IT TAKES HOURS for the celebrations to die down, though I don’t understand how anyone can feel like celebrating. Such a tremendous waste of life. One stolen by my own hand.
Tzain tries to guard us from the masses, but even he can’t overpower the force of the spectators as we pour out of the arena. They parade us through the streets of Ibeji, creating titles to commemorate the occasion. Zélie becomes “the Immortal,” while Tzain reigns as “the Commander.” When I pass, the spectators shout the most ridiculous name of all. I cringe as it rings once more: “The Lionaire!”
I want to yell of their mistake; replace “lionaire” with a more fitting title like “coward” or “impostor.” There is no ferocity behind my eyes, no vicious beast hidden inside. The name is nothing more than a lie, but fueled by liquor, not one of the spectators cares. They just need something to shout. Something to praise.
When we near our rented ahéré, Tzain finally breaks us free. With his guidance, we make it into our clay hut and take turns out back washing the blood away.
As the cold water runs over me, I scrub as hard as I can, desperate to wipe every remnant of that hell from my flesh. When the water turns red, I think of the captain I killed. Skies …
There was so much blood.
It seeped through the navy kaftan pasted to his skin, leaked through my leather soles, stained the hem of my pants. In his last moments, the captain reached for his pocket with a shaking hand. I don’t know what he wanted to grab. Before he could retrieve it, his hand fell limp.
I close my eyes and dig my nails into my palms, letting out a deep, shuddering breath. I don’t know what disturbs me more: that I killed him, or that I could do it again.
Strike, Amari. A thin whisper of Father’s voice plays in my ears.
I wipe him from my mind as I wash the last of the arena blood from my skin.
Back in the ahéré, the sunstone glows inside Zélie’s pack, lighting the scroll and the bone dagger in reds and sunflower yellows. A day ago I hardly believed we held two of the sacred artifacts, yet here all three sit. With twelve days left until the centennial solstice, we can make it to the sacred island with time to spare. Zélie can perform the ritual. Magic will actually return.
I smile to myself, picturing the glittering lights that escaped Binta’s hand. Not cut short by Father’s blade, but everlasting. A beauty I could witness every day.
If we succeed, Binta’s death will mean something. One way or another, Binta’s light will spread throughout Orïsha. The hole she left in my heart might one day heal.
“Can’t believe it?” Tzain whispers from the doorframe.
“Something like that.” I give him a small smile. “I’m just grateful it’s all over.”
“I heard they’re out of business. Without the coin from the pot, they can’t afford to bribe the stockers for more laborers.”
“Thank the skies.” I think of all the young divîners who perished. Although Zélie helped their spirits pass, their deaths still weigh on my shoulders. “Baako told me he and the other laborers will use the gold to cover more divîners’ debts. If they’re lucky, they’ll be able to save hundreds of people from the stocks.”
Tzain nods, looking at Zélie as she sleeps in the corner of the hut. Freshly bathed, she’s almost hidden against Nailah’s soft fur, recovering after her blinding display with the sunstone. Watching her, I don’t feel the prickle of discomfort that usually surfaces in her presence. When the crew told her that I was the one who ended the fight, she gave me a look that almost resembled a smile.
“Do you think your father knew about this?”
I snap my head up. Tzain averts his gaze and his face hardens.
“I don’t know,” I say quietly. “But if he knew, I’m not sure he would bother to stop it.”
An uncomfortable silence falls between us, stealing our brief moment of relief. Tzain reaches for a roll of bandages, but winces. The pain in his arm must be too great.
“Allow me.” I step forward, avoiding the reddening bandages around his bicep. His only battle wound, sustained because I got in his way.
“Thanks,” Tzain mutters when I hand him the roll. My stomach tightens with the guilt that eats away at my core.
“Don’t thank me. If I’d stayed off that boat, you wouldn’t have this wound at all.”
“I also wouldn’t have Zél.”
He meets my eyes with an expression so kind it catches me off guard. I thought for sure he’d resent me, but if anything, he’s grateful.
“Amari, I’ve been thinking.…” He picks at the roll of bandages, unraveling it only to wrap it up again. “When we pass through Gombe, you should go to the guard post. Tell them you’ve been kidnapped, blame everything on us.”
“Because of what happened on the boat?” I try to keep my tone even, but a slight shrillness breaks in. Where’s this coming from? Just a moment ago he was thanking me for being here.
“No!” Tzain closes the space between us, placing a tentative hand on my shoulder. For someone so large, there’s a surprising tenderness to his touch. “You were amazing. I don’t want to think about what would’ve happened if you weren’t there. But the look on your face afterward … If you stay, I can’t promise you won’t have to kill again.”
I stare at the ground, counting the cracks in the clay. He’s offering me another escape.
He’s trying to keep the blood off my hands.
I think back to that moment on the boat, back when I regretted everything and wished I had never stolen the scroll. This is the out I prayed for. I craved it with all my heart.
It could work.…
Though a flash of shame hits me, I imagine what would happen if I turned myself in. With the right story, enough tears, the perfect lies, I could convince them all. If I showed up disheveled enough, Father might believe I’d been kidnapped by the evil maji. Yet even as I play with the possibility, I already know my response.
“I’m staying.” I swallow the part of me that wants to give in, tucking it deep down inside. “I can do this. I proved that tonight.”
“Just because you can fight doesn’t mean you’re meant to—”
“Tzain, do not tell me what I am meant to do!”
His words stab like a needle, locking me back inside the palace walls.
Amari, sit up straight!
Do not eat that.
That’s more than enough dessert for you—
No.
No more. I have lived that life before and lost my dearest friend because of it. Now that I’ve escaped, I shall never return. With my escape, I must do more.
“I am a princess, not a prop. Do not treat me any differently. My father is responsible for this pain. I will be the one to fix it.”
Tzain jerks back and raises his hands in surrender. “Alright.”
I tilt my head. “That’s it?”
“Amari, I want you here. I just needed to know it was your choice. When you took that scroll, there’s no way you could know everything would turn out like this.”
“Oh…” I fight back a smile. I want you here. His words make my ears burn. Tzain actually wants me to stay.
“Well, thank you,” I say quietly, sitting back. “I want to be here, too. Despite how loudly you snore.”
Tzain smiles, and it softens up every hard line in his face. “You’re not so quiet yourself, Princess. The way you snore, I should’ve called you the Lionaire this whole time.”
“Ha.” I narrow my eyes and grab our canteens, praying my face isn’t flushed. “I’ll remember that the next time you need help grabbing a roll of bandages.”
Tzain grins as I leave the hut, a lopsided smile that lifts my very steps. The brisk night air greets me like an old friend, thick with the scent of ogogoro and palm wine from the celebration.
A hooded woman spots me and breaks out into a wide smile. “The Lionaire!”
Her call incites the cheers of those around her. It makes my cheeks flush, but this time the name doesn’t sound so wrong. With a shy wave, I skirt the crowd, fading into the shadows.
Perhaps I made a mistake.
Maybe a lionaire lives in me after all.