“So Amari can live?”
Father nods. “If she’s captured before anyone discovers what she’s done. That’s why you can’t take your men—you and Admiral Kaea must go and recover the scroll alone.”
Relief slams into my chest like a blow from Father’s fist. I can’t kill my little sister, but I can bring her back in.
A sharp knock raps against the door; Admiral Kaea pops her head through. Father waves his hand, welcoming her in.
Behind her, I catch a glimpse of Mother scowling. A new heaviness settles on my shoulders. Skies.
Mother doesn’t even know where Amari is.
“We found a noble. He claims he saw the maggot who aided the fugitive,” Kaea says. “She sold him a rare fish from Ilorin.”
“Did you cross-reference the ledger?” I ask.
Kaea nods. “It shows only one divîner from Ilorin today. Zélie Adebola, age seventeen.”
Zélie …
My mind fits the missing piece to her striking image. The name rolls off Kaea’s tongue like silver. Too soft for a divîner who attacked my city.
“Let me go to Ilorin,” I blurt out. My mind runs through the plan as I speak. I’ve seen a map of Ilorin before. The four quadrants of the floating village. A few hundred villagers, most lowly fishermen. We could take it with—“Ten men. That’s all Admiral Kaea and I need. I’ll find the scroll and bring Amari back. Just give me a chance.”
Father twists his ring as he thinks. I can hear the rejection sitting on his tongue. “If those men discover anything—”
“I’ll kill them,” I interrupt. The lie slips from my mouth with ease. If I can redeem my former failures, no one else needs to die.
But Father cannot know that. He barely trusts me as it is. He requires swift, unflinching commitment.
As captain, I must give it to him.
“Very well,” Father agrees. “Head out. Be quick.”
Thank the skies. I adjust my helmet and bow as deeply as I can. I’m almost out the door when Father calls out.
“Inan.”
Something twists in his tone. Something dark.
Dangerous.
“When you have what you need, burn that village to the ground.”
CHAPTER NINE
ZÉLIE
ILORIN IS ENTIRELY too peaceful.
At least, it feels that way after today. Coconut boats pull against their anchors, sheets fall over the dome of ahéré entrances. The village sets with the sun, making way for a calm night’s sleep.
Amari’s eyes widen with wonder as we sail through the water and head toward Mama Agba’s on Nailah’s back. She takes in every inch of the floating village like a starving laborer placed before a majestic feast.
“I’ve never seen anything like this,” she whispers. “It’s mesmerizing.”
I breathe in the fresh scent of the sea, closing my eyes as mist sprays my face. The taste of salt on my tongue makes me imagine what would happen if Amari wasn’t here; a fresh loaf of sweet bread, a nice cut of spiced meat. For once, we’d go to sleep with full bellies. A celebratory meal in my name.
My frustration reignites at Amari’s ignorant bliss. Princess that she is, she’s probably never missed a meal in her entire pampered life.
“Give me your headdress,” I snap when Nailah docks in the merchant quarter.
The wonder drops from Amari’s face and she stiffens. “But Binta—” She pauses, collecting herself. “I wouldn’t have this if it weren’t for my handmaiden.… It is the only thing of hers I have left.”
“I don’t care if the gods gave you that wretched thing. We can’t have people finding out who you are.”
“Don’t worry,” Tzain adds gently. “She’ll throw it in her pack, not the sea.”
I glare at his attempt to comfort her, but his words do the trick. Amari fiddles with the clasp and drops the glittering jewels into my pack. The shimmer they add to the shine of silver coins is absurd. This morning I didn’t have a bronze piece to my name. Now I’m weighed down by the riches of royals.
I crouch on Nailah’s back and pull myself onto the wooden walkway. I poke my head through Mama Agba’s curtained door to find Baba sleeping soundly in the corner, curled up like a wildcat in front of a heated flame. His skin has its color back, his face isn’t so skeletal and gaunt. Must be Mama Agba’s care. She could nurse a corpse back to life.
When I enter, Mama Agba peeks her head out from behind a mannequin stitched into a brilliant purple kaftan. The fitted seams suggest that it’s noble-bound, a sale that might cover her next tax.
“How’d it go?” she whispers, cutting the thread with her teeth. She adjusts the green and yellow gele wrapped around her head before tying up the kaftan’s loose ends.
I open my mouth to respond, but Tzain steps in, tentatively followed by Amari. She looks around the ahéré with an innocence only luxury can breed, running her fingers over the woven reeds.
Tzain gives Mama Agba a grateful nod as he takes my pack, pausing to hand Amari the scroll. He lifts Baba’s sleeping body with ease. Baba doesn’t even stir.
“I’m going to get our things,” he says. “Decide what we’re doing about this scroll. If we go…” His voice trails off, and my stomach tightens with guilt. There’s no if anymore. I’ve taken that choice away.
“Just be fast.”
Tzain leaves, biting his emotions back. I watch as his hulking frame disappears, wishing I wasn’t the source of his pain.
“Leave?” Mama Agba asks. “Why would you leave? And who is this?” Her eyes narrow as she looks Amari up and down. Even in a dingy cloak, Amari’s perfect posture and lifted chin denote her regal nature.
“Oh, um…” Amari turns to me, her grip tightening on the scroll. “I—I am…”
“Her name’s Amari,” I sigh. “She’s the princess of Orïsha.”
Mama Agba releases a deep laugh. “It’s an honor, Your Highness,” she teases with an exaggerated bow.
But when neither Amari nor I smile, Mama’s eyes go wide. She rises from her seat and opens Amari’s cloak, revealing the dark blue gown beneath. Even in the dim light, the deep neckline shimmers with glittering jewels.
“Oh my gods…” She turns to me, hands clutching her chest. “Zélie, what in the gods’ names have you done?”
I force Mama Agba to sit as I explain the events of the day. While she wavers between pride and anger over the details of our escape, it’s the possibilities of the scroll that make her go still.
“Is it real?” I ask. “Is there any truth to this?”
Mama’s silent for a long moment, staring at the scroll in Amari’s hands. For once her dark eyes are unreadable, obscuring the answers I seek.
“Give it here.”
The moment the parchment touches Mama Agba’s palms, she wheezes for air. Her body trembles and quakes so violently she falls off her chair.
“Mama Agba!” I run to her side and grab her hands, holding her down until the tremors stop. With time, they fade and she’s left on the ground, as still as one of her mannequins. “Mama, are you okay?”