Children of Blood and Bone - Tomi Adeyemi Page 0,139

in my head. Duty above all else.

Kwame’s flames come back to life behind my eyes, blazing through everything in their path. My duty is to prevent that.

My duty has to be keeping Orïsha alive.

But the creed rings hollow, carving a hole inside me like the knife that carved through Zélie’s back.

Duty isn’t enough when it means destroying the girl I love.

CHAPTER SIXTY-FIVE

AMARI

THIS WILL WORK.

By the skies, this has to work.

I hold on to this flickering hope as Tzain and I slip down the alleys between the rusted structures of Gombe, blending into the shadows and darkness.

A city of iron and foundry, Gombe’s factories run late into the night. Erected by Welders before the Raid, metal structures rise and bend in impossible shapes.

Unlike the tiers dividing the classes of Lagos, Gombe is split into four quadrants, partitioning residential life from its iron exports. Through the dust-covered windows divîners work, forging Orïshan goods for the next day.

“Wait.” Tzain holds me back as a patrol of armored guards clunk by. “Okay,” he whispers when they pass, but his voice lacks its usual determination. This will work, I repeat in my head, wishing I could convince Tzain as well. When this is over, Zélie will be alright.

With time, the streets of cluttered, cramped mills transform into the towering iron domes of the downtown district. As bells ring, released workers swarm us, each covered in dust and ferrous metal burns. We follow the swell toward the music and drums pumping into the night. As the aroma of liquor replaces the stench of smoke, a cluster of bars appears, each nestled under a small, rusted dome.

“Will he be here?” I ask as we walk up to a particularly shoddy structure that hums quieter than the rest.

“It’s the best place to look. When I was in Gombe last year for the Orïshan Games, Kenyon and his team took me here every night.”

“Good.” I muster a smile for Tzain’s sake. “That’s all we need.”

“Don’t be so sure. Even if we find him, I doubt he’ll want to help.”

“He’s a divîner. He won’t have a choice.”

“Divîners rarely have choices.” Tzain raps his knuckles against the metal door. “When they do, they usually choose to look after themselves.”

Before I can respond, a slit in the door slides open. A gruff voice barks out, “Password?”

“Lo-ïsh.”

“That’s old.”

“Oh…” Tzain pauses, as if the right word might appear out of thin air. “That’s the only one I know.”

The man shrugs. “Password changes every quarter moon.”

I push Tzain aside and climb onto my tiptoes, straining to reach the slit. “We do not live in Gombe, sir. Please, help us.”

The man narrows his eyes and spits through the slit. I recoil in disgust. “No one gets in without a password,” he seethes. “Especially not some noble.”

“Sir, please—”

Tzain moves me aside. “If Kenyon’s in there, can you let him know I’m here? Tzain Adebola, from Ilorin?”

The slit slams shut. I stare at the metal door in dismay. If we don’t get inside, Zélie’s as good as gone.

“Is there another way in?” I ask.

“No,” Tzain groans. “This was never going to work. We’re wasting time. While we stand here, Zél’s probably de—” His voice catches and he closes his eyes, steeling everything inside. I unfold his clenched fists and reach for his face, placing my hands on his cheeks.

“Tzain, trust me. I will not let you down. If Kenyon isn’t here, we can find someone else—”

“Gods.” The door swings open and a large divîner appears, dark arms covered in sleeves of ornate tattoos. “I guess I owe Khani a gold piece.”

His white hair clumps in long, tight locs, all piled atop a bun on his head. He wraps his arms around Tzain, somehow eclipsing his massive frame.

“Man, what’re you doing here? I’m not supposed to beat your team for two weeks.”

Tzain forces a laugh. “It’s your team I’m worried about. Heard you twisted your knee?”

Kenyon pulls up the leg of his pants, revealing a metal brace anchored around his thigh. “Doctor says it’ll heal before qualifiers, but I’m not worried. I could take you in my sleep.” His eyes move to me, slow and indulging. “Please tell me a pretty little thing like you didn’t come here just to see Tzain lose.”

Tzain shoves Kenyon and he laughs, sliding his arm around Tzain’s neck. It amazes me that Kenyon can’t sense the desperation Tzain holds back.

“He’s good, D.” Kenyon turns to the bar’s guard. “Promise. I can vouch for him.”

The owner of the gruff voice peeks around the door.