Still, there are some who hold out hope that the Guard will find the children alive, but I know the truth. The shotani removed the bodies after Arti’s ritual. They washed the blood from the walls and got rid of the evidence from the chamber beneath the gardens.
At night, sleep taunts me and becomes as elusive as the white ox. I dream about the children . . . about Kofi . . . lying on the floor in the tomb. Shezmu’s mouth stretches wide to eat their kas. My father’s mouth. Sometimes he has teeth sharpened to fine points. Sometimes blood stains his lips and runs down his chin. Sometimes he’s smiling at me with my father’s kind eyes before his two voices split into a piercing scream.
During the day, I wander through the market to lose myself in the crowd. I pretend for a brief respite that I’m someone else, hiding my pain beneath the noise. I don’t know how to stop my mother, and I’m seething with anger. Where are the orishas that they let this happen? And Heka . . . I can’t believe he agreed to help her, and then left this burden to me. Now I’m on my own with no clue what to do next. I haven’t been able to approach any of the charlatans about their scrolls. Whenever my eyes land on one, my mother’s curse takes my voice.
After Rudjek’s Coming of Age Ceremony, the Vizier sequestered him at their estate. With all that’s happened, I haven’t had time to think about the almost kiss, and we haven’t seen each other since that night. Every day either Majka or Kira find me in the market and deliver a message from him.
“Rudjek says not to worry. He’ll handle his father.” Majka stifled a laugh. One does not handle the Vizier of the Kingdom. One obeys him. “He also says that you were the most beautiful girl at his ceremony.” Majka pulled at his collar, the slightest flush showing on his rich brown skin. “And it’s the memory of your smile that keeps him sane in these trying times. He’s very melodramatic, isn’t he?” That last part Majka added with a crooked grin.
Majka was right. He’s the most melodramatic boy I know. Rudjek could’ve sent a letter rather than have his friends relay his messages. Each exchange has been quite uncomfortable for both them and me.
Today the message was: “I’ve seen the reports about the mood in the markets. The Guard expects a full riot any day now. You should stop going for a while, until things calm down.”
To which I answered: “The market isn’t the problem. You know that as well as I.”
That was as much as the curse let me say.
After the evening meal Arti tells Terra to go fetch her some palm bark tea and strong wine. I corner Terra in the kitchen and ask to tag along. I need to get out. I can’t stand another moment listening to Oshhe’s stories, his voice as dry as someone reading a market list. And to make matters worse, Ty, Nezi, and Terra seem none the wiser about what happened at the Temple or to my father. They go about their daily lives the same as always—and it infuriates me to no end. Arti is close with Ty and Nezi, and it’s hard to believe they don’t know. I can’t help but wonder if they not only know but support what she’s done.
Every time I look at my father, I see Shezmu’s sickly green glow in his eyes. But the demon fled my father’s body that same night, his exit as awful as his arrival. Oshhe remained bedridden for days after that, and to my surprise, Arti stayed at his side. She fed him when he wasn’t strong enough to hold a spoon. These two warring sides of my mother paint conflicting visions of her. But no matter how hard I try, I can only see the darkness now.
Terra and I arrive in the East Market to mobs gathered on corners, whispering of betrayal and vengeance. If only I could tell them about Arti instead of standing around with my tongue caught in a flytrap. The Guard marches down the streets in its gray uniforms, breaking up crowds.
“Are you okay?” Terra asks, her voice timid. “You haven’t been yourself lately.”
The pain of my secret eats at me. I want to fall to my knees, to tear out my hair, but instead I push back the tears yearning to burst free. “I don’t think any of us are okay.”
“It’s awful, isn’t it?” Terra shudders at my side. “Some people say the children are dead.”
My nerves flutter, and I look everywhere but at her. Arti’s sins are my sins, too. To serve as witness to a ritual is to be a part of it. “I hope . . .” The curse stops me from finishing my sentence. I hope they make Arti pay. “I hope the city will have its answer soon.” The words sour on my tongue.
As we search for an apothecary still open at this late hour, a somber mood hangs over the market. No Familiars slither across people’s backs, feeding off their sorrow and hate. None flicker in and out of the shadows, which would be a relief if it wasn’t so unusual. If they aren’t here, then there must be trouble brewing somewhere else. We left Arti heaving into a bucket at the villa, so chances are she’s not the source. But even with her sick, the shotani could be up to something on her behalf.
“Your mother asked for palm bark tea. Is she . . .” Terra swallows. “Pregnant?”
When I don’t answer, Terra adds, “The tea helps with the sickness.”
“Yes.” I let out a shaky breath. “I know.”
“You’ll love having a sister or a brother.” Terra flashes me a smile. “I have five myself. Three sisters and two brothers.”
Yes, but none of your siblings were green-eyed serpents with both demon’s and Heka’s magic. Magic so powerful that she pushed her way through time, into my vision, into Grandmother’s, blocking her sight.
Grandmother.
I should’ve thought of her before. Would have, if my mind hadn’t been reeling ever since that night at the Temple. What if I could get a letter to Tribe Aatiri? Would the curse let me? If I write something that has nothing to do with Arti, but still convince Grandmother to come to the Kingdom at once—could that be the answer? She wouldn’t fall for Arti’s tricks, and she’d be able to put an end to this nightmare. If tonight’s plan doesn’t work, I’ll try it first thing in the morning.
“I ran into one of the Vizier’s attendants this morning.” Terra brushes her hand across a bright roll of silk as we pass through a busier part of the market. “She overheard what happened in the gardens the night of the Omari heir’s Coming of Age Ceremony.”
“Terra.” A flush of heat creeps around my collar. “I’m not about to gossip with you.”
“Well . . .” She shrugs, her face reddening. “If you ever do want to talk . . .”
“I won’t.”
While Terra ducks into the only open apothecary, I slip away. It’s busy inside and that should give me the time I need. I haven’t come to find medicine to soothe Arti’s sickness. I’ve come for something else. I can’t let my mind settle on the reason, for if I do, her magic will stop me. I need poison, yes, but it doesn’t matter for what. As long as the magic doesn’t know, no harm done. Not yet.
I cut a path through the street musicians to reach the seedier, quieter parts of the East Market. On the surface the streets look deserted, but pockets of people linger in the shadows. I circle toward the vendors who sell poisons, but my path takes me away from them. No matter how much I try to cover up my intentions, I can’t get any closer.