraints, wriggling though the rope burns my wrists red and raw. After dragging the rope back and forth across a jagged piece of bark all day, the fibers are fraying, but I need to wear it down further to break free.
“Skies,” I sigh as sweat gathers above my lips. For the tenth time, I search the tent for something sharper. Yet the only thing in here besides Tzain is dirt.
The one time I got a glimpse of the outside was when Folake entered to bring us water. Behind the tent flap, I caught Kwame glowering. The bone dagger still sat in his hand.
A shudder runs through me and I close my eyes, forcing a deep breath. I can’t get the image of the dagger pressed against Tzain’s neck out of my head. If it weren’t for the faint whistle of his breathing, I wouldn’t be sure he was still alive. Folake cleaned and bandaged his wound, but he has yet to do so much as stir.
I need to get him out of here before they come back. I need to find a way to save him, the dagger, and the scroll. A full night has already passed. We only have five days left until the centennial solstice.
The tent flap swings open and I pause my movements. Zu has finally returned. Today she sports a black kaftan, sweet with the green and yellow beads stitched into its hem. Instead of the militant child who entered last night, she looks more like the young girl she is.
“Who are you?” I ask. “What is it you want?”
She barely spares me a glance. Instead she kneels by Tzain’s side.
“Please.” My heartbeat quickens in my chest. “He’s innocent. Don’t hurt him.”
Zu closes her eyes and lays her small hands over the bandages on Tzain’s head. My breath hitches when a soft orange light radiates from her palm. Though weak at first, it glows, brighter and brighter, creating a warmth that fills the tent. The light from her hands grows until it encompasses all of Tzain’s head.
Magic …
The same awe that struck when light escaped Binta’s hands hits me now. Like Binta, Zu’s magic is beautiful, so different from the horrors of what Father taught me to believe. But how is she doing this? How has her magic come so far so fast? She must’ve been a baby when the Raid occurred. Where did she learn the incantation she’s whispering now?
“What’re you doing to him?”
Zu doesn’t answer, teeth clenched in a grimace. Beads of sweat form at her temple. The slightest quiver rocks her hand. A light fills Tzain’s skin as his visible cuts shrink into nothingness. The black and purple bruises fade completely, restoring him to the handsome boy who’s fought by my side.
“Thank the skies.” My body relaxes as Tzain grunts, the first sound he’s made since we were abducted. Though he remains unconscious, he stirs slightly against his rope.
“You’re a Healer?” I ask.
Zu glances at me, though it’s like she doesn’t see me at all. She focuses on the scratches on my skin like she’s searching for more things she can fix. It’s as if her need to heal isn’t only in her magic, it’s in her heart.
“Please,” I try once more. “We are not your enemy.”
“Yet you have our scroll?”
Our? I focus on the word. It can’t be a coincidence that she, Kwame, and Folake are all maji. There must be more outside this tent.
“We weren’t alone. The girl Kwame couldn’t apprehend was a maji, a powerful Reaper. We’ve been to Chândomblé. A sêntaro revealed the secrets of that scroll—”
“You’re lying.” Zu crosses her arms. “A kosidán like you would never meet a sêntaro. Who are you really? Where is the rest of the army?”
“I’m telling you the truth.” My shoulders slump. “Just like I told Kwame. If neither of you will believe me, there’s nothing I can do.”
Zu sighs and removes the scroll from inside her kaftan. As she unravels it, her hard exterior drops. A wave of sadness settles in. “The last time I saw this, I was cowering under a fishing boat. I was forced to sit and watch as royal guards cut my sister down.”
Skies …
Zu has the same eastern drawl in her voice. She must have been in Warri when Kaea recovered the scroll. Kaea thought that she killed all the new maji, but Zu, Kwame, and Folake must have found a way to survive.
“I’m so sorry,” I whisper. “I cannot imagine what that must’ve been like.”
Zu stays silent for a long moment. A weariness weighs her down that makes her seem so much older than her young years.
“I was a baby when the Raid happened. I don’t even remember what my parents looked like. All I remember was feeling afraid.” Zu bends down, yanking the wild grass at her feet until their roots rip from the ground. “I always wondered what it would be like to live with the memories of something so horrible. I don’t have to imagine what that’s like anymore.”
Binta’s face breaks into my mind; her bright smile, her dazzling lights. For a moment the memory shines in all its old glory.
Then it turns red, drowning in her blood.
“You’re a noble.” Zu rises and walks toward me, a new fire alight in her eyes. “I can practically smell it on you. I won’t let your monarchy take us down.”
“I’m on your side.” I shake my head. “Release me, and I can prove that to you. The scroll can do more than give magic back to those who touch it. It has a ritual that will bring magic back throughout the land.”
“I can see why Kwame has his guard up.” Zu steps away. “He thinks you’ve been sent to infiltrate us. With such clever lies, I think he could be right.”
“Zu, please—”
“Kwame.” Her voice cracks. She clutches the neckline of her kaftan as he enters.
He runs his fingers over the blade of the bone dagger, threat evident on his face.
“Is it time?”
Zu’s chin quivers as she nods. She squeezes her eyes shut.
“I’m sorry,” she whispers. “But we have to protect ourselves.”
“Go,” Kwame instructs her. “You don’t need to see this.”
Zu rubs her tears and backs out of the tent, sparing me one last look. When she’s gone, Kwame steps into my line of vision.
“I hope you’re ready to tell the truth.”