Page 13 of Children of Virtue and Vengeance

“Kí èmí olá ó gùn Ayaba,” Zélie translates. “Long live the Queen.”

My body feels so light I’m sure I could float above the stage. The crowd’s chant reverberates inside me, awakening pieces of me I didn’t know I had. It brings me back to that magical moment in Chândomblé, the wonder of the art Lekan brought to life. Now I see that same peace and prosperity. That same magic is within our grasp—

“Lies!”

The voice booms above the masses, its ice quieting the crowd in an instant. Heads turn toward the dome’s archway. I grab my hilt as metal boots crunch through the sand.

I lock eyes with Zélie, and she nods, ready for the fight. But when the sea of people parts and the challenger comes into view, my blade falls from my hand.

Even with her hood raised, I recognize the slink in her step. The iron in her veins.

“Mother?”

My hands fly to my chest. A laugh escapes my lips.

I move toward her, unable to believe my eyes. But when she lifts her head, the hatred that burns in her amber gaze freezes me in place.

CHAPTER SEVEN

ZÉLIE

IDON’T NEEDto read Amari’s face to recognize the source of her amber eyes. Queen Nehanda shares her daughter’s beauty, but where Amari is soft curves, this woman is sharp angles and severe lines. Like her daughter, Nehanda wears a suit of armor, but hers shines in gold. The polished plates curve over her chest, accented with serrated shoulder pads and sculpted gauntlets.

“What do we do?” Tzain whispers, grip tightening on the handle of his axe. Despite what Roën’s intelligence said, Queen Nehanda still lives. The monarch glides across the sand, a deep purple cape flowing behind her with the ocean breeze. Her precision is deathly familiar.

It makes the scars prickle on my back.

“You survived!” Amari smiles, but Nehanda doesn’t even spare her daughter a glance. As she takes in the room, she seems acutely aware of how the entire dome hangs on her very breath.

Aware of how a single word was all she needed to take a cheering rally into her own hands like the crack of a whip.

“Bold promises,” Queen Nehanda finally speaks. “Elegant lies. But these aren’t the words of a devoted leader. Only the vitriol of a power-hungry tyrant.”

Her accusation lands like a slap to the face. Amari actually stumblesback. A wave of rumbles starts among the crowd, dissent trickling through like water from a broken dam.

“Mother, what is this?” Amari steps forward. “I thought you were dead—”

“You wished it upon me!” The queen cuts her off. “You sent maji and mercenaries for my head!”

“I didn’t—”

“You tell these people their king has fallen, but you fail to mention the crime of regicide by your hand? You speak of your late brother without admitting it was you and the maji who killed the rightful heir to the throne?”

Horrified gasps pulse around us, echoing through the dome. Air that once held hope and promise withers under a new cloud of suspicion and disgust.

“That’s not true!” Amari cries.

“You deny killing your own father?”

“No, I—” Amari’s cheeks flush and she takes a deep breath. “The king died by my hand, yes, but I didn’t kill Ina—”

She doesn’t get a chance to finish. Whatever hold Amari had on her people evaporates.

“Traitor!” someone shouts.

“Liar!” another joins in. Their fury builds and crests like a wave intent on bringing Amari down. My hands shake as their rage spreads, spilling onto the maji sprinkled throughout the dome.

Amari holds up her hands, a feeble attempt to hold their fury back. The stance makes her look like a helpless cub in front of a den of snow leopanaires.

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