“Tzain, come on,” I say. “You can’t ignore me for the rest of your life.”
“I can try.”
“My gods.” I roll my eyes. “What do you want from me?”
“How about an apology?” Tzain snaps. “Baba almost died! And now you want to sit here and pretend like it never happened?”
“I already said sorry,” I snap back. “To you, to Baba.”
“That doesn’t change what happened.”
“Then I’m sorry I can’t change the past!”
My yell echoes through the trees, igniting a new stretch of silence between us. I run my fingers along the cracks of worn leather in Nailah’s saddle as an uncomfortable pit forms in my chest.
For gods’ sakes, think, Zélie, Mama Agba’s voice echoes in my mind. Who would protect your father if you hurt those men? Who would keep Tzain safe when the guards come for blood?
“Tzain, I’m sorry,” I say quietly. “Really. I feel awful, more than you can know, but—”
Tzain releases a sigh of exasperation. “Of course there’s a but.”
“Because this isn’t just my fault!” I say, my anger reaching a boiling point. “The guards are the reason Baba went out on the water!”
“And you’re the reason he almost drowned,” Tzain shoots back. “You left him alone.”
I bite my tongue. There’s no point in arguing. Strong and handsome kosidán that he is, Tzain doesn’t understand why I need Mama Agba’s training. Boys in Ilorin try to be his friend, girls try to steal his heart. Even the guards flock his way, singing praises of his agbön skills.
He doesn’t understand what it’s like to be me, to walk around in a divîner’s skin. To jump every time a guard appears, never knowing how a confrontation will end.
I’ll start with this one.…
My stomach clenches at the memory of the guard’s rough grip. Would Tzain yell at me if he knew? Would he shout if he realized how hard it was for me not to cry?
We ride in silence as the trees begin to thin and the city of Lagos comes into view. Surrounded by a gate crafted from the heartwood of the jackalberry trees, the capital is everything Ilorin isn’t. Instead of the calming sea, Lagos is flooded with an endless horde of people. Even from afar, so many swell within the city walls it’s impossible to understand how they all live.
I survey the layout of the capital from atop Nailah’s back, noting the white hair of passing divîners along the way. Lagos’s kosidán outnumber its divîners three to one, making them easy to spot. Though the space between Lagos’s walls is long and wide, my people congregate along the city’s fringe in slums. It’s the only place they’d allow divîners to live.
I settle back in Nailah’s saddle, the sight of the slums deflating something in my chest. Centuries ago, the ten maji clans and their divîner children were isolated all over Orïsha. While kosidán populated the cities, the clans lived along the mountains and oceans and fields. But with time, maji ventured out and clans spread across Orïsha’s lands, curiosity and opportunity driving their migration.
Over the years maji and kosidán began to marry, creating families with divîners and kosidán like mine. As the blended families multiplied, the number of Orïsha’s maji grew. Before the Raid, Lagos housed the biggest maji population.
Now those divîners are all that’s left.
Tzain pulls on Nailah’s reins, stopping her when we near the wooden gate. “I’ll wait here. It’ll be too crazy for her in there.”
I nod and slide off, giving Nailah’s dark, wet nose a kiss. I smile as her rough tongue licks my cheek, but the smile fades when I glance back at Tzain. Unspoken words hang in the air, but I turn and keep moving forward all the same.
“Wait.”
Tzain slides off Nailah, catching up to me in a single bound. He places a rusted dagger into my hand.
“I have a staff.”
“I know,” he says. “Just in case.”
I slide the weapon into my worn pocket. “Thanks.”
We stare at the dirt ground in silence. Tzain kicks a rock by his feet. I don’t know who will break first until he finally speaks.
“I’m not blind, Zél. I know this morning wasn’t all your fault, but I need you to do better.” For a moment Tzain’s eyes flash, threatening to reveal everything he holds back. “Baba’s only getting worse, and the guards are breathing down your neck. You can’t afford to slip right now. If you make another mistake, it could be your last.”
I nod, keeping my gaze on the ground. I can handle a lot of things, but Tzain’s disappointment cuts like a knife.
“Just do better,” Tzain sighs. “Please. Baba won’t survive if he loses you.… I won’t, either.”
I try to ignore the tightness in my chest. “I’m sorry,” I whisper. “I’ll do better. I promise.”
“Good.” Tzain pastes a smile on his face and ruffles my hair. “Enough of this. Go sell the hell out of that fish.”
I laugh and readjust the straps on my pack. “How much do you think I can get?”
“Two hundred.”
“That’s it?” I cock my head. “You really think that lowly of me?”
“That’s crazy coin, Zél!”
“I bet you I can get more.”
Tzain’s smile widens, gleaming with the shine of a good bet. “Get above two hundred and I’ll stay home with Baba next week.”
“Oh, you’re on.” I grin, already picturing my rematch with Yemi. Let’s see how she does against my new staff.
I rush forward, ready to make the trade, but when I reach the checkpoint, my stomach churns at the sight of the royal guards. It’s all I can do to keep my body still as I slide my collapsible staff into the waistband of my draped pants.
“Name?” a tall guard barks, keeping his eyes on his ledger. His dark curls fuzz in the heat, collecting the sweat dripping down his cheeks.
“Zélie Adebola,” I answer with as much respect as I can muster. No screwups. I swallow hard. At least, no more today.
The guard barely spares me a glance before writing the information down. “Origin?”
“Ilorin.”
“Ilorin?”
Short and stout, another guard wobbles as he approaches, using the giant wall to keep himself upright. The pungent smell of alcohol wafts into the air with his unwelcome presence.
“Wha’sa maggot like you doin’ s’far from ’ome?”
His words slur just before incomprehension, dripping from his mouth like the spittle on his chin. My chest clenches as he nears; the drunken glaze in his eyes turns dangerous.
“Purpose of visit?” the tall, thankfully sober guard asks.
“Trading.”
At this, a disgusting smile crawls onto the drunk guard’s face. He reaches for my wrist, but I back away and raise the wrapped package.
“Trading fish,” I clarify, but despite my words, he lunges forward. I grunt as he wraps his pudgy hands around my neck and presses me against the wooden wall. He leans in so close I can count the black and yellow stains on his teeth.