Page 203 of Children of Blood and Bone

She’s close now.

My life is nearing its end.

“If you trusted me, workedwithme, he’d still be alive. Him.” I swallow. “Mama Agba—”

The shadows charge me with a speed that takes my breath away. It’s all I can do to hold the scroll before my chest. In that instant, she realizes her mistake—the trap I’ve baited her into.

She screams and jerks her hand back, but it’s too late.

The shadows rip through the parchment as they arc.

“No!”Zélie’s shrieks reverberate through the hallowed dome. The ash of the destroyed parchment falls through the air. The shadows wither and fade, disappearing as particles leak through her hands.

You did it.…

The fact doesn’t sink in. It’s over. I won.

Orïsha is finally safe.

Magic will die for good.

“Son!”

Father runs to me from the outskirts of the battle. A smile like I’ve never seen beams on his face. I try to smile back, but a guard closes in behind him. He raises his sword, targeting Father’s back.A mutiny?

No.

One of the mercenaries.

“Father!” I shout. My warning won’t reach him in time.

Without thinking, I draw on the surge of power left from the sunstone’s touch. Blue energy flies from my hands.

Like in Chândomblé, my magic pierces through the mercenary’s head, paralyzing him in place. I freeze him long enough for a guard to cut through his heart. It saves Father from the attack.

But the sight of my magic turns Father to stone.

“It’s not what you think—” I start.

Father jerks back, recoiling like I’m a monster he can’t trust. His lips curl back in disgust. Everything in me shrivels.

“It doesn’t matter.” I speak so quickly it all blurs together. “I was infected, but it’s going away. I did it. I killed magic.”

Father kicks the mercenary over with his feet. He claws at the turquoise crystals left in the assailant’s hair. He stares down at his hands, and his face twists. I can see him putting the pieces together. These are the same crystals he held in the fortress.

The same crystals they plucked from Kaea’s corpse.

Father’s eyes flash. He grips the hilt of his sword.

“Wait—”

His blade rips into me.

Father’s eyes pound red with rage. My hands clutch at the sword, but I’m too weak to pull it out.

“Father, I’m sorry—”

He pulls out his sword with a mangled scream. I drop to my knees, clutching the gushing wound.

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