The memory chills my blood, but the prince is so distraught it’s difficult to fear his abilities. With the way he stares at his shaking hands, he looks like he would sooner take his own life than use magic to go after mine.
But how is this even happening? Divîners are selected by the gods at birth. The prince wasn’t born a divîner and kosidán can’t develop magic. How has he suddenly become a maji now?
I look at our surroundings, inspecting the work of his Connector abilities. The magical reeds twist in the wind, ignorant of the impossibilities blowing all around us.
The power required for a feat like this is inconceivable. Even a well-seasoned Connector would need an incantation to pull it off. How could he harness the ashê in his blood to create this when he didn’t even realize he was a maji? What in the gods’ names is going on?
My eyes go back to the jagged white streak running through the prince’s hair, the only true marker of a maji. Our hair is always as stark and white as the snow that covers the mountaintops of Ibadan, a marker so dominant, even the blackest dye couldn’t hide maji hair for more than a few hours.
Though I’ve never seen a streak like his among maji or divîners, I can’t deny its existence. It mirrors the whiteness of my hair all the same.
But what does it mean? I look to the skies. What game are the gods playing? What if the prince isn’t the only one? If the royals are regaining their magic—
No.
I can’t let fear make me spiral out of control.
If royals were getting their magic back, we would already know.
I suck in a deep breath, slowing my mind before it can wander further. Amari had the scroll in Lagos. She crashed into her brother when we ran past. Though I don’t understand why, it must’ve happened then. Inan awakened his powers the same way I awakened mine—by touching that damn scroll.
And the king has touched the scroll, I remind myself. Amari, probably the admiral, too. They didn’t awaken any abilities. This magic only resides in him.
“Does your father know?”
The prince’s eyes flash, giving me the answer I need.
“Of course not.” I smirk. “If the king knew, you’d already be dead.”
Color drains from his face. It’s so perfect I almost laugh. How many divîners have fallen by his hands—been slaughtered, abused, used? How many lives has he taken to destroy the same magic now running through his veins?
“I’ll make you a deal.” I walk toward the prince. “Leave me alone and I’ll keep your little secret. No one has to know you’re a dirty little ma—”
The prince lunges.
One moment his grip is around my throat, and the next—
* * *
MY EYES FLY OPEN. I’m greeted by the familiar sound of crickets and dancing leaves. Tzain’s snores ring steady and true as Nailah adjusts her body against my side.
I jolt forward and grab my staff to fight an enemy that isn’t here. Though I scan the trees, it takes me a few moments to convince myself the prince won’t appear.
I breathe the damp air in and out, trying to calm my nerves. I lie back down and close my eyes, but sleep doesn’t return easily. I’m not sure it ever will. Now I know the prince’s secret.
Now he won’t stop until I’m dead.
CHAPTER THIRTEEN
ZÉLIE
WHEN I WAKE the next morning, I’m more exhausted than when I went to sleep.
It leaves me feeling robbed, like a thief made off with my dreams. Slumber usually brings an escape, a break from the misery I face when I wake. But when every one of my dreams ended with the prince’s hands wrapped around my throat, the nightmares hurt just as much as reality.
“Dammit,” I mutter. They’re just dreams. What do I have to fear? Even if his magic is powerful, gods know he’s far too terrified to use it.
Tzain grunts across the small clearing as he does crunch after crunch with unwavering concentration, training as if this was his regular morning practice. Except there won’t be another practice for him this year. Because of me, he may never play agbön again.
Guilt adds to my exhaustion, dragging me back to the ground. I could apologize for the rest of my days and it still wouldn’t be enough. But before I can sink further into my guilt, a flurry of movement catches my eye. Amari stirs underneath a large brown cloak, waking from her royal slumber. The sight puts a bitter taste in my mouth, reigniting the image of Inan.
Knowing her family, I’m surprised she didn’t slit our throats in our sleep.
I search her dark hair for a streak to match her brother’s, muscles relaxing when I find none. Gods only know how much worse this would be if she could trap me inside her head, too. I’m still glaring at Amari when I recognize the cloak she’s using as a blanket. I rise and crouch by Tzain’s side.
“What do you think you’re doing?”
He ignores me and keeps exercising. The bags under his eyes warn me to leave him alone, but I’m too angry to stop now.
“Your cloak,” I hiss. “Why’d you give it to her?”
Tzain fits in two more crunches before muttering, “She was shivering.”
“And?”
“And?” he shoots back. “We have no idea how long this trip will take. The last thing we need is her getting sick.”
“You know she’s used to that, right? People who look like you making sure she gets her way?”
“Zél, she was cold and I wasn’t using my cloak. That’s all there is to it.”
I turn back toward Amari and try to let it go. But in her eyes, I see her brother’s. I feel his hands around my throat.
“I want to trust her—”
“No, you don’t.”
“Well, even if I did, I can’t. Her father ordered the Raid. Her brother burned down our village. What makes you think she’s any different?”
“Zél…” Tzain’s voice trails off as Amari approaches, always delicate and demure. I have no way of knowing if she’s heard us or not. Either way, I can’t pretend I care.
“I think this is yours.” She hands him the cloak. “Thank you.”
“Don’t worry about it.” Tzain takes the cloak and folds it into his pack. “It’ll be warmer as we get into the jungle, but let me know if you need it again.”
Amari smiles for the first time since we’ve met, and I bristle when Tzain smiles back. It should take more than a pretty face for him to forget she’s the daughter of a monster.
“Is that all?” I ask.
“Um, well, actually…” Her voice grows quiet. “I was wondering … what are we planning to do for, um—”
A deep groan escapes Amari’s stomach. Color rises to her cheeks and she grips her slim belly, failing to cage in another roar.
“Excuse me,” she apologizes. “All I ate yesterday was a loaf of bread.”
“A whole loaf?” I salivate at the thought. It’s been moons since I’ve had a good slice. Though I can’t imagine the stale bricks we trade for in the market could hold a candle to a fresh loaf from the royal kitchen.
I itch to remind Amari of her good fortune, but my own stomach twists and turns with emptiness. Yesterday passed without one meal. If I don’t eat soon, my stomach too will growl.