Page 196 of Children of Blood and Bone

A warmth spreads through my chest, strong like when Mama Agbacast magic again for the first time. In that moment I felt so much hope. After all these years, I stopped feeling so alone.

Magic is here. Alive. Closer than it’s ever been. Even if I can’t feel it now, I have to believe I will feel it again.

I entertain the thought, pretending magic swirls through my veins, stronger than ever before. It would blister today, burning as hot as my rage.

“I know you’re scared.” Everyone turns back to me. “I’m scared, too. But I know your reason for fighting is stronger than your fear, because it’s led you here. Each of us has been wronged by the guards, by this monarchy that’s sworn to protect us. Today we strike back for us all. Today we make them pay!”

The shouts of agreement ring through the air; even the mercenaries join in. Their cries bolster my spirits, unlocking the words trapped within. “They may have a thousand men in their army, but not one of them has the support of the gods. We have magic on our side, so stay strong, stay confident.”

“And if everything goes to hell?” Roën asks when the cheers die down.

“Strike,” I answer. “Fight with everything you’ve got.”

CHAPTER SEVENTY-EIGHT

ZÉLIE

MY THROAT DRIESas I watch an endless sea of soldiers patrol the perimeter of the island. It’s like every soldier in Orïsha has come to stand guard.

Behind them a forest of blackened trees rises, shrouded in mist and twisting smoke. The energy surrounding the forest bends the air above it, a sign of the spiritual power hiding within its trees.

When the last of our disguised troop makes it off the rowboat, Roën leads us toward the temple. “Look alive,” he says. “We need to move.”

The moment we set foot on the eastern shoreline, I instantly feel the spiritual energy at work. Even without the hum of magic in my bones, it radiates from the ground, flows from the burnt trees. As Roën’s eyes widen, I know he realizes it, too.

We walk among the gods.

A strange thrum fills me at the thought, not quite the rush of magic, but the surge of something greater. Walking through the island, I can almost feel Oya’s breath in the way the air chills around us. If they’re here, with me, then maybe I was right to trust them. Maybe we actually have a shot.

But to do that, we have to get past the guards.

My heart slams against my chest as we pass through the endless rowsof patrolling soldiers. With each step I’m convinced they can see through our helmets, but wearing the seal of Orïsha shields us from their gaze. Roën leads with a convincing strut, wearing the commander’s armor with ease. With his sandstone skin and confident gait, even real commanding officers step out of his way.

Almost there, I think, stiffening when a soldier eyes us a moment too long. Each step toward the forest stretches into a breathless eternity. Tzain carries the bone dagger, while Amari’s grip tightens on the leather bag she uses to hide the sunstone and scroll; I keep my hand readied on my staff. But even when we pass the last of the perimeter troops, the soldiers barely spare us a glance. They keep their focus on the sea, waiting for a maji army that will never come.

“My gods,” I breathe to myself when we make it past the soldiers’ earshot. My fragile calm explodes into nerves. I force air into my lungs.

“We made it.” Amari grips my arm, skin paling beneath her helmet. Our first battle is over.

Now another one begins.

A cold fog rolls in as we travel into the forest, mist licking the trees. By the time we’ve journeyed a few kilometers, the fog is so thick it blocks out the sun and makes it hard to see.

“Strange,” Amari whispers into my ear, arms outstretched to avoid hitting a tree. “Do you think it is always like this?”

“I don’t know.” Something tells me the fog is a gift from the gods.

They’re on our side.…

They want us to win.

I cling to the words of my speech, praying that they’re true. The gods wouldn’t abandon us now; they wouldn’t fail me here. But as we near the temple, no warmth pulses through my veins. There’ll be no hiding in the fog soon.

I’ll be exposed for the world to see.

“How’d you know?” I whisper as the temple looms through the fog, thinking back to that fateful day in the market. “In Lagos, why’d you come to me?”

Amari turns, amber gaze bright through the white fog. “Because of Binta,” she answers softly. “She had silver eyes. Just like yours.”

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