BEADS OF SWEAT soak through my cropped dashiki and drip onto the mountain stone. My muscles shake with the strain of practicing a hundred incantations, but Inan doesn’t let up. He rises from our latest skirmish, brushing hardened earth from his bare chest. Though a red welt swells on his cheek from my last animation, Inan squares his stance.
“Again.”
“Dammit,” I pant. “Just give me a break.”
“There’s no time for a break. If you can’t do this, we need another plan.”
“The plan is fine,” I say through my teeth. “What else do you need to prove that? They’ll be strong, we won’t need that many—”
“There are over fifty fighters down there, Zélie. Armed, battle-ready men. If you think eight animations will be enough—”
“It’s more than enough for you!” I point to the bruise forming on Inan’s eye, to the blood staining the right sleeve of his kaftan. “You can barely fight one. What makes you think they can handle more?”
“Because there are fifty of them!” Inan shouts. “I’m not even at half my strength. I should hardly be your gauge.”
“Then prove me wrong, little prince.” I clench my fists, eager to draw more of his royal blood. “Show me how weak I am. Show me how strong you really are!”
“Zélie—”
“Enough!” I roar, pressing my palms into the ground. For the first time my spiritual pathways unlock without an incantation; my ashê drains and the animations flow. With a rumble, they come to life, rising from the earth at my silent command. Inan’s eyes widen as ten animations charge across the hill.
But in the brief moment before the attack, his gaze narrows. A vein bulges against his throat. His muscles tense against his strong build. His magic surfaces like a warm breeze, heating the air around us.
He cuts through two animations; they crumble into dirt. He strikes like lightning against the others, dodging and attacking at the same time. Dammit. I bite the inside of my cheek and chew. He’s faster than the average guard.
Deadlier than the typical prince.
“4mí àwọn tí ó ti sùn—” I chant again, giving three more animations new life. I hope the rush will slow Inan down, but after a few frenzied seconds, he stands alone. Sweat rolls down his forehead, dried soil crunches under his feet.
Twelve animations later and still, he stands.
“Satisfied?” Though he pants, he looks more alive than I’ve ever seen him. Sweat glistens off the curves of his muscles; for once he’s more than skin and bone. His face flushes red with color as he stabs his sword into a crack in the ground. “If I can take down twelve at full strength, how do you think fifty fighters will fare?”
I press my palms into the cliff. I’ll make an animation he can’t defeat. The ground rumbles, but my ashê is too drained to breathe new spirit soldiers. Without resorting to blood magic, I can’t do it. No matter how hard I strain, no animations spring forth.
Whether Inan sees my desperation on my face or senses it with his magic, I don’t know. He pinches the bridge of his nose, all but stifling a low groan.
“Zélie—”
“No,” I cut him off. My eyes drift toward my pack. The sunstone lies beneath the leather, silently tempting me.
If I used it, I could conjure more than enough animations to take down fifty fighters. But Inan doesn’t know I have it. And if those masked figures are after the scroll, they’ll want the sunstone, too. My frustration grows, though I know I’m right. I have a chance at retrieving the scroll and the bone dagger, but if the sunstone falls into the wrong maji’s hands, they’ll become too powerful for me to ever get it back.
But if I used blood magic …
I look down at my hand; the bite marks around my thumb have just begun to scar. A blood sacrifice would be more than enough, but after what happened in the arena in Ibeji, I never want to use blood magic again.
Inan stares at me with expectant eyes, solidifying my answer. I can’t use either.
“I just need more time.”
“We don’t have time.” Inan runs his hand through his hair; the white streak seems wider now than it did before. “You’re not even close. If you can’t do this, we need to summon the guards.”
He takes a deep breath, and the warmth of his magic begins to fade. The color drains from his skin. His vigor dies as he pushes his magic away.
It’s like the very life is being sucked out of him.
“Maybe the problem isn’t me.” My voice cracks and I close my eyes. I hate him for making me feel weak. I hate him for weakening himself. “If you would just use your magic, we wouldn’t need guards.”
“I can’t.”
“Can’t or won’t?”
“My magic doesn’t have offensive capabilities.”
“Are you sure?” I press, remembering Mama’s stories, Lekan’s pictures of the Connectors. “You’ve never stunned anyone? You’ve never cast a mental attack?”
