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CHAPTER TWENTY-SEVEN

AMARI

T HE WEIGHT OF EVERYTHING we’re up against doesn’t hit me until my eyes blink open the next morning. Our makeshift camp is bare. There are hardly any maji here.

I grab the remnants of a roasted fish and make my way down the cliff, following the noise beyond the palm trees. As my feet move through the rocky sand, I remind myself of Zélie’s plan—find the other girl King Baldyr hunts.

The thought of Baldyr and his men doing to others what he did to us twists my stomach into knots. I imagine the operations they set up back when Or?sha was supposed to be under my watch, back when I was fighting to be queen. I failed to bring peace to my kingdom. I failed to keep the maji safe.

I can’t afford to fail at this.

I reach the edge of the trees as dawn crackles on the horizon, lighting up the sky with bands of pink beneath the clear stretch of blue.

Steady winds blow through the open skies.

There isn’t a cloud in sight. Waves lap ashore with the promise of a gentle sail.

Their crash softens the squawks of seabirds above.

The majority of the camp moves along the shores, preparing for the trek back home. Maji load up their final supplies. They board the ships in lines.

I watch as Nao stands with the other Tiders in the shallows, leading them in practiced chants. They move into position behind the repurposed lifeboats, now three powerful ships.

“Once more!” Nao calls. The twelve Tiders stretch out their hands.

“ òrì ? à òkun, j0w3 gb3 tèmi báyìí— ” Their voices ring in unison, creating a powerful melody. The blue light of their magic travels up their brown skin. The waters around them begin to move. The seas sway back and forth with the rhythm of their hands, lifting the ships from the sand.

In each ship, one Winder sits up high in the crow’s nest built from bamboo trees. As the ships take to the waters, the Winders release the newly woven sails. Each blows in the air, ready to carry the maji across the ocean. They haven’t even left, yet they already feel leagues away.

Don’t go , I want to whisper. I’m surprised at the silent pleas that well in my throat. There’s no hiding from the truth now.

The moment they set sail, we’ll be on our own.

Farther down the beach, Tzain stands in the tides with the only remaining lifeboat, fortified by the Grounders to aid our trip.

Dakarai, the elder of the Seers, hands Tzain a map made of woven bay leaves and inked with ash from the fire.

Dotted lines mark the path he, Zélie, and I are expected to follow on our own if we ever get a chance to return.

But watching the others, the map feels like a futile effort.

Will we even survive if we separate from the others?

“Having second thoughts?”

I glance over my shoulder. I didn’t even notice my brother’s approach. Inan joins me by the trees, hands in his pockets. After all we went through to reunite, the thought of him leaving hits me like a fist to the gut. Entire oceans will stand between us.

What if we never see each other again?

“I didn’t say that.”

“You didn’t have to.” Inan gestures at the boats with his chin. “You’re staring at the ships like you can keep them stuck in the tides.”

I lay my head on his shoulder, something I haven’t done since we were young. Inan wraps his arm around me, and I think of how far we’ve come. How much has gone wrong.

“I keep thinking this is my chance,” I release the words inside. “A way to make things right. I want to stand behind Zélie, but…”

My gaze drifts to her—she sits alone, on the farthest corner of the beach.

She stares transfixed at the horizon, arms hugged around herself.

The medallion pulses above her heart. Storm clouds gather above her head.

A charge circles her in the sand. The white hairs that rest along her back start to lift into the air.

Though Zélie puts on a brave face in front of the others, I can see the doubts she tries to hide. We don’t know what we’re walking into, and we’re an army of three, thousands of kilometers away from the only home we’ve ever known.

“What if she’s wrong?” I turn to my brother. “What if we’re not meant to go at it alone? Right now we have each other. We have Tiders and Winders. We have enough food and fresh water to make the sail. If the three of us don’t go with you now—”

“You may never make it home.” Inan’s grip on me tightens, but he stares at Zélie’s back. If I can convince my brother, I know we can convince Zélie and Tzain.

“The safest place for her is back home,” I press.

“Where we know the land. Even if she can lead us to the other girl Baldyr seeks to harvest, that leads us right back to him and the Skulls. If they need Zélie’s heart, we shouldn’t be running toward them.

We should be running away.” I pull back and search my brother’s face.

“Think of everything we’re up against and tell me I’m wrong. ”

Inan stays silent for a long moment. He touches the scar left by Father’s sword.

“If we had followed her before, even when it didn’t make sense… Things would be better. Or?sha would be better.”

“You don’t know that.”

“I do.” A sad smile sits on his face. “We both had our chances to lead, and all we did was follow in Father’s and Mother’s footsteps. The Skulls only got this far because the two of us failed. Whatever she’s become, whatever she’s feeling—following her is the only way forward.”

I stare at my brother. I don’t recognize the person he’s become. The way he speaks. The way he stands. The conviction behind his words.

“Without you we’re three people…,” I breathe. “Three people against an entire empire.”

“You won’t be without me for long.” Inan holds out his pinky.

It’s a gesture I haven’t seen in years. The last time he offered me his pinky, we were sneaking into the palace kitchens, stuffing our faces with sweet cakes and evading the night guards.

“Find the girl and keep Zélie safe. I’ll make sure that army of three turns into thousands. ”

I stare at his finger, wanting to take hold.

“This isn’t the end,” he says. “I promise, I’ll see you again.”

“You cannot promise that.”

“You’re my sister .” The skin around his amber eyes crinkles. “Yes I can.”

Despite the fear inside, I hook my pinky with his. We stay, linked together, until the maji call for him to board.