How could I be so foolish? I chastise myself, swerving to avoid a servant. I should have left the moment that girl told me of Binta’s summoning. If the roles were reversed, Binta would not have wasted a heartbeat.
Oh skies, I curse, pushing myself past the slender vases of red impala lilies in the foyer, past the portraits of my royal ancestors glaring at me from generations past. Please be okay.
I hold on to the silent hope as I round the corner into the main hall. The air is thick with heat, making it even harder to breathe. My heart beats in my throat as I slow before Father’s throne room, the room I fear most. The first place where he ordered Inan and me to spar.
The home of so many of my scars.
I grip the velvet curtains hanging outside the black oak doors. My sweat-covered hands soak into the rich fabric. He may not listen. I gave up the bangle. Father could punish me in Binta’s stead.
A pulse of fear travels down my spine, numbing my fingers. Do this for Binta.
“For Binta,” I whisper out loud.
My oldest friend. My only friend.
I have to keep her safe.
I take a deep breath and wipe the sweat from my hands, savoring my last few seconds. My fingers barely graze the handle glistening behind the curtains when—
“What?”
Father’s voice booms through the closed doors like the roar of a wild gorillion. My heart pounds against my chest. I have heard Father yell before but never like this. Am I too late?
The door swings open and I jump back as a stream of guards and fanners sprint from the throne room like thieves on the run. They grab the remaining nobles and servants milling around the main hall and pull them away, leaving me all alone.
Go. My legs throb as the door starts to close. Father’s mood has already soured. But I have to find Binta. For all I know, she could be trapped inside.
I can’t let her face Father alone.
I lunge forward, catching the door just before it slips shut. I wedge my fingers into the frame and pull the door open a crack, peering through the slit.
“What do you mean?” Father shouts again, spittle flying onto his beard. Veins pulse under his mahogany skin, stark against the red agbada he wears.
I pull the door open a hair wider, fearing I’ll catch sight of Binta’s slender frame. But instead I see Admiral Ebele cowering before the throne. Beads of sweat gather on his bald head as he stares at everything except Father. Beside him, Commander Kaea stands tall, her hair falling down her neck in a tight, glossy braid.
“The artifacts washed ashore in Warri, a small village off the coast of the sea,” Kaea explains. “Their proximity activated latent abilities in a few of the local divîners.”
“Latent abilities?”
Kaea swallows; her muscles tense against her light brown skin. She gives Admiral Ebele a chance to talk, but the admiral stays silent.
“The divîners transformed.” Kaea winces, as if the words cause her physical pain. “The artifacts awakened their powers, Your Highness. The divîners became maji.”
I gasp but quickly cover my mouth to stifle the sound. Maji? In Orïsha? After all this time?
A dull spike of fear travels up my chest, making each breath tight as I open the door a hair wider to get a better view. That cannot be, I wait for Father to say. That would be—
“Impossible,” he finally says, voice barely above a whisper. He grips the pommel of his black majacite blade so hard his knuckles crack.
“I am afraid not, Your Highness. I saw it with my own eyes. Their magic was weak, but it was there.”
Skies … What does this mean for us? What shall happen to the monarchy? Are the maji already planning an attack? Will we have any chance of fighting back?
Memories of Father before the Raid play in my head, a paranoid man with grinding teeth and forever graying hair. The man who ordered Inan and me into the palace cellar, placing swords in our hands though we were far too young and weak to lift them.
The maji will come for you, he warned. The same words every time he forced us to spar. When they do, you must be prepared.
The memory of pain stabs my back as I study Father’s blanched face. His silence is more intimidating than his rage. Admiral Ebele all but trembles.
“Where are the maji now?”
“Disposed of.”
My stomach clenches and I hold my breath, forcing the luncheon’s tea back down. Those maji are dead. Slaughtered.
Tossed to the bottom of the sea.
“And the artifacts?” Father presses, unfazed by the maji deaths. If he had his way, he’d probably “dispose” of the rest of them.
“I have the scroll.” Kaea reaches into her breastplate and pulls out a weathered parchment. “Once I discovered it, I took care of the witnesses and came straight here.”
“What of the sunstone?”
Kaea shoots Ebele a gaze so sharp it could draw blood. He clears his throat deeply, as if stretching out every last second before he delivers the news.
“The stone was stolen from Warri before we arrived, Your Highness. But we are tracking it. We have our best men on its path. I have no doubt we will recover it soon.”
Father’s rage simmers like heat rising through the air.
“You were tasked to destroy them,” he hisses. “How did this happen?”
“I tried, Your Highness! After the Raid, I tried for moons. I did everything I could to destroy them, but the artifacts were hexed.” Ebele’s eyes dart to Kaea, but she stares straight ahead. He clears his throat again. Sweat pools in the folds beneath his chin.
“When I ripped the scroll, it pieced itself back together. When I burned it, it formed again from the ashes. I had my strongest guard take a mace to the sunstone, and it did not even sustain a scratch! When those wretched artifacts wouldn’t break, I locked them in an iron chest and sank them in the middle of the Banjoko Sea. They could never have washed up on the coast! Not without mag—”
Ebele catches himself before uttering the word.
“I promise, Your Highness. I did what I could, but it would appear the gods have other plans.”
The gods? I lean in. Has Ebele’s mind gone to the skies? Gods don’t exist. Everyone in the palace knows that.
I wait for Father to react to Ebele’s foolishness, but his face remains even. He rises from his throne, calm and calculating. Then quick as a viper, he strikes, grabbing Ebele by the throat.
“Tell me, Admiral.” He raises Ebele’s body into the air and squeezes. “Whose plans do you fear more? The gods’? Or mine?”
I flinch, turning away as Ebele chokes for air. This is the side of Father I hate, the side I try so hard not to see.
“I—I promise,” Ebele wheezes. “I will fix it. I promise!”
Father drops him like a rotten piece of fruit. Ebele gasps and massages his neck, bruises already darkening his copper skin. Father turns back to the scroll in Kaea’s hand.
“Show me,” he commands.
Kaea gives a signal, motioning to someone outside my line of sight. Boots clank against the tiled floor. That’s when I see her.
Binta.
I clutch my chest as she’s dragged forward, tears gathering in her wide silver eyes. The bonnet she takes so much care to tie every day sits askew, revealing locks of her long white hair. Someone has gagged her with a scarf, making it impossible for her to shout. But if she could, who would help her? She’s already in the guards’ grasps.