Children of Blood and Bone - Tomi Adeyemi Page 0,71

relied on beings they could never see, dedicating their lives to faceless entities.

I chose to place my faith in the throne. In Father. Orïsha. But now, staring at the gods, I can’t even bring myself to speak.

I marvel at the oceans and forests that spring from their touch, at the world of Orïsha created by their hand. A strange joy seems to breathe within the layers of paint, filling Orïsha with a light I didn’t know it could hold.

Seeing the mural forces me to see the truth, confirming everything Father told me in the throne room. The gods are real. Alive. Connecting the threads of the maji’s lives. But if all that is true, why in the skies’ name has one forged a connection with me?

I scan each portrait again, observing the different types of magic that seem to spring from the gods’ hands. When I come to a god dressed in rich, cobalt robes, I pause. My cursed magic flares at the sight of him.

The god stands tall, imposing with chiseled muscles. A dark blue ipélè stretches across his broad chest like a shawl, vibrant against his dark brown skin. Turquoise smoke twists in his hands, just like the wispy clouds that appear with my curse. When I move my torchlight, a pulse of energy travels under my scalp. Lekan’s voice booms in my head as another blue cloud appears.

“Orí took the peace from Sky Mother’s head to become the God of Mind, Spirit, and Dreams. On earth, he shared this unique gift with his worshippers, allowing them to connect with all human beings.”

“God of Mind, Spirit, and Dreams…,” I whisper to myself, putting all the pieces together. The voices. The flickers of others’ emotions. The strange dreamscape I found myself trapped in. This is it.

The god of my origin.

Anger thrashes inside me with the realization. What right do you have? A few days ago I didn’t even know this god existed, yet he took it upon himself to poison me?

“Why?” I shout, voice echoing inside the dome. I almost expect the god to shout back, yet only silence answers me.

“You’ll regret this,” I mutter to myself, not knowing if that makes me insane or if somewhere, despite all the noise of the world, he can hear me. The bastard should rue this day. The magic he’s cursed me with will be magic’s undoing.

My insides twist and I whip around, stomach clenching as I call on my curse even more. There’s no fighting it. To find the answers I need, there’s only one place I can go.

I slide to the ground and close my eyes, letting the world fade as magic slithers through my veins. If I’m going to kill this curse, I need it all.

I need to dream.

CHAPTER TWENTY-FIVE

ZÉLIE

“IS IT CLEAR?”

Amari peeks through the stone halls leading away from the arena floor. Crumbling arches curve over our heads, cracked stones under our feet. After footsteps pass, Amari nods and we dash. We weave in and out of the weathered pillars, rushing to make it through before we’re seen.

Hours after the last man died and the spectators had left their seats, the guards drained the arena’s red sea. I thought the horrors of the games would end there, but now the cracks of canes echo through the empty stands. Guards command a new batch of laborers to clean up the blood and gore that weren’t washed away when they drained the stadium. I can’t fathom their torture. Cleaning up tonight’s mess only to become tomorrow’s carnage.

I’ll come back, I decide. I’ll save them. After I perform the ritual and bring magic back, after Baba is safe and sound. I’ll rally a group of Grounders to sink this monstrosity into the sand. That announcer will pay for every wasted divîner life. Every noble will answer for their crimes.

I let thoughts of vengeance soothe me as we press against a jagged wall. I close my eyes, concentrating as hard as I can. The sunstone stirs the ashê in my blood. When I open my eyes, its glow is faint, like a firefly fading into the night. But with time it grows until the sunstone’s aura heats the bottom of my feet.

“Below us,” I whisper. We move through empty halls and descend the stairs. The closer we get to the arena’s rot-stained floor, the more men we have to dodge. By the time we reach the bottom, we’re practically a finger’s breadth from the crooked guards and broken laborers. Their canes crack