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CHAPTER THIRTY-ONE

AMARI

A T K ? A’S ORDER, THE VINEWEAVERS DESCEND. The women are rough with their grips. I gasp as they yank my hands back. Vines wrap around my torso with a hiss, binding my arms to my sides.

The islanders shout at me in their tongue. Someone pushes me to walk, but my legs are so numb they feel like cement. Before I can even attempt to explain, vines lift me into the air.

What’s happening?

Beads of sweat drip down my neck. I wheeze as the vines tighten around my chest. I hang suspended until the vegetation sets me down on one of the warrior’s tigenaires.

More vines slither under me. They create a saddle that weaves me in place and locks me on to the mighty beast. A warrior hops on behind me, and I quiver as we touch.

All muscle and brawn, his body is built like a wall.

The male warriors all share russet-brown skin, bare chests, and cropped black hair. Fanged necklaces hang from their wide necks. The arsenals inked onto their skin travel from beneath their ears to the thick belts on their ornately beaded pants.

In front of me, Tzain yells for his axe. One of the warriors goes to pick it up. His square face twists into a grimace when the foreign metal burns his hand. He walks back to Tzain and shouts before punching him in the stomach.

I flinch as Tzain doubles over. My terror rises to new heights. Though my magic burns at my fingertips, I force it back down.

They’re more likely to kill us all before I land a proper attack.

Ahead of us both, Zélie stays perfectly still. The medallion pulses beneath her wrap as they bind her arms in vines. The weavers lift her onto Koa’s black tigenaire.

Has she negotiated something with them? I crane my neck. Do they understand why we’re here?

“Zélie—” The moment I call out to her, a new vine wraps around my mouth. The most she can do is glance back at me as I’m forced to stay quiet.

Beyond the warriors, I catch Tzain’s gaze. Like me, they’ve covered his mouth in vines. But the way he looks at me, it’s like he speaks through his big brown eyes. I feel the silent question— are you alright?

I want to shake my head. To ask him what we’ve done. But something about his concern touches me. I force myself to nod.

“ Passeio! ” Koa gives the order.

The vineweavers take to the trees. I stare, awestruck, as the women twist through the air. They disappear over the brush, flying far ahead.

The male warriors slap the sides of their ryders. The heavy beasts rear onto their hind legs. I choke on my screams as I lurch backward. Behind us, Nailah roars, trapped in a tangle of vines.

We race far away from the black shores. The warriors yelp as they ride through the jungles.

Unseen creatures howl back. The men ride up a trail not visible to our naked eyes, turning past fallen branches and moss-covered logs.

They navigate the dense jungles like the roads of a city.

After a while, we reach a wall of woven vines.

The natural net stretches far higher than the trees. One by one, the vines start to unfold, creating a hole for the warriors to enter. The sound of trickling grows as the ryders jump through. My brows lift at the sight of the glistening turquoise river hidden behind the woven net.

Giant lily pads float down the waterways, each almost as large as the lifeboat we sailed in on. They bump against each other, swirling as they travel downstream. The warriors leave their ryders to jump onto the lily pads, traveling farther into the jungle.

The vines weaving me to the tigenaire unbind, and the warrior behind me sets me on the ground.

Feeling returns to my legs as I approach the bank of flowing waters.

One of the warriors lifts me up, pushing me onto his lily pad.

I tense as the water around it begins to bubble and steam.

The lily pad takes off, zooming through the water like an eel.

Skies.

Despite my fear, I’m floored at the sights. We float past lush plains, past the green terraces of endless rice fields. Farmers ride on the backs of massive elephantaires, using the beasts’ enormous strength to toil the land. Thin sheets of fog lick the hills.

We approach black mountains covered in green foliage. They reach far past the clouds. A thick waterfall roars at the end of the river. I brace myself as the foaming wall of white crashes overhead. The icy column drenches me in an instant, but the city that lies behind the waterfall steals my heart.

I expected a tribe. A village at most.

Their entire civilization floats.

The city rests in a mountain lake, stretching far beyond where my eyes can see. Giant webs of floating vines fill the water before us, each organizing the city into different rings. Carved canals take the place of streets. A grid system weaves itself through the entire city.

Woven huts and floating plots of farmland line the outer rings. Long schoolhouses lie inside them. Merchant huts stand with legislator buildings. Vineweaver fortresses rise through the city.

Villagers move between gorgeous temples with offerings of candles and jasmine flowers.

Their people circle open bathhouses filled with steaming waters and decorated pillars.

One entire plot of woven vines holds a vibrant marketplace.

Each stall is built from the hard skin of their large lily pads.

The people mill from stand to stand, trading dried meats and hanging fish for crafted bangles and colorful silks.

Behind the city, a giant sculpture rises.

A goddess with emeralds in place of her eyes.

Vines grow around her carved face like hair, stretching all the way down into the waters.

I look below the lily pad I’m riding—the same vines spread across the canal floors.

More carvings continue beneath the long green stems, surrounding us with the goddess’s story.

“ Veja! Veja! ” a child shouts in their tongue. The boy stares, mouth open wide as we pass. His brown finger points to me the moment our lily pad joins the city’s main canal. He stands at the edge of a floating plot housing lines of woven domes, each decorated with different wildflowers.

The shouts continue to build as we sail down the canal.

Dozens of spectators turn to hundreds. In mere moments, hundreds become thousands.

People gather along the edges of their floating plots and the roofs of their square huts.

They climb the columns of bathhouses. They scale the statues of their goddess to get close.

The people point at our dark skin. Others marvel at Zélie’s white hair.

Villagers try to enter the canals, but before they can approach, vineweavers descend from the skies.

Thick vines writhe around the canal’s edges, creating a moving wall that sections us off.

Two men try to scramble over the woven walls. Large warriors yank them back.

I try to keep calm as the chaos builds. Koa all but ignores the crowds.

He keeps his green gaze on our destination: a vast temple floats in the city’s center like a crown jewel, surrounded by floating gardens.

It extends over acres of woven vines. Emerald-green steps ascend like a pyramid, leading to the temple’s gilded doors.

Warriors surround the grounds. A new army of vineweavers keeps the masses out. Our lily pads come to a stop. One at a time, Koa pulls us off. The three of us are brought to our knees before the steps.

Everything goes silent when the emperor walks out.