I take a step back from her, but she moves closer. Her eyes brim with tears. “Only one touched by his magic can wield the blade,” she says. “Give it to me and I’ll end this now.”
How can I trust my mother, who sacrificed children to call upon a demon? Why would she be regretful now? It was her hatred that started the bloodshed. But I can’t deny the anguish in Arti’s bloodshot eyes, the pain etched in her frown. She’s hurting too. Is it because of the tribes? Did she know that Efiya would attack them too? Even if my mother isn’t as heartless as I thought, it doesn’t matter now. It’s too late. “Get away from me,” I spit.
“Arrah, please,” she begs. “There isn’t much time.”
I shake my head. I won’t be a pawn in whatever game she’s playing now.
She steps closer; my magic lashes out, but hers rises up to counter. Sparks encircle us as we come to a standstill. “The chieftains were right to bind their kas to you,” she says, relieved. I can’t reconcile this broken person before me, the regret in her eyes and the pain in her voice.
I love my mother. I never stopped loving her after all that she’s done, and to see her like this cuts me to the bone. I want to believe her. I want to lay my head on her shoulder and let this moment between us wash away the bad blood. Let it reverse time and erase our history, so that we can start over from that day she painted the Mulani dancers on the wall when I was a little girl. Instead of disappointment, she won’t care that I don’t have magic and she’ll be proud of me. But all the wishing and hoping and dreaming in the world won’t change the past.
“She killed them,” I say, barely able to hold back my sobs. “The witchdoctors are all gone.”
Arti stares at the place where the dagger rests beneath my tunic, her eyes hungry. “I didn’t mean for that to happen.” Her gaze meets mine again. “That was never part of my plan.” She reaches her arm out to me. “You have to believe me.” When I don’t reach back, her hand drops to her side. “I only wanted to make Jerek and Suran and their orisha masters suffer. It isn’t the Demon King we need to worry about, Arrah.” Arti looks over her shoulder at Efiya with Rudjek, then says, “It’s your sister.”
“Why now?” I glare at her to keep myself from falling to pieces. She’s still defending the Demon King after so much that’s happened. My mother is hopeless. “Why the change of heart?”
Arti tilts her chin up, some shadow of the self-assured Ka-Priestess still left in her features. “If I have to choose between releasing my master and fixing my mistakes, then I choose the latter.” She sighs. “It may not mean much now, but I want you to have a life beyond this night. Please, daughter, let me do this one thing to atone for a fraction of the pain I’ve caused you.” The frown and anguish smooth away from her face, like she’s made peace with her decision. “Give me the knife, Arrah,” she says after a deep breath, her voice calm.
Tears run down my cheeks. My mother is offering to sacrifice herself to save me. The charlatan daughter who’s always disappointed her. I may regret this moment for the rest of my life, but I believe that she means it. A little of the tension eases in my chest as I glance down at where the dagger is hidden beneath my tunic. I hesitate, still not quite sure if I can trust that she won’t change her mind. When I look up again, the tip of a sword pierces straight through my mother’s chest.
Blood splashes in my eyes. I can’t breathe. I can’t move. There’s nothing but red—red everywhere. It coats my tongue; it burns my throat. Efiya wrenches the blade from our mother’s back.
Arti’s face twists in pain as she mouths, “I’m sorry.”
Before her body even sinks to the ground, her ka rises and joins with Efiya.
Efiya smiles. “You will be with me always, Mother.”
Oshhe exhales and a white cloud escapes his lips. He frowns like he’s seeing for the first time. Efiya rips the shotel from Arti’s chest. When Oshhe’s eyes land on me, he smiles. A smile that’s tired, but hopeful. Time stops and for the briefest moment, there is only my father and me. His face transforms and he’s once again the proud son of Tribe Aatiri. My heart threatens to burst with joy. It’s really my father. It’s really him.
“Little Priestess.” His voice is a vapor. “I need you to be strong a little longer.”
Tears and blood cloud my vision as I stumble toward him. My eyes aren’t deceiving me. My father has come back. Warmth spreads in his sallow cheeks, and his dark gaze shines with light once more. I will take him away from this pain and horror. We’ll go back to his shop and dry herbs and clean bones. We’ll work in the garden, eating so much milk candy that our bellies ache. I’ll listen to him tell stories for hours, for days, for weeks, for the rest of my life.
Efiya appears in front of him in the blink of an eye and plunges her blade into his heart.
“No, no, no!” I scream, pain exploding in my chest.
The ground shakes beneath my feet, and I descend upon my sister like a raging firestorm.
Forty
Efiya and I are a tangle of arms and legs lost in a plume of magic dust. We claw and punch and kick each other. I slam her head against the ground and she knees me in the belly, knocking the wind from my lungs. I struggle to catch my breath.
She’s too strong.
Her magic burns against my defenses and burrows deep inside me. A blistering cold stops my heart and shreds my muscles. My skin cracks like shards of glass before a blazing heat counters her magic and mends the damage. I call lightning that sets her on fire. Our screams drown each other out, and the pain, twenty-gods, there’s so much pain that it blurs my vision.
Efiya takes a step back from me like this is a game and it’s time for a respite. She’s got cuts and scratches and burns everywhere, and she’s bleeding. She’s not invincible. I allow myself a smile.
“It’s like when we used to play in the gardens.” Efiya laughs, delighted. “I’ve missed that.”
As I lunge for her, my sister wraps herself into the void and disappears. In her absence, the others wake with a start. There’s no time to lament as her army descends upon us like vultures. My magic stands on edge as the feeling of prying eyes peering into my soul overwhelms me. I catch sight of a demon standing in the middle of the charging army. He’s wearing a new face, one that is suntanned and angular and a body that’s muscular and compact, but his magic is unmistakable. It curdles my blood. Efiya has given her demon father, Shezmu, a permanent vessel. The echo of metal against metal assaults my senses, but my mind might as well be in a sunken ship deep in the Great Sea.
Bodies twist and turn around me, but I can’t stop staring at my father. My pulse throbs so hard in my ears that I’m light-headed as I stumble to where he lies crumpled on the ground. I drop to my knees, my chest heaving, struggling to breathe, and then I take him into my arms. My magic wraps him in a cocoon of bright colors. It settles on him like stardust and heals his wound. His body is whole, but Efiya took his soul. The magic can’t repair that.
Little Priestess, the memory of his voice whispers. I need you to be strong a little longer.
The rage festering inside me explodes. As I come to my feet, lightning cuts across the sky in a flash of bright amber, striking demon and shotani alike. They collapse in heaps of fire—the flames from their charred flesh sucking up the air. Hot tears streak down my cheeks. I won’t stop until they all suffer. I welcome their deaths.