I INHALE SHARPLY as Inan’s hands slide down to my thighs. His touch makes every part of my body explode; it’s too hard to concentrate on kissing him back. But as my lips forget what to do, Inan’s don’t miss a beat. His electric kisses move from my mouth to my neck, so intense it’s hard to breathe.
“Inan…”
My face flushes, but there’s no point in hiding it. He knows what his kiss does to me, how his touch burns. If my emotions hit him like a tsunami, then he must know how much I want this. How my body aches to let his hands search and wander.…
Inan presses his forehead against mine and slides his hands to the small of my back. “Believe me, Zél. What I do to you is nothing compared to what you do to me.”
My heart flutters and I close my eyes as Inan draws me in. He leans down for another kiss—
A loud horn blares. A crash rings through the air.
“What was that?” I ask. We jolt apart as another crash sounds.
Inan’s grip on me tightens, a cold sweat breaking out. “We need to go.”
“What’s going on?”
“Zél, come on—”
I break free of his hold and run toward the edge of the festival grounds. The music of the celebration halts as everyone tries to figure out the cause of the sounds. A hushed hysteria erupts through the crowd, questions mounting as it spreads. But with time the source of the horns makes itself clear.
The legion of royal guards charges through the new wreckage of the gate and marches to the top of the hill overlooking the valley. They light up the black sky with red torch flames, blazing against the night.
Some soldiers position their arrows, others bare their sharpened blades. The most terrifying among them hold back a pack of wild panthenaires; the menacing beasts chomp and foam at their bits, desperate for a chase.
Inan catches up to me. He stalls when he sees the sight. The color drains from his cheeks. His fingers lace through mine.
The commander of the troops steps forward, distinguished by the golden lines carved into the iron of his armor. He raises a cone to his mouth so we can all hear his shouts.
“This is your only warning!” his voice booms through the silence. “If you do not comply, we will use force. Give up the scroll and the girl and no one here will get hurt.”
The divîners break out in whispered conversations, fear and confusion spreading throughout the masses like a virus. Some people try to escape the crowd. A child begins to cry.
“Zél, we have to go,” Inan repeats, gripping my arm once more. But I can’t feel my legs. I can’t even speak.
“I will not warn you again!” the commander shouts. “Give them up or we will take them by force!”
For a moment nothing happens.
Then a ripple breaks through the crowd.
Though the movement starts out small, in seconds waves of people split. They clear a path, allowing one person to walk through. Her small body steps forward. Her white mane dances.
“Zu…,” I breathe, fighting the urge to run and pull her back into the crowd.
She stands tall and strong, defiant beyond her young years. Her emerald-green kaftan blows in the wind, shimmering against her brown skin.
Though she is only thirteen, the entire legion readies their arms. Archers pull back against their bows. Swordsmen position the reins of their panthenaires.
“I don’t know which girl you speak of,” Zu shouts, her voice carried by the wind. “But I can assure you we don’t have the scroll. This is a peaceful celebration. We only gathered here to honor our heritage.”
The silence that follows is almost deafening. It brings a tremble to my hands I can’t fight back.
“Please—” Zu steps forward.
“Don’t move!” the commander shouts back, pulling out his sword.
“Search us if you must,” Zu responds. “We will agree to an examination. But please, lower your weapons.” She raises her hands in surrender. “I don’t want anyone to get hur—”
It happens so fast. Too fast.
One moment Zu stands.
The next, an arrow pierces through her gut.
“Zu!” I scream.
But it doesn’t sound like me.
I can’t hear my voice. I can’t feel anything.
Air dies inside my chest as Zu looks down, small hands gripping the arrow’s shaft.
The young girl with a smile too wide for her face pulls against the weapon, speared with Orïsha’s hate.
She strains, limbs shaking, somehow taking a step forward. Not back where we can protect her.
Forward, so she can protect us.
No …
Tears sear my vision, falling fast down my face. A Healer. A child.
Yet her last moments are stained with hate.
Blood spreads across the silk of her kaftan. The emerald darkens with red.
Her legs buckle and she hits the ground.
“Zu!” I race forward even though I know she can’t be saved.
In that moment the entire world explodes.
Arrows fly and swords flash as the guards unleash their attack.
“Zél, come on!” Inan yanks on my arm, pulling me back. But as he tries to steer me away, one thought fills my mind. Oh gods.
Tzain.
Before Inan can object, I take off, stumbling more than once as I return to the valley. Screams of terror fill the night. Divîners run in all directions.
