Children of Blood and Bone - Tomi Adeyemi Page 0,75
spirit reaches forward with a hand of sand. Her grainy fingers brush against my cheek before the whole world fades to black.
CHAPTER TWENTY-SIX
INAN
CRISP AIR FILLS my lungs. I’ve returned. The dreamscape lives. Just seconds ago I sat beneath Orí’s image—now I stand in the field of dancing reeds.
“It worked,” I breathe in disbelief as I run my fingers along the sagging green stems. The horizon still blurs into white, surrounding me like clouds in the sky. But something’s different. Last time, the field stretched as far as I could see. Now wilted reeds form a tight circle around me.
I finger another stem, surprised at the coarse grooves that radiate from its center. My mind runs through escape routes and attack plans, yet my body feels strangely at home. It’s more than the relief of not suppressing my magic, the sensation of breathing once again. The air of the dreamscape holds an unnatural peace, as if more than anywhere else in Orïsha, it’s here that I belon—
Focus, Inan. I reach for my sênet pawn, but I can’t hold on to it here. I shake my head instead, as if I could shake out the traitorous thoughts. This isn’t a home. A peace. It’s only the heart of my curse. If I accomplish what I need to do, this place won’t even exist.
Kill her. Kill magic. My duty writhes in my mind until it takes hold of my core. I don’t have a choice.
I must follow my plan.
I imagine the face of the girl. In a sudden breeze, the reeds part. She materializes like a condensing cloud, her body forming as blue smoke travels from her feet to her arms.
I hold my breath, counting down the seconds. When the blue haze lifts, my muscles tense; her obsidian form blows to life.
She stands with her back to me, hair different than it was before. White locks that once fell in smooth sheets now cascade down her back in flowing waves.
She turns. Softly. Almost ethereal in her grace. But when her silver eyes meet mine, the rebel I know emerges.
“I see you dyed your hair.” She points at the color hiding my white streak and smirks. “You might want to add another coat. Some of your maggot’s still peeking through.”
Dammit. It’s only been three hours since I last dyed it. Out of instinct, I touch the streak. The girl’s smile widens.
“I’m actually glad you called me here, little prince. There’s something I’m dying to know. You were raised by the same bastard, but Amari can’t kill a fly. So tell me, how’d you become such a monster?”
The peace of the dreamscape evaporates in an instant. “You fool,” I hiss through my teeth. “How dare you slander your king!”
“Did you enjoy your visit to the temple, little prince? How’d you feel when you saw everything he destroyed? Were you proud? Inspired? Excited to do the same?”
Lekan’s memories of the sêntaros flash through my mind. The mischief in the running child’s eyes. The ruins and rubble of the temple made it clear those lives were taken.
The smallest part of me prayed it wasn’t by Father’s hands.
Guilt hits me like the sword that went through Lekan’s chest. But I can’t forget what’s at stake. Duty before self.
Those people died so Orïsha could live.
“Could it be?” Zélie steps forward, taunting. “Is that remorse I see? Is the little prince hiding a little shriveled-up heart?”
“You’re so ignorant.” I shake my head. “Too blinded to understand. My father was once on your side. He supported the maji!”
The girl snorts. I resent the way it crawls under my skin.
“Your people took his family!” I shout. “Your people caused the Raid!”
She steps back like I’ve punched her in the gut.
“It’s my fault your father’s men broke into my home and took my mother away?”
A memory of a dark-skinned woman fills her head with such clarity it leaks into mine. Like the girl, the woman has full lips, high cheekbones, a slight upturn in her eyes. The only difference is her gaze. Not silver. Dark as the night.
The memory steels something inside of her.
Something black.
Twisted with hate.
“I can’t wait,” the girl breathes, barely above a whisper. “I can’t wait till he finds out what you are. Let’s see how bold you feel when your father turns on his own son.”
A violent chill runs down my spine. She’s wrong.
Father was willing to forgive Amari for treason. When I take magic away, he will forgive me for this.