Page 86 of Children of Virtue and Vengeance

Blue wisps of magic spark at my fingertips, burning my skin. How dare she do this to me? Howdareshe give me a command?

“I’m starting to think the reason you don’t want peace is because you’re getting used to the idea of taking my throne,” I spit.

Zélie stops in her tracks. The muscles tense in her back. I watch as her fingers clench, but she doesn’t turn around.

“Get back to training,” she says through her teeth. “I don’t want to hear about this again.”

She steps onto the stone bridge, abandoning me for the second mountain. I don’t understand why she can’t see beyond her rage. Why don’t any of theIyikarealize this is what’s best?

My throat closes up as I reach down, attempting to salvage the soaked pieces of the scroll.

“Do you need a hand, Elder Amari?”

I look to the bank—Mama Agba greets me with a sad smile on her face. The tears I try to fight threaten to break free, so I stare at the rippling water until they disappear.

“Why is everyone fighting against me?” I shake my head.

“Come, child.” Mama Agba waves me forward. “I may be able to help you understand.”

I’M STILL SHAKINGwith anger as we make our way into the gardens on the first mountain. Mama Agba rubs her hand up and down my arm, forcing me to exhale.

“Breathe, child.”

I take a deep breath as Mama Agba leads me through the entryway of the gardens. Located at the top of the main tower, they shine with a wild beauty, banana leaves in perfect harmony with the sunset blossoms hanging over our heads.

“Just ahead.” Mama Agba gestures to a weathered bench in the back ravaged by vegetation. “That one has always been my favorite. The moss forms an excellent cushion.”

As we walk the lanternlit path, I think of how the broken stone and unkempt greenery are so different from the manicured lawns of the palace. Overgrown vines weave themselves around the surrounding stone fixtures, creating natural tapestries around the old benches and cracked gazebos. They’re nothing like the royal gardens where only the most perfect carnations were allowed to grow. Like everything else in the palace, they were strangled. Controlled.

“I used to sit here all the time.” Mama Agba sinks into the moss as if it were a luxurious bath. “The temples were created for meditation, but somehow I always found the greatest peace right here.”

I wait for her to release whatever scolding she must be holding back, but she allows the chorus of jungle cicadas to ring out in our silence. As it stretches, I realize she’s not waiting to speak. She’s waiting to listen.

I open my mouth, but it’s hard to find the right words. It feels like I’m always fighting to be heard. I don’t remember the last time I was able to have a simple conversation about this war.

“Is it wrong to fight for peace?” I ask.

“I think life is more complicated than right and wrong,” Mama Agba answers. “I think you will never obtain peace trying to prove either one.”

I sink back down and stare out at the gardens. Across from us, two Tiders sit in a stone gazebo. One kneels while the other uses a knife to shave her head. As thick tufts of white hair fall to the gazebo floor, I realize the girl’s motivation. She’s shaving her head to match Nâo’s. She respects her elder so much, she wants to mirror her.

“I know my brother has made mistakes,” I say. “More mistakes than most. But no one will ever understand what it was like to grow up with my father. Inan bore the brunt of his torture.”

“You empathize with him?” Mama Agba asks.

“I understand him. All he’s ever wanted was to be a great king. Even when he’s wrong, he thinks he’s fighting for the right thing.” I pick at the moss beneath my arm and sigh. “I know if we talk, we can reach an agreement. We both want what’s best for Orïsha. It’s Zélie and theIyikawho refuse to listen.”

Mama Agba purses her lips and I bite my tongue.

“I’ve gone too far?” I ask.

“I do not think you’ve gone far enough,” she says. “You speak of this war as if it is the start, but the maji and the monarchy have been fighting for decades. Centuries. Both sides have inflicted great pain on each other. Both sides are filled with mistrust.” Mama Agba runs her fingers along her wooden staff and closes her eyes. “You cannot blame Zélie for her actions any more than you can blame Inan for his past mistakes. You have to look beyond the surface if you truly want to achieve the peace you seek.”

I nod slowly, meditating on Mama Agba’s words. Though my anger toward Zélie fades, my desire to get into the dreamscape only grows. If the monarchy and the maji have been at war for centuries, this could be our only chance to end this fight for good. But how can I broker peace between both sides when every attempt I make gets struck down?

“Do you know the meaning of your name?” Mama Agba asks.

“My name doesn’t mean anything.”

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