Children of Blood and Bone - Tomi Adeyemi Page 0,166

will burn. I can’t let that happen. No matter what, my plan remains the same: take the stone; take the scroll.

Take magic away.

I hurl the sunstone toward the ground with all my might. For skies’ sake, please shatter. But it rolls away untouched. If anything’s to be destroyed, it has to be the scroll.

I tear it from my pocket and dart into the frenzy. Zélie dashes after the stone. With the few seconds of life I have left, the gears in my head turn. Father’s old words ring. The scroll can only be destroyed with magic.

Magic …

What about my magic?

I focus the energy of my mind onto the parchment, losing track of Zélie in the turmoil. A turquoise glow wraps around the weathered scroll. The scent of sage and spearmint fills my nose as a strange memory takes hold of my mind.

The hysteria of the temple fades out. A sêntaro’s consciousness flashes in: generations of women with elaborate white ink tattooed into their skin. All chant in a language I cannot comprehend.

The memory only lasts an instant, but the attempt is no good. My magic won’t do it.

The scroll remains unharmed.

“Help!”

I spin as shouts ring; Zélie’s shadows skewer more men. Dark matter consumes their bodies as they’re bucked from the black arrowheads.

Before they crash into the ground, the soldiers disintegrate into ash. In that instant everything clicks—the answer hidden in plain sight.

Perhaps if I was a Burner, my flames could incinerate the parchment, but my Connector magic is of no use. The scroll has no mind for me to control, no body for my magic to paralyze. My magic can’t eliminate the scroll.

But Zélie’s magic can.

I’ve never seen her powers wielded this way. Her magic destroys everything in its path, vicious and twisting, howling as it tears through the sacred temple like a tornado. Its black arrowheads strike with the vengeance of spears, impaling armor, ripping straight through flesh. Anyone unfortunate enough to encounter them crumbles into ash.

If I do this right, the scroll shall crumble, too.

I take a deep breath. One that’ll probably be my last. Zélie’s fatal arrowheads shoot through the guts of four soldiers, leaving ruptures through their cores. Their bodies crumble into nothing but dust as they fall to the ground.

As Zélie rips through more soldiers, I run forward.

“This is all your fault!” I yell.

Zélie skids to a halt. I don’t think I will ever hate myself more than I do now. But I need to draw this pain out of her. It can’t be about us.

It never could.

“Your father didn’t have to die!” I shout. It’s a line that shouldn’t be crossed. But I have to unlock her fury. I need a lethal blow.

“Don’t speak of him!” Her eyes flash. All grief and hate and rage. Her anguish fills me with shame. Yet, I press on.

“You didn’t have to come here. I would’ve taken him back to Lagos!”

Shadows spin around her like a sharp wind sweeping into a tornado.

She’s close now.

My life is nearing its end.

“If you trusted me, worked with me, he’d still be alive. Him.” I swallow. “Mama Agba—”

The shadows charge me with a speed that takes my breath away. It’s all I can do to hold the scroll before my chest. In that instant, she realizes her mistake—the trap I’ve baited her into.

She screams and jerks her hand back, but it’s too late.

The shadows rip through the parchment as they arc.

“No!” Zélie’s shrieks reverberate through the hallowed dome. The ash of the destroyed parchment falls through the air. The shadows wither and fade, disappearing as particles leak through her hands.

You did it.…

The fact doesn’t sink in. It’s over. I won.

Orïsha is finally safe.

Magic will die for good.

“Son!”

Father runs to me from the outskirts of the battle. A smile like I’ve never seen beams on his face. I try to smile back, but a guard closes in behind him. He raises his sword, targeting Father’s back. A mutiny?

No.

One of the mercenaries.

“Father!” I shout. My warning won’t reach him in time.

Without thinking, I draw on the surge of power left from the sunstone’s touch. Blue energy flies from my hands.

Like in Chândomblé, my magic pierces through the mercenary’s head, paralyzing him in place. I freeze him long enough for a guard to cut through his heart. It saves Father from the attack.

But the sight of my magic turns Father to stone.

“It’s not what you think—” I start.

Father jerks back, recoiling like I’m a monster he can’t trust. His lips curl back in disgust. Everything