Yet I step inside.
The door shuts behind me with a loud thud and I jump, wary that someone will seek out the source of the sound. I have never set foot in Commander Kaea’s quarters. I don’t even think the servants are allowed in here.
My eyes comb the burgundy walls, so different from the lavender paint that covers my own. A royal cloak lies at the foot of Kaea’s bed. Father’s cloak … He must have left it behind.
On another day the realization that Father was in Kaea’s quarters would’ve made my throat tight, but I can barely feel anything now. The discovery of Father’s cloak pales in comparison to the scroll sitting on Kaea’s desk.
I step toward it, legs throbbing as if approaching the edge of a cliff. I expect to feel some aura in the scroll’s presence, yet the air surrounding it remains dead. I reach out, but pause, swallowing the fear that begins to swell. I see the light that exploded from Binta’s hands.
The sword that pierced through her chest.
I push myself, reaching out again with the very ends of my fingertips. When they brush the scroll, I close my eyes.
No magic comes forth.
The breath I did not realize I was holding rushes out as I pick up the wrinkled parchment. I unroll the scroll and trace the strange symbols, trying in vain to make sense of them. The symbols look like nothing I have ever seen, no language ever covered in my studies. Yet they are symbols that maji died for.
Symbols that might as well be written in Binta’s blood.
A breeze flutters from the open windows, stirring the locks of hair that have fallen out from my loosened gele. Underneath the flowing curtains, Kaea’s military supplies sit: sharpened swords, panthenaire reins, brass chest plates. My eyes settle on the spools of rope. I knock my gele to the floor.
Without thinking, I grab Father’s cloak.
CHAPTER FOUR
ZéLIE
“ARE YOU REALLY NOT going to talk to me?”
I lean to the side of Nailah’s saddle to get a look at Tzain’s stone face. I expected the first hour of silence, but now it’s hour three.
“How was practice?” I try instead. Tzain can never resist a conversation about his favorite sport. “Is M’ballu’s ankle okay? Do you think she’ll be healed in time for the games?”
Tzain’s mouth opens for a split second, but he catches himself. His jaw clamps shut and he smacks Nailah’s reins, riding her faster through the towering jackalberry trees.
“Tzain, come on,” I say. “You can’t ignore me for the rest of your life.”
“I can try.”
“My gods.” I roll my eyes. “What do you want from me?”
“How about an apology?” Tzain snaps. “Baba almost died! And now you want to sit here and pretend like it never happened?”
“I already said sorry,” I snap back. “To you, to Baba.”
“That doesn’t change what happened.”
“Then I’m sorry I can’t change the past!”
My yell echoes through the trees, igniting a new stretch of silence between us. I run my fingers along the cracks of worn leather in Nailah’s saddle as an uncomfortable pit forms in my chest.
For gods’ sakes, think, Zélie, Mama Agba’s voice echoes in my mind. Who would protect your father if you hurt those men? Who would keep Tzain safe when the guards come for blood?
“Tzain, I’m sorry,” I say quietly. “Really. I feel awful, more than you can know, but—”
Tzain releases a sigh of exasperation. “Of course there’s a but.”
“Because this isn’t just my fault!” I say, my anger reaching a boiling point. “The guards are the reason Baba went out on the water!”
“And you’re the reason he almost drowned,” Tzain shoots back. “You left him alone.”
I bite my tongue. There’s no point in arguing. Strong and handsome kosidán that he is, Tzain doesn’t understand why I need Mama Agba’s training. Boys in Ilorin try to be his friend, girls try to steal his heart. Even the guards flock his way, singing praises of his agb?n skills.
He doesn’t understand what it’s like to be me, to walk around in a div?ner’s skin. To jump every time a guard appears, never knowing how a confrontation will end.
I’ll start with this one.…
My stomach clenches at the memory of the guard’s rough grip. Would Tzain yell at me if he knew? Would he shout if he realized how hard it was for me not to cry?
We ride in silence as the trees begin to thin and the city of Lagos comes into view. Surrounded by a gate crafted from the heartwood of the jackalberry trees, the capital is everything Ilorin isn’t. Instead of the calming sea, Lagos is flooded with an endless horde of people. Even from afar, so many swell within the city walls it’s impossible to understand how they all live.
I survey the layout of the capital from atop Nailah’s back, noting the white hair of passing div?ners along the way. Lagos’s kosidán outnumber its div?ners three to one, making them easy to spot. Though the space between Lagos’s walls is long and wide, my people congregate along the city’s fringe in slums. It’s the only place they’d allow div?ners to live.
I settle back in Nailah’s saddle, the sight of the slums deflating something in my chest. Centuries ago, the ten maji clans and their div?ner children were isolated all over Or?sha. While kosidán populated the cities, the clans lived along the mountains and oceans and fields. But with time, maji ventured out and clans spread across Or?sha’s lands, curiosity and opportunity driving their migration.
Over the years maji and kosidán began to marry, creating families with div?ners and kosidán like mine. As the blended families multiplied, the number of Or?sha’s maji grew. Before the Raid, Lagos housed the biggest maji population.
Now those div?ners are all that’s left.
Tzain pulls on Nailah’s reins, stopping her when we near the wooden gate. “I’ll wait here. It’ll be too crazy for her in there.”
I nod and slide off, giving Nailah’s dark, wet nose a kiss. I smile as her rough tongue licks my cheek, but the smile fades when I glance back at Tzain. Unspoken words hang in the air, but I turn and keep moving forward all the same.
“Wait.”
Tzain slides off Nailah, catching up to me in a single bound. He places a rusted dagger into my hand.
“I have a staff.”
“I know,” he says. “Just in case.”
I slide the weapon into my worn pocket. “Thanks.”
We stare at the dirt ground in silence. Tzain kicks a rock by his feet. I don’t know who will break first until he finally speaks.
“I’m not blind, Zél. I know this morning wasn’t all your fault, but I need you to do better.” For a moment Tzain’s eyes flash, threatening to reveal everything he holds back. “Baba’s only getting worse, and the guards are breathing down your neck. You can’t afford to slip right now. If you make another mistake, it could be your last.”
I nod, keeping my gaze on the ground. I can handle a lot of things, but Tzain’s disappointment cuts like a knife.