“I had them cornered!” I yank my wrist out of Mother’s hand. “Twice. It’s not my fault my men broke position after the explosion.”
“I am not saying it’s your fault, my love.” Mother tries to grab my cheek, but I slip away from her rose-scented hand. “Just that it’s too dangerous for a prince.”
“Mother, it’s because I am a prince that I must do this,” I press. “It’s my responsibility to keep Orïsha safe. I can’t protect my people if I hide inside the palace walls.”
Mother waves me away, shooing my words as she turns back to Father. “He’s the next king of Orïsha, for skies’ sake. Gamble with some peasant’s life!”
Father’s expression remains blank. As if he’s blocked Mother out. He stares out the window as she speaks, twisting the royal ruby that sits on his finger.
Beside him, his majacite blade stands tall in its golden stand, the snow leopanaire carved into its pommel gleaming with Father’s reflection. The black sword is like an extension of Father, never more than an arm’s length from his side.
“You said ‘them,’” Father finally says. “Who was the fugitive with? When she left the palace, she was alone.”
I swallow hard, forcing myself to meet Father’s eyes as I step forward. “We don’t know her identity at the moment. We only know she isn’t native to Lagos.” But I know she has eyes like the moon. I know the faded scar that nicks her eyebrow.
Once again the divîner’s face floods my mind with such clarity it could be a painting hung on the palace wall. Her full lips part in a snarl; her muscles tense against her lean build.
Another prick of energy pulses under my skin. Sharp and burning, like liquor over an open wound. The searing throbs beneath my scalp. I shudder, forcing the vile sensation away.
“The royal physician is reviving the checkpoint guards,” I continue. “When they come to, I will have her identity and origin. I can still track them down—”
“You will do no such thing,” Mother says. “You could have died today! And then what? Leave Amari to take the throne?” She walks forward—fists clenched, headdress high. “You must stop this, Saran. Stop it this instant!”
I jerk my head back. She called Father by his name.…
Her voice echoes against the red walls of the throne room. A harsh reminder of her gall.
We both look at Father. I can’t fathom what he’ll do. I begin to think Mother’s actually won for once when he speaks.
“Leave.”
Mother’s eyes widen. The confidence she wore so proudly drips off her face like sweat. “My king—”
“Now,” he orders, even in his tone. “I require a private word with my son.”
Mother grabs my wrist. We both know how Father’s private words usually end. But she can’t interfere.
Not unless she wants to face Father’s wrath herself.
Mother bows, stiff as a sword. She catches my gaze as she turns to leave. New tears streak the powder caked onto her cheeks.
For a long while Mother’s departing footsteps are the only sounds to fill the vast throne room. Then the door slams shut.
Father and I are alone.
“Do you know the fugitive’s identity?”
I hesitate—a white lie could save me from a brutal beating. But Father sniffs out lies like hyenaires on the hunt.
A lie will only make it worse.
“No,” I answer. “But we’ll get a lead by sunset. When we do, I’ll take my team—”
“Call off your men.”
I tense. He won’t even give me a chance.
Father doesn’t think I can do it. He’s going to take me off the guard.
“Father,” I say slowly. “Please. I didn’t anticipate the fugitive’s resources before, but I’m prepared now. Grant me a chance to make this right.”
Father rises from his throne. Slow and deliberate. Though his face is calm, I’ve seen firsthand the rage that can hide behind his empty gaze.
I drop my eyes to the floor as he approaches. I can already hear the coming shouts. Duty before self.
Orïsha before me.
I failed him today. Him, and my kingdom. I let a divîner wreak havoc on all of Lagos. Of course he’s going to punish me.
I lower my head and hold my breath. I wonder how badly this will hurt. If Father doesn’t ask me to remove my armor, he’ll go for my face.
More bruises for the world to see.
He raises his hand and I shut my eyes. I brace for the blow. But instead of his fist against my cheek, I feel his palm grip my shoulder.
“I know you can do this, Inan. But it can only be you.”
I blink in confusion. Father’s never looked at me this way before.
“It’s not just any fugitive,” he says through his teeth. “It’s Amari.”
CHAPTER SEVEN
ZÉLIE
WE’RE HALFWAY TO ILORIN before Tzain feels safe enough to pull on Nailah’s reins. When we come to a stop, he doesn’t move. I must’ve sparked a new level of rage.
As the crickets chirp in the towering trees, I slide off the saddle and hug Nailah’s gigantic face, massaging the special spot between her horns and her ears. “Thank you,” I whisper into her fur. “You’re getting the biggest treat when we get home.”
Nailah purrs and nuzzles her snout against my nose like I’m the cub she’s been tasked to protect. It’s enough to bring a smile to my face, but when Tzain drops to the ground and stalks toward me, I know even Nailah can’t protect me from this.
“Tzain—”
“What’s wrong with you?” he shouts with such fury that a family of blue-whisked bee-eaters flees from the trees overhead.
“I didn’t have a choice!” I rush out. “They were going to kill her—”
“What in gods’ names do you think they’re going to do to you?” Tzain slams his fist into a tree with so much force the bark splits. “Why don’t you ever think, Zél? Why don’t you just do what you’re supposed to do?”
“I did!” I reach into my bag and throw a velvet purse at Tzain. Silver pieces spill across the ground. “I got five hundred for the sailfish!”
“All the money in Orïsha won’t save us now.” Tzain palms his eyes, smearing tears on his cheeks. “They’re going to kill us. They’re going to kill you, Zél!”
“Please,” the girl squeaks, drawing our attention. She possesses an uncanny ability to shrink; I forgot she was even here.
“I…” Her face blanches. Under her long hood, I can barely make out her stark amber eyes. “This is my fault. All of it.”
“Thank you.” I roll my eyes, ignoring Tzain’s glare. Without her, Tzain would be nothing but smiles. Our family would finally be safe.
“What did you do?” I ask. “Why were the king’s men chasing you?”
“Don’t tell us.” He shakes his head and jabs his finger toward Lagos. “Go back. Turn yourself in. It’s the only chance we have to—”
She removes her cloak, silencing us both. Tzain can’t look away from her regal face. I can’t stop staring at the golden headdress fastened into her braid. It dips onto her forehead, all swooping chains and glittering leaves. In the center, a diamond-crusted seal shines. An adorned snow leopanaire, which only one family is allowed to wear.