Page 45 of Children of Virtue and Vengeance

I take a deep breath, rising back to my feet. I attempt to turn Zélie’s explanation around, searching for a solution instead of a condemnation.

“If I’m using blood magic by design, then I just need control,” I say. “We can fix that if you teach me an incantation!”

Zélie’s nostrils flare and she steps back. Her shoulders grow tense. “Yoruba is sacred to our people. It’s not just something you can learn.”

“This is bigger than that.” I wave my hand. “For skies’ sake, we’re at war—”

“Our magic isn’t about the war!” Zélie shouts. “Our incantations are the history of our people. They’re the very thing your father tried to destroy!” Her chest heaves up and down and she shakes her head. “Tîtáns have already stolen our magic. You can’t steal this, too.”

“Steal?” I tilt my head. “Zélie, what are you talking about? How else am I supposed to learn control?”

“You don’t need control,” she says. “You don’t need to use your magic at all!”

“If I don’t have my own power, who am I supposed to count on?” I extend my arms. “It took less than five minutes with theIyikafor you to stab me in the back!”

“Stab you in the ba—” Zélie stops, snorting to herself. “So that’s what this foolishness is about. After everything he’s done, you still want to trust Inan.”

My cheeks heat and I turn away, hugging myself. I know there’s noway to explain it to her, but I know my brother’s heart. If he was offering that food, it had to be real. There was a chance for us to end this war, yet she destroyed it without a second thought.

“My plans haven’t changed,” Zélie says. “I still want to see you on Orïsha’s throne. But I won’t apologize because I’m no longer stupid enough to believe your brother’s lies.”

A hard silence settles between us, chilling the jungle air. I want to trust Zélie, but deep down I know our interests aren’t aligned. At the end of the day, Inan is my blood. To her, he’s just the bastard who broke her heart.

I can’t leave this fight to Zélie anymore than I can leave it to Ramaya. I need my own power if I’m going to win this war.

“I wouldn’t ask if there was another way,” I sigh. “But my mother is bringing buildings down on our heads. I can’t keep relying on my sword. It’s your duty to fight for the maji, but as queen, I’m responsible for all of them. I have to take care of the kosidán who’re running scared. The tîtán soldiers Mother’s sucking the very life from. I’m responsible for the maji who hate my guts, and I can’t help anyone until I have power of my own.”

“Amari, no.” Zélie steps forward, softening her tone. “This isn’t all on you. It’s not your job to save Orïsha.”

“If I don’t, who will?” I ask. “You said it yourself—you don’t trust Inan to stick to his word.”

I rub my tired eyes, trying to keep my pain locked inside. I think of every life my actions have ruined. Every person who’s died because I’m not sitting on Orïsha’s throne.

“I’m the only person fighting for all sides. I can’t do that without my magic. If you don’t want to help me… fine. I’ll find someone who will.”

I start to walk away, but Zélie grabs my arm. My eyes widen as her shoulders slump and she exhales a long breath.

“You’ll help me?” I ask.

“On one condition,” she says. “If I’m going to teach you an incantation, you have to use it against tîtáns. Not maji.”

I nod, understanding the weight of her words. “I promise. I’ll only use this against Mother and her forces.”

Zélie’s feet drag as we take position, but she raises her arms.

“Okay.” She positions my hands. “Square your legs and repeat after me.”

CHAPTER TWENTY-FIVE

ZÉLIE

THE NEXT MORNING, it’s a struggle to keep my eyes open. Amari made us train all night. We didn’t get back to the sanctuary until sunrise. But as the other two Reapers in my clan prepare me for the elder ascension, I fight the urge to escape the safety of the sanctuary’s walls. I just wanted to find a way to win this war.

I’m not ready to be an elder.

“Grab the clean water,” Bimpe, the older of the two girls, instructs. The young Reapers flutter around me in ill-fitting sêntaro robes. Bimpe stands so tall, the hem ends at her knees. Patches of discoloration circle her eyes and mouth, creating a beautiful pattern on her brown skin.

Beside her, Mári swims in the thick black robes, still short at the tender age of thirteen. Whenever she smiles up at me, I see the adorable gap between her front teeth.

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