We sprint in vain, trying desperately to escape the archers striking from the sky. One by one divîners go down, pierced by an onslaught of arrows that never seems to end.
But the archers become a fear of the past as the suited seal of Orïsha spreads through the masses. Soldiers release the rabid panthenaires, allowing the ryders to sink their fangs straight through divîner flesh. Above them, armored guards push through the crowd, swords raised and sharpened. They show no mercy, no discretion, slashing through everyone in their path.
“Tzain!” I scream, another voice in the chorus of shouts. He can’t die like Mama. He can’t leave me and Baba.
But the farther I run, the more bodies fall to the ground, the more spirits bleed into the earth. Lost in the crowd, Salim howls, sharp screams rising above every other cry.
“Salim!” I scream, charging for the sweet boy I spun in my arms. A guard rides toward him on a rabid panthenaire. Salim raises his hands in surrender.
He has no magic. No weapon. No way to fight.
The guard doesn’t care.
His sword slashes down.
“No!” I scream, insides aching at the sight. The blade rips straight through Salim’s small body.
He dies before he even hits the ground.
His dead eyes chill my blood. My heart. My bones.
We cannot win. We cannot live. We never stood a chan—
The sensation strikes me in my core, deep, as powerful as my beating heart.
It rattles the magic in my blood. It pulls the air from my lungs.
Kwame brushes past me, running for the heart of the battle. He grips a dagger tight in his hands.
Then he slashes open his palm.
Blood magic.
Horror settles into my bones.
It’s like the world slows to a stop, stretching the seconds between this moment and the last Kwame will ever have. His blood glows with a white light, splashing as it hits the ground.
In an instant the ivory light surrounds him, illuminating his dark skin like a god from above.
When it reaches the top of his head, it seals his fate.
A fire explodes from his skin.
Smoldering embers rain from his body. Flames blaze around his form. The fire erupts from every limb, shooting out of his mouth, his arms, his legs. The blast towers meters into the sky, a blaze so powerful it lights the horrors of the night. Shock stops the guards’ attack just as Kwame’s begins.
He punches his fists forward. Streams of fire crash through the settlement in smoldering waves. The flames incinerate everything in their path, blazing through the guards, destroying the camp.
The stench of burning flesh fills the air, mixed with the scent of blood.
Death strikes so quickly, soldiers don’t even have a chance to scream.
“Agh!” Kwame’s cries of agony rise above all else as he turns the night red. The blood magic tears through him, raw and unforgiving.
It’s grander than any flame a maji could conjure on his own. He burns with the power of his god, but it burns through him.
His dark face flushes red, veins tearing from within. His skin bubbles and scalds from his flesh, revealing corded muscle and hard bone. He can’t contain it. He can’t outlast it.
The blood magic eats him alive, yet still he uses his last breath to fight.
“Kwame!” Folake screams from the edge of the valley. A strong divîner drags her back, keeping her from charging into the roaring fire.
A vortex of flames shoots from Kwame’s throat, pushing the guards even farther back. As he sears through their attack with the last seconds of his life, the divîners react. My people flee in all directions, escaping through the flaming walls, leaving the wasteland in their path.
They live, fleeing the guards’ senseless attack.
Because of Kwame, because of his magic, they survive.
Staring at the blaze, it’s as if the entire world stops. The shouts and screams are muffled into nothingness. The festival fades to black. Inan’s promises play out before my eyes, our Orïsha, a pact the world won’t allow him to keep. Peace.
We will never have peace.
As long as we don’t have magic, they will never treat us with respect. Baba’s words simmer through my mind. They need to know we can hit them back. If they burn our homes, we burn theirs, too.
With one final cry, Kwame erupts like a dying star. Fire explodes in all directions, leaving the earth with the last remnants of himself.
As the final embers fall, my heart rips in my chest. I can’t believe I ever denied Baba’s truth. They’ll never allow us to thrive.
We will always be afraid.
Our only hope is to fight. Fight and win.
And to win, we need our magic.
I need that scroll.
“Zélie!”
My head snaps up. I don’t know how long I’ve stayed still. The world seems to travel in slow motion, weighed down by Kwame’s sacrifice, dragging with all my pain and guilt.
Tzain and Amari approach from the distance, riding on Nailah’s back. Tzain guides Nailah toward me through the chaos. Amari clutches my pack to her chest.
But as my name travels from his mouth, other guards take note. “The girl,” they scream to one another. “The girl! It’s her!”
Before I can take another step, hands wrap around my arms.
My chest.
My throat.