“What’re you doing?”
I snap up, ignoring how my curse spikes at the edge in Kaea’s voice. “Th-the tents.” I gesture at the natural shelters before me. “I was inspecting them.” Unlike the metal poles and leathery hippone hides we use to build our tents, these are made with branches and coated in moss. In fact, there’s a strange efficiency to their structure. Techniques the army could adapt.
“It’s hardly the time for rudimentary architecture.” Kaea narrows her eyes. “Focus on the task at hand.”
She turns on her heel, walking even faster now that I’ve wasted her time. I rush to follow, but as we near the carts and wagons, a stout woman catches my eye. Unlike the other campers, she isn’t glaring. She isn’t looking at us at all. Her attention is directed toward the bundle of blankets she cradles to her chest.
Like a suppressed sneeze, my curse jumps to the surface. The mother’s emotions hit like a smack to the face: sparks of rage, dull flashes of fear. But above all else, a protectiveness burns, snarling like a snow leopanaire guarding its only cub. I don’t understand why until the bundle pressed against her chest begins to cry.
A child …
My eyes travel down the woman’s chestnut skin to the jagged rock clasped in her hand. Her terror surges through my bones, but her resolve burns even stronger.
“Inan!”
I snap back to attention—I have to whenever Kaea calls my name. But as I reach the merchant wagons I glance back at the woman, shoving my curse down despite the way it makes my stomach burn. What does she have to fear? And what business would I have with her child?
“Wait.” I stop Kaea as we pass a merchant wagon pulled by one-horned cheetanaires. The spotted creatures gaze at me with orange eyes. Sharp fangs peek from behind their black-lined lips.
“What?”
A turquoise cloud hangs around the doorway, bigger than the ones that have been appearing. “This one has a wide selection.” I try to keep my voice light as we approach.
And the sea-salt scent of the girl’s soul.
Though I fight my magic, her smell surrounds me when I pass through the cloud. The divîner appears in my mind fully formed, dark skin almost luminescent in the Sokoto sun.
The image lasts only a moment, but even a flicker makes my insides churn. The magic feeds like a parasite in my blood. I straighten my helmet as we walk through the wagon’s door.
“Welcome, welcome!”
The wide smile of the elderly merchant drips from his dark face like wet paint. He stands, clenching the sides of the wagon for support.
Kaea shoves the scroll in his face. “Have you seen this girl?”
The merchant squints and cleans his spectacles against his shirt. Slowly. Buying time. He takes the sheet. “I can’t say I have.”
Droplets of sweat form on his brow. I glance at Kaea; she notices, too.
Doesn’t take magic to tell this fool’s lying.
I walk around the small wagon, searching, knocking over goods to get a rise. I spot a tear-shaped bottle of black dye and slip it into my pocket.
For a while the merchant stays still. Too still for someone with nothing to hide. He tenses when I near a crate, so I kick down with my foot. Wooden splinters fly. An iron safe is revealed.
“Don’t—”
Kaea pushes the merchant against the wall and searches him, tossing a ring of keys my way. I test each in the lock of the hidden safe. How dare he lie to me.
When the right key fits, I slam open the vault, expecting to find an incriminating clue. But then I spot the jewels of Amari’s headdress. My breath catches in my throat.
The sight takes me back, bringing me to the days when we were kids. The day she first wore this. The moment I hurt her …
I wrap myself in the curtains of the palace infirmary. It’s a fight to stifle my cries. As I cower, the physicians tending to Amari’s wounds expose her back. My stomach twists when I see the sword’s slash. Red and raw, the cut rips across her spine. More and more blood leaks by the second.
“I’m sorry,” I cry into the curtains, wincing every time the doctor’s needles make her scream. “I’m sorry.” I ache to shout, “I promise, I’ll never hurt you again!”
But no words leave my mouth.
She lies on the bed. Screaming.
Praying for the agony to end.
After hours, Amari lies numb. So drained, she can’t even speak. As she moans, her handmaiden Binta slips into her bed, whispering something that somehow draws a smile from Amari’s lips.
I listen and watch intently. Binta comforts Amari in a way none of us can. She sings her to sleep with her melodic voice, and when Amari slumbers, Binta takes Mother’s old dented tiara and places it on Amari’s head.…
Not a day passed when Amari didn’t wear that tiara. The only fight with Mother she ever won. It would take a gorillion to rip it off her head.
For this to be here, my sister would have to be dead.
I shove Kaea aside and thrust my blade against the merchant’s neck.
“Inan—”
I silence Kaea with my hand. This isn’t the time for rank or discretion. “Where did you get this?”
“Th-the girl gave it to me!” the merchant croaks. “Yesterday!”
I grab the parchment. “Her?”
“No.” The merchant shakes his head. “She was there, but it was another girl. She had copper skin. Bright eyes—eyes like yours!”
Amari.
That means she’s still alive.
“What did they buy?” Kaea interrupts.
“A sword … some canteens. It seemed like they were going on a trip, like they were heading into the jungle.”
Kaea’s eyes widen. She rips the parchment out of my hands. “It has to be the temple. Chândomblé.”
“How close is it?”
“A full day’s ride, but—”
“Let’s depart.” I grab the headdress and make for the door. “If we ride fast, we can catch them.”
“Wait,” Kaea calls. “What shall we do with him?”
“Please,” the merchant trembles. “I didn’t know it was stolen! I pay my taxes on time. I’m loyal to the king!”
I hesitate, staring at the pitiful man.
I know what I’m supposed to say.
I know what Father would do.
“Inan?” Kaea asks. She puts her hand on her blade. I need to give the order. I can’t show weakness. Duty before self.
“Please!” the merchant begs, latching onto my hesitation. “You can take my cart. You can take everything I have—”
“He’s seen too much—” Kaea cuts in.
“Just hold on,” I hiss, pulse pounding in my ears. The burnt corpses of Ilorin flash into my mind. The seared flesh. The crying child.
Do it, I push myself. One kingdom is worth more than one life.
But too much blood has already been spilled. So much of it by my hands—
Before I can say anything, the merchant sprints for the exit. One hand makes it to the door. Crimson explodes in the air.
Blood splatters across my chest.
The merchant tumbles to the ground, collapsing with a dense thud.
Kaea’s throwing knife sticks out of the back of his neck.
After a shuddered breath, the merchant bleeds in silence. Kaea eyes me as she bends down, extracting her knife as if pulling the perfect rose from a garden.