Children of Blood and Bone - Tomi Adeyemi Page 0,164

wish I could change. Gods, please! I plead one last time, but nothing happens.

They’ve abandoned me once again.

“My magic’s gone. I thought it would come back, but it hasn’t.…” My voice shrivels and I stare at the floor, biting back the shame. The anger. The pain. How dare the gods force themselves back into my life only to break me this way.

Against everything, I try once more, searching for any remnant of ashê that might remain. But they’ve discarded me.

I won’t let them take anything else away.

“I’m sorry.” The words are hollow, but they’re all I have. “But if I can’t do the ritual, I’m not going to lose my father.”

Kenyon unhands me. Hatred doesn’t begin to describe the looks I receive from the gathered men. Only Amari’s eyes are sympathetic; even Roën looks taken aback.

I step forward, clutching the sunstone and scroll to my chest. The bone dagger presses into my skin, almost cutting with every step. I’m halfway across the floor when Kenyon yells, “We saved you!” His screams bounce against the walls. “People died for this! People died for you!”

His words dig into my soul, into everyone I’ve left behind. Bisi. Lekan. Zulaikha. Maybe even Mama Agba.

All dead.

Because they dared to believe in me.

They dared to think we could win.

As I approach Inan, Baba’s shaking grows frantic. I can’t let him break my resolve. I don’t want them to win, Baba.

But I can’t let you die.

I clench the stone and scroll as Inan moves forward, gently guiding Baba ahead. The apology is stark in his amber eyes. Eyes I’ll never trust again.

Why? I itch to scream, but it withers in my throat. With each step, the echo of his kiss presses against my lips and travels down my neck. I stare at his hands on Baba’s shoulders, hands I should’ve crushed. I swore I’d die before I let a guard have his way with me, yet I gave their captain free rein?

I know we’re meant to work together. We’re meant to be together.

His pretty lies play in my ear, each new one drawing more tears.

We’d be unstoppable. A team Orïsha has never seen.

Without him, Ilorin would still stand. Lekan would be alive. I would be here saving my people, not sealing their fate.

As my tears burn, my insides rip raw. It’s worse than the searing of Saran’s knife. Despite everything, I let him in.

I let him win.

Baba shakes his head one last time, my last chance to run away. But it’s over now. It ended before it even began.

I pull Baba out of Inan’s grip, dropping the parchment and stone on the floor. I almost reach for the bone dagger, but then I remember Inan has never seen it. I toss out Tzain’s rusted knife instead, keeping the true bone dagger hidden in my waistband. I can hold on to this one thing. This one artifact now that he’s taken everything else from me.

“Zélie—”

Before Inan can mutter another treacherous word, I take off Baba’s gag and walk away. As my footsteps echo against the ritual ground, I focus on the statues instead of the hateful glares.

“Why?” Baba sighs. His voice is weak but rough. “Why when you were so close?”

“I was never close.” I choke down a sob. “Never. Not even once.”

You tried, I console myself. You did more than your best.

It wasn’t meant to be. The gods chose wrong.

At least it’s over. At least you’re alive. You can leave on that boat, find a new—

“No!”

I freeze as Inan’s cries ring against the dome walls in a deafening timbre. Baba throws me to the ground as a swoosh! flies through the air.

I move to shield Baba, but it’s too late.

The arrowhead pierces my father’s chest.

His blood leaks onto the ground.

CHAPTER EIGHTY

ZÉLIE

WHEN THEY CAME FOR MAMA, I couldn’t breathe. I didn’t think I would ever breathe again. I thought our lives were connected by a string. That if she died, I would, too.

I hid like a coward as they bludgeoned Baba half to death, relying on Tzain to be my strength. But when they wrapped the chain around Mama’s neck, something in me snapped. As frightened as the guards made me, nothing compared to the terror of them taking Mama away.

I chased her through the chaos of Ibadan, blood and dirt splattering against my small knees. I followed her as far as I could until I saw it.

All of it.

She hung from a tree like an ornament of death in the center of our mountain village. Her and