A flicker passes across his face, something I can’t read. He clenches the handle of his sword and looks away. The air grows colder as he pushes his magic even further down.
“For gods’ sakes, Inan. Have some resolve. If your magic could help save Amari, why aren’t you doing everything you can?” I step closer to him, trying to put gentleness in my tone. “I’ll keep your stupid secret. If we use your magic to attack—”
“No!”
I jump back at the force of Inan’s words.
“My answer is no.” He swallows hard. “I can’t. I’m never doing that again. I know you’re wary of the guards, but I’m their prince. I promise you, I will keep them under control—”
I turn on my heel, walking back toward the ledge of the hill’s incline. When Inan shouts my name, I grit my teeth, fighting the urge to smack him with my staff. I’ll never save my brother. I’ll never get back the dagger or the scroll. I shake my head, fighting the swirl of emotions that wants to explode.
“Zélie—”
“Tell me, little prince.” I whip around. “What hurts more? The feeling you get when you use your magic or the pain of pushing it all down?”
Inan jerks back. “You can’t possibly understand.”
“Oh, I understand perfectly.” I get in his face, close enough to see the stubble dotting his cheeks. “You would let your sister die and see all of Orïsha burn if it meant keeping your magic a secret.”
“Keeping my magic a secret is how I keep Orïsha safe!” The air warms as his powers surge. “Magic is the root of all our problems. It’s the root of Orïsha’s pain!”
“Your father is the root of Orïsha’s pain!” My voice shakes with anger. “He’s a tyrant and a coward. That’s all he’ll ever be!”
“My father is your king.” Inan closes in. “A king trying to protect his people. He took magic away so Orïsha would be safe.”
“That monster took magic away so that he could slaughter thousands. He took magic away so the innocent couldn’t defend themselves!”
Inan pauses. The air continues to warm as guilt creeps into his expression.
“He did what he thought was right.” He speaks slowly. “But he wasn’t wrong to take magic away. He was wrong for the oppression that followed.”
I dig my hands into my hair, skin growing hot at Inan’s ignorance. How can he defend his father? How can he not see what’s truly going on?
“Our lack of power and our oppression are one and the same, Inan. Without power we’re maggots. Without power the monarchy treats us like scum!”
“Power is not the answer. It will only intensify the fight. Maybe you can’t trust my father, but if you could learn to trust me, to trust my guards—”
“Trust the guards?” I scream so loud there’s no doubt every fighter hidden in this godsforsaken forest hears my voice quake. “The same guards who chained my mother by her neck? The guards who beat my father half to death? The guards who grope me whenever they have a chance, just waiting for the day they can take everything when I’m forced into the stocks?”
Inan’s eyes grow wide, but he presses, “The guards I know are good. They keep Lagos safe—”
“My gods.” I stalk away. I can’t listen to this. I’m a fool for thinking we could ever work together.
“Hey,” he yells. “I’m talking to you.”
“I’m done talking, little prince. Clearly you’ll never understand.”
“I could say the same thing!” He runs after me with labored steps. “You don’t need magic to fix things.”
“Leave me alone—”
“If you could just see where I’m coming from—”
“Go—”
“You don’t have to be afraid—”
“I am always afraid!”
I don’t know what shocks me more—the power in my voice or the words themselves.
Afraid.
I am always afraid.
It’s a truth I locked away years ago, a fact I fought hard to overcome. Because when it hits, I’m paralyzed.
I can’t breathe.
I can’t talk.
All at once, I crumple to the ground, clasping my palm over my mouth to stifle the sobs. It doesn’t matter how strong I get, how much power my magic wields. They will always hate me in this world.
I will always be afraid.
“Zélie—”
“No,” I breathe through my sobs. “Stop. You think you know what it’s like, but you don’t. You never will.”
“Then help me.” Inan kneels by my side, careful to keep his distance. “Please. I want to understand.”
“You can’t. They built this world for you, built it to love you. They never cursed at you in the streets, never broke down the doors of your home. They didn’t drag your mother by her neck and hang her for the whole world to see.”
Now that the truth is out, there’s nothing I can do to stop. My chest billows as I sob. My fingers tremble at the terror.
Afraid.
The truth cuts like the sharpest knife I’ve ever known.
No matter what I do, I will always be afraid.