ZÉLIE HAS NEVER LOOKED more beautiful than she does now.
Hand in hand with a young divîner boy, she shines in her soft purple dress, a twirling goddess among the crowd. The sea-salt scent of her soul rises above the vast aromas of festival foods. It hits me with full force.
An ocean tide pulling me in.
Watching her, it’s almost easy to forget about the maji. The monarchy. Father. In this moment, all I can think about is Zél. Her smile lights the world like a full moon on a starless night.
When she can twirl no longer, she gives the child a hug. He squeals when she plants a kiss on his forehead. But as soon as he runs off, three young men step forward to take his place.
“Excuse me—”
“Hi, I’m Deka—”
“You look lovely tonight—”
I smile as they try to charm her. Each squawks over the other. While they chatter, I wrap my hand around Zélie’s side and squeeze.
“May I have this dance?”
She whips around, outraged. Then she realizes it’s me. As she smiles, I’m struck with her delight. Then longing. A hint of fear. Tzain flashes across her mind, and I pull her close. “I’ll take you somewhere he can’t see.”
A warm rush flows from her body into mine. My grip tightens.
“I’ll take that as a yes.”
I grab her hand and lead her through the crowd, ignoring the glares of her pursuers. We make our way toward the forest at the edge of the camps. Away from the celebration and dance. The cool air is a welcome breeze. It carries the rich scent of campfires and bark and damp leaves.
“You’re sure you don’t see Tzain?”
“Positive.”
“What about—whoa!”
Zélie stumbles to the ground. A girlish giggle escapes her mouth. As I stifle my own laughter to help her, a whiff of honey palm wine wafts into my nose.
“Skies, Zél, are you drunk?”
“I wish. Whoever brewed this clearly didn’t know what they were doing.” She takes my hand and leans against a tree for support. “I think all that twirling with Salim is catching up to me.”
“I’ll bring you water.”
I make to leave, but Zélie grabs my arm.
“Stay.” Her fingers slide to my hands. A rush travels through me at her touch.
“Are you sure?”
She nods and giggles again. Her melodic laughter draws me close.
“You asked me to dance.” A playful glint flashes in her silver eyes. “I want to dance.”
Like the eager boys circling Zélie before, I step forward. Close enough to catch the faintest hint of palm wine on her breath. When I slide my hand over her wrist, she closes her eyes and breathes in. Her fingers dig into the bark.
Her reaction fills every cell in my being with want, a visceral rush I’ve never experienced before. It takes everything in me not to kiss her; not to run my hands over her curves and press her against the tree.
When her eyes flutter open again, I bend so that my lips brush against her ear. “If we’re actually going to dance, you have to move, little Zél.”
She stiffens.
“Don’t call me that.”
“You can call me ‘little prince’ and I can’t call you ‘little Zél’?”
Her hands drop to her side. She turns her face away.
“Mama called me that.”
Skies.
I release her. It’s a fight not to bang my head against the tree. “Zél, I’m sorry. I didn’t—”
“I know.”
She stares at the ground. Her playfulness disappears, drowning in a sea of grief. But then a wave of terror swells inside her.
“Are you okay?”
She clings to me without warning, pressing her head into my chest. Her fear sinks into my skin. It wraps around my throat. It consumes her—raw and powerful—just like that day in the forest. Except now it’s not only the monarchy that haunts her; it’s the shadows of death thrashing from her own hands.
I wrap my arms around her and squeeze. What I wouldn’t give to take her fear away. We stay like that for a long moment, disappearing into each other’s arms.
“You smell like the sea.”
She blinks up at me.
“Your spirit,” I clarify. “It’s always smelled like the sea.”
She stares at me with an expression I can’t discern. I don’t spend too much time trying to decipher it. It’s enough to be lost in her eyes. To exist only in her silver gaze.
I tuck a loose coil behind her ears. She presses her face back into my chest.
“I lost control today.” Her voice cracks. “I hurt him. I hurt Tzain.”
I open my mind a little further, just beyond the point of pure relief. Zélie’s memory rushes in like a wave spilling onto shore.
I feel it all, Tzain’s venomous words, the shadows that raged. The guilt, the hatred, the shame left in her magic’s wake.
I squeeze Zélie tighter, a warm rush running through me when she squeezes back. “I lost control once, too.”
“Did someone get hurt?”
“Someone died,” I say quietly. “Someone I loved.”
She pulls back and looks up, tears brimming in her eyes. “That’s why you’re so afraid of your magic?”
I nod. The guilt of Kaea’s death twists a knife inside me. “I didn’t want anyone else to get hurt.”
Zélie leans back into my chest and releases a heavy breath. “I don’t know what to do.”
“About?”
“Magic.”
My eyes go wide. Of all the things I imagined, I never thought I’d hear this doubt come from her mouth.
“This is what I want.” Zélie waves a hand at the bliss of the festival. “This is everything I’ve been fighting for, but when I think of what happened…” Her voice trails off. Tzain’s bleeding shoulder fills her mind. “These people are good. Their hearts are pure. But what will happen if I bring magic back and the wrong maji tries to take control?”
The fear is so familiar, it feels like my own. Yet somehow it’s not nearly as strong as before. Even when I think back to Kwame in flames, the first image that comes to my mind is how they sputtered out when Zulaikha instructed him to stop.
Zélie opens her mouth to continue, but no words come out. I gaze at the fullness of her lips. I stare a bit too long when she bites them.
“It’s so unfair,” she sighs.
I look down at her. It’s hard to believe we’re both awake. How many times have I wanted to hold her like this? To have her hold me back?
“You just get to dance around in my mind while I have no idea what’s going on in yours.”
“You really want to know?”
“Of course I want to know! Do you realize how embarrassing it is to have no con—”
I push her against the bark of the tree. My mouth presses against her neck. She gasps as I run my hands up her back. A small moan escapes her lips.
“This,” I whisper. My mouth brushes her skin with each word. “This is what I’m thinking. This is what’s going through my head.”
“Inan,” she breathes, voice ragged. Her fingers dig into my back, pulling me closer. Everything in me wants her. Wants this. All the time.
With that desire, everything becomes clear. It all begins to make sense.
We don’t need to fear magic.
We only need each other.