As I run my hands over the script, the new scar across my palm makes me pause. I hold it up to the moonlight, inspecting where Lekan sliced me with the bone dagger. The memory of my blood glowing with white light still fills my mind. The surge of ashê was exhilarating, a blinding rush only blood magic can bring.
If I used that now …
My heartbeat quickens with the thought. The incantation would flow with ease. I’d have no problem getting a legion of animations to rise from the ground.
But before the thought can tempt me further, Mama’s raspy voice comes to mind. Her sunken skin. Her shallow breaths. The trio of Healers who toiled endlessly at her side.
Promise me, she whispered, squeezing my hand after she used blood magic to bring Tzain back to life. Swear it now. No matter what, you can never do it. If you do, you won’t survive.
I promised her. Swore it on the ashê that would one day run through my veins. I can’t break my vow because I’m not strong enough to perform an incantation.
But if this doesn’t work, what choice will I have? This shouldn’t be so hard. Just hours ago ashê vibrated in my blood. Now I can’t feel a damn thing.
Wait a minute.
I stare at my hands, recalling the young divîner who bled to death before my eyes. It wasn’t just his spirit I couldn’t feel. I haven’t sensed the pull of the dead in hours.
I turn to the scroll again, searching for a hidden meaning behind its words. It’s like my magic bled dry in the arena. I haven’t felt anything since—
Minoli.
The girl in white. Those large, empty eyes.
So much happened at once, I didn’t realize the girl’s spirit had passed on her name.
In death, the other spirits of the arena passed on their pain. Their hate. In their memories I felt the sting of the guards’ whips. I tasted the salt of fallen tears on my tongue. But Minoli brought me to the dirt fields of Minna, where she and her sharp-nosed siblings worked the land for autumn’s corn crop. Though the sun shone brutal and the work was hard, each moment passed with a smile, with song.
“Ìwọ ni ìgb3kànlé mi òrìshà, ìwọ ni mó gbójú lé.”
I sing the words aloud, my voice carrying in the wind. As I repeat the lyrics a soulful voice sings in my head.
It’s there that Minoli spent her final moments, forgoing the brutal arena for the peaceful farm in her mind. It’s there she chose to live.
There she chose to die.
“Minoli,” I whisper the incantation into the depths of my mind. “4mí àwọn tí ó ti sùn, mo ké pè yín ní òní. Ẹ padà jáde nínú 1yà mím0 yín. Súre fún mi p1lú 1bùn iyebíye rẹ.”
All of a sudden sand swirls before me. I flinch backward as the mist-like vortex rises and twirls in waves before settling back to the ground.
“Minoli?” I breathe the question aloud, though deep down I know the answer. When I close my eyes, the scent of earth fills my nose. Smooth corn seeds slip through my fingers. Her memory shines: vivid, vibrant, alive. If it resides in me with such force, I have to believe she does, too.
I repeat the incantation with conviction, stretching my hands out toward the sand. “Minoli, I call on you today. Come forth in this new element, bless me with your precious li—”
White sênbaría leap from the parchment and rush up my skin. The symbols dance along my arms, infusing my body with new power. It hits my lungs like the first breath of air after diving underwater. As sand swirls around me with the force of a storm, a grainy figure emerges from the whirlwind, animated with the rough carvings of life.
“Oh my gods.” I hold my breath as Minoli’s spirit reaches forward with a hand of sand. Her grainy fingers brush against my cheek before the whole world fades to black.
CHAPTER TWENTY-SIX
INAN
CRISP AIR FILLS my lungs. I’ve returned. The dreamscape lives. Just seconds ago I sat beneath Orí’s image—now I stand in the field of dancing reeds.
“It worked,” I breathe in disbelief as I run my fingers along the sagging green stems. The horizon still blurs into white, surrounding me like clouds in the sky. But something’s different. Last time, the field stretched as far as I could see. Now wilted reeds form a tight circle around me.
I finger another stem, surprised at the coarse grooves that radiate from its center. My mind runs through escape routes and attack plans, yet my body feels strangely at home. It’s more than the relief of not suppressing my magic, the sensation of breathing once again. The air of the dreamscape holds an unnatural peace, as if more than anywhere else in Orïsha, it’s here that I belon—
Focus, Inan. I reach for my sênet pawn, but I can’t hold on to it here. I shake my head instead, as if I could shake out the traitorous thoughts. This isn’t a home. A peace. It’s only the heart of my curse. If I accomplish what I need to do, this place won’t even exist.
Kill her. Kill magic. My duty writhes in my mind until it takes hold of my core. I don’t have a choice.
I must follow my plan.
I imagine the face of the girl. In a sudden breeze, the reeds part. She materializes like a condensing cloud, her body forming as blue smoke travels from her feet to her arms.
I hold my breath, counting down the seconds. When the blue haze lifts, my muscles tense; her obsidian form blows to life.
She stands with her back to me, hair different than it was before. White locks that once fell in smooth sheets now cascade down her back in flowing waves.
She turns. Softly. Almost ethereal in her grace. But when her silver eyes meet mine, the rebel I know emerges.
“I see you dyed your hair.” She points at the color hiding my white streak and smirks. “You might want to add another coat. Some of your maggot’s still peeking through.”
Dammit. It’s only been three hours since I last dyed it. Out of instinct, I touch the streak. The girl’s smile widens.
“I’m actually glad you called me here, little prince. There’s something I’m dying to know. You were raised by the same bastard, but Amari can’t kill a fly. So tell me, how’d you become such a monster?”
The peace of the dreamscape evaporates in an instant. “You fool,” I hiss through my teeth. “How dare you slander your king!”
“Did you enjoy your visit to the temple, little prince? How’d you feel when you saw everything he destroyed? Were you proud? Inspired? Excited to do the same?”
Lekan’s memories of the sêntaros flash through my mind. The mischief in the running child’s eyes. The ruins and rubble of the temple made it clear those lives were taken.
The smallest part of me prayed it wasn’t by Father’s hands.
Guilt hits me like the sword that went through Lekan’s chest. But I can’t forget what’s at stake. Duty before self.
Those people died so Orïsha could live.
“Could it be?” Zélie steps forward, taunting. “Is that remorse I see? Is the little prince hiding a little shriveled-up heart?”
“You’re so ignorant.” I shake my head. “Too blinded to understand. My father was once on your side. He supported the maji!”