Page 147 of Children of Virtue and Vengeance

“I hope you enjoyed the gala, Mother,” I call back to her as I walk out the door. “It’ll be your last.”

CHAPTER EIGHTY-SIX

ZÉLIE

NO ONE SPEAKSas we make our way down Orïsha’s coast, sailing on a boat powered by Nâo’s magic. There’s no need when every heartbeat pulses through our throats. The ocean spray coats our skin as the salt-filled air whips around us. A new magic roars through our blood, ready to tear through Lagos’s impenetrable walls.

Every beat. Every chant.

I hold on to Mama Agba’s words as the tides of my old home draw near. With their melody, I’m back on Baba’s boat, drawing out the fishing net. I think of him as I turn to the others, not wanting to see the ruins of Ilorin. After tonight, our kingdom will never be the same.

“We’re close.” I turn to the others. “We can hide out on these shores until sunset.”

Then we’ll strike,I think to myself.We’ll save our people and make the monarchy pay for all the pain they’ve caused.

I picture Mári and Bimpe trapped with our army in the palace cellars; the rest of theIyikawaiting for their execution. I think of all those who stand in our way. Every tîtán who will have to die.

“Get some rest,” I continue. “Prepare yourselves. There is no telling what will happen when we take that palace down—”

“Zél,” Tzain calls, forcing me to turn to him. His arms hang limp. My brows knit and I follow his line of sight.

I walk to the front of our boat, not believing my eyes.

In the distance, a single ahéréstands above the tides.

Confusion mounts as Nâo redirects us from the shore, bringing us closer to the sight. The memories of Ilorin burning moons ago cloud my mind. I can still remember the way the scent of ash choked my throat.

The entire village sunk to the bottom of the sea. I collapsed with my home. Yet somehow, my hut still stands above the crashing waves, untouched by all that’s followed since the day I was forced to leave it behind.

When we reach the reed ahéré, the elders wait as Tzain and I climb. It’s like a dream.

A dream or a nightmare.

My old home sits on wooden planks, a single safe haven above the sea. There’s no sign of the fire that burned it to the ground. No sign of everything else that was lost. But staring at the home we shared with Baba is like finding a missing part of me.

I hold Tzain’s arm as we walk toward it, waiting for the illusion to shatter. It doesn’t make sense. Outside our ahéré, it’s like the fires never happened.

Tzain drags his fingers against the doorframe and I find the lines Baba drew above the two of us. Each moon a new crooked line marked our changing heights. I always cried when my line couldn’t beat Tzain’s.

“I don’t understand.” My breath hitches as I walk through the doorway. The reed walls curve around me, reeds just like the ones Baba and I wove together with love. It’s all here: the cotton cots, the agbön ball that sat in the corner. Even a black calla lily hangs in the window. The petals pass like velvet between my fingers, stems freshly cut.

The only break from my memories is the parcel wrapped in parchment that lies on my cot. A folded note sits on top:

I’m sorry.

It’s like I’m drowning again. A gaping hole opens in my chest as the words Inan spoke to me moons ago return.

“When this is over, I’ll rebuild Ilorin,”he said.“It’ll be the first thing I do.”

Inan promised to bring back my home. I never thought he’d keep his word. My throat grows tight as I unravel the parcel’s strings. I don’t know what to make of the dozens of letters that fall to the ground.

Why?The question rings through my mind as they spill across the floor. I reach down to pick one up, bracing myself for the words written inside.

There are nights when you visit my dreams. Nights where I can forget.

When I wake, I drive myself insane thinking of what could’ve been…

My throat closes up and I throw the letter to the ground.Walk away,I command myself. But another lures me in.

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