“INAN, WAIT!”
I push through the divîners filling the grassy walkway between two long rows of tents. Their curious gazes add a weight to my step, but they’re not enough to distract me from the questions filling my head. When Tzain left, Zélie ran after him, trying in vain to make him understand. But then my brother ran after her, leaving me all alone in that tent.
Inan stops when he hears my voice, though he doesn’t turn around. His eyes follow Zélie, trailing her as she disappears into the crowd. When he turns to me, I don’t know which question I should ask first.
It’s as if I’m back inside the palace walls, so close to him, yet always worlds apart.
“You should have Zulaikha heal that.” He grabs my wrists, inspecting the dark red bruises and dried blood where the ropes cut through my skin. Distracting myself from the pain was easy when I was carrying Tzain, but now the throbbing is constant, burning wherever the cool wind hits my exposed flesh.
“When she’s rested.” I pull my hands back, crossing my arms to hide them. “She’s too drained after healing Tzain and she still needs to take care of Jailin. I don’t want her to get hurt.”
“She reminds me of you.” Inan smiles, but it doesn’t reach his eyes. “You used to get that crazed look on your face when you had an idea and you knew you would get your way.”
I know the look he speaks of; he had one of his own. He’d get a smile so wide his nose would scrunch up and his eyes would nearly crinkle closed. It’s that look that got me out of bed at night, to sneak into the royal stables or dive headfirst into a barrel of sugar in the kitchen. Back when things were simpler. Before Father and Orïsha wedged themselves between us.
“I’ve been meaning to give this to you.” Inan reaches inside his pocket. I expect a death threat from Father. I can hardly breathe when I see the glint of my old headdress.
“How?” My voice cracks when he places it in my hand.
Though dented, rusted, and stained with blood, holding it warms my chest. It’s like getting a little piece of Binta back.
“I’ve been carrying it since Sokoto. Thought you would want it back.”
I clutch the headdress to my chest and stare at him, a wave of gratitude rushing through me. But the gratitude only makes our reality worse.
“Are you really a maji?” The question fights its way out as I study the white streak in Inan’s hair. Headdress or not, I still don’t understand: What are his powers? Why him and not me? If the gods ordain who receives their gifts, what made them choose Inan?
Inan nods, running his hands through the streak. “I don’t know how or why. It happened when I touched the scroll in Lagos.”
“Does Father know?”
“Am I still breathing?” Inan attempts to keep his voice light, but the pain breaks through. The image of the sword that cut Binta forces itself into my mind. It’s far too easy to imagine Father plunging that sword into Inan’s chest as well.
“How could you?”
Every other question vanishes as the only one that matters finally comes out. I feel every time I defended him to Zélie balloon inside me. I thought I knew my brother’s true heart. Now I’m not sure I know him at all.
“I can understand being under Father’s influence, but he’s not here,” I press. “How am I ever supposed to trust you when you’ve been fighting against yourself this entire time?”
Inan’s shoulders slump. He scratches the back of his neck.
“You can’t,” he replies. “But I’ll earn your trust. I promise.”
In another life, those words would be enough, but Binta’s death still scars my memories. I can’t help but think of all the signs, every chance I had to release her from palace life. If I had only been more vigilant then, my friend would still be alive.
“These people.” I clutch her headdress. “They mean the world to me. I love you, Inan, but I won’t allow you to hurt the maji the way you’ve hurt me.”
“I know.” Inan nods. “But I swear on the throne, that is not my aim. Zélie’s taught me how wrong I was about the maji. I know I’ve made mistakes.”
His voice softens when he speaks Zélie’s name, as if recalling a fond memory. More questions bubble inside me as he turns to search for her in the crowd, but for now I push them back down. I can’t begin to fathom what she did to change my brother’s mind, but the only thing that matters now is that this change is here for good.
“For your sake, I hope you don’t make any more.”
Inan eyes me, face difficult to read as he looks me up and down.
“Is that a threat?”
“It’s a promise. If I suspect any treachery, it’ll be my sword you’ll have to face.”
It wouldn’t be the first time our swords clashed. It certainly won’t be like the last.
“I’ll prove myself to you, to all of you,” Inan declares. “You’re on the right side of this. My only desire is to stand there as well.”
“Good.” I lean forward to hug him, holding on to his promise.
But when his hands wrap around my back, all I can think of are how his fingers are resting just above my scars.