Children of Blood and Bone - Tomi Adeyemi Page 0,105

through my core. Since our argument, my magic scalds with a vengeance. Just breathing causes sharp spasms throughout my chest. “Zélie, I’m sorry.”

But as the apology echoes through the forest, the words feel hollow—I don’t know what I’m sorry for. Not understanding or for being Father’s son? Any apology seems insurmountable against everything he’s already done.

“A new Orïsha,” I mutter. Now that I say it aloud, it sounds even more ludicrous. How am I supposed to fix anything when I’m inextricably linked to the problem?

Skies.

Zélie’s done more than mess with my head. Her very presence unravels everything I’ve been led to think, everything I know I need. Night falls upon us, and we still don’t have a plan. Without her animations, we’ll lose everything to these masks. Our siblings, the scroll—

A stinging pain stabs my abdomen. I keel over, gripping the trunk for support. Like a wild leopanaire, my magic claws its way to the surface.

“Mama!”

I close my eyes. My mind echoes with Zélie’s shrieks. Bitter cries no child should ever make. Trauma she never should’ve witnessed.

For magic to disappear for good, every maji had to die. As long as they’d tasted that power, they would never stop fighting to bring it back.

Father’s face enters my mind. Voice steady. Eyes blank.

I believed him.

Despite the fear I felt, I admired his unwavering strength.

“Could you be any louder?”

My eyes snap open; for some reason, my magic calms in Zélie’s presence.

“With you wailing like that, I’m surprised the fighters haven’t taken you as well.”

Zélie steps forward, further calming my magic. Her spirit settles over me like a cool ocean breeze as I slide to the ground.

“It’s not my fault,” I breathe through my teeth. “It hurts.”

“It wouldn’t hurt if you embraced it. Your magic attacks you because you fight it back.”

Her face stays hard, but I’m surprised at the hint of pity in her tone. She moves out of the shadows and leans against a tree. Her silver eyes are red and swollen, signs of tears spilled long after our fight.

Suddenly, reliving the pain of her past doesn’t feel like punishment enough. I suffer for moments. The poor girl’s suffered her entire life.

“Does this mean you’ll fight with me?” I ask.

Zélie crosses her arms. “I don’t have a choice. Tzain and Amari are still trapped. I can’t get them out on my own.”

“But what about the animations?”

Zélie pulls a glowing orb from her pack; instantly, Kaea’s old conversations play in my head. With the way oranges and reds pulse beneath the crystal exterior, this object can only be the sunstone.

“If they’re after the scroll, they’ll want this, too.”

“You’ve had that the whole time?”

“I didn’t want to risk losing it, but it’ll help me make all the animations we need.”

I nod; for once her plan is sound. This should be enough, but it’s about so much more than that now.

Your people, your guards—they’re nothing more than killers, rapists, and thieves. The only difference between them and criminals is the uniforms they wear.

Her words echo in my mind, no longer a staff pressed against my sword.

After everything that’s happened, we can’t go back. One of us must yield.

“You asked me what hurts more.” I force the words out, though they want to stay in. “The sensation of using my magic or the pain of pushing it down. I don’t know the answer.” I grip the tarnished sênet pawn, focusing on the way it stings against my palm. “I hate it all.”

The threat of tears pricks at my eyes. I clear my throat, desperate to keep them down. I can only imagine how fast Father’s fist would fly if he could see me now.

“I hate my magic.” I lower my voice. “I despise the way it poisons me. But more than anything, I hate the way it makes me hate myself.” It takes more strength than I have to lift my head and meet Zélie’s gaze. Looking at her stirs up every single shame.

Zélie’s eyes water once more. I don’t know what chord I’ve struck. Her sea-salt soul seems to shrink away. For the first time, I want it to stay.

“Your magic isn’t poison.” Her voice shakes. “You are. You push it down, you fight it back. You carry around that pathetic toy.” She stomps over and rips the sênet pawn out of my hand, shoving it in my face. “This is majacite, you idiot. I’m surprised all your fingers haven’t fallen off.”

I stare at the tarnished pawn, the gold and brown rust hiding its original