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CHAPTER SEVEN

ZéLIE

T HE MOMENT THE S ILVER S KULL pushes me forward, my bare toes slide through something sticky and warm. A fresh pool of blood surrounds my feet. I follow the trail with my eyes to the young girl lying in a crumpled heap.

My insides curl at the blood smeared across her forehead; it spills from her mouth and from her round nose. Though pale, her skin carries deep red undertones. They must have taken her from the Warri coast.

I can’t look away from the gaping hole that lies in her chest. The scent of burning flesh hangs in the air. Tendrils of black smoke curl up, rising from the hole where her heart used to be.

If this is my fate…

I turn away. My hands start to shake. My throat closes up at the thought of Tzain.

What if that was the last time I ever get to see his face?

A lock clicks and I snap my head up. In the back of the room, a heavy door creaks open. The Silver Skull releases his firm grip, and each Skull bows. I’m left staring ahead.

I hold my breath as a new man enters the room. Deliberate. Slow. Unlike the other Skulls, his mask isn’t smelted in silver or bronze.

It blinds in gold.

Baldyr…

The man I feel to be their king walks with a commanding gait. The Skulls stiffen with his approach. Power reverberates through his every step. The captain’s quarters seem to shrink in his presence.

Instead of a fur cloak, Baldyr sports an entire wolf’s pelt. The fanged creature’s immortalized snarl hangs over his chestnut curls like a hood. Rectangular runes are carved into Baldyr’s fair skin. The sharp black marks travel from the left side of his head to the hard lines cut into his abdomen.

“ Rísie upp ,” Baldyr commands the men, a low growl behind every word. The Silver Skull holds me once more. His grip tightens on both of my arms.

No one speaks as King Baldyr moves through the room. He unclasps his pelt and throws it on the bed. My lips part as he removes his mask.

I see the face of the enemy for the first time.

King Baldyr is young. Far younger than I expected him to be. Though he commands men twice his age, he can’t be more than twenty-three.

I take in his high cheekbones and crooked nose. The wild beard that coats his jaw. His chestnut waves gather in a messy bun, loose strands falling onto his bare shoulders.

Three black marks are painted across his left eye, accenting the stormy look in his hazel gaze. His eyes darken when they settle on me.

I itch to break free.

“ Er tetta sú? ” King Baldyr gestures to me.

“ Já. ” The Silver Skull nods.

King Baldyr studies me from a distance, and the little that remains of my kaftan sticks to my frame. I shiver under his gaze.

He approaches and I stiffen; his dirt-stained fingers graze the majacite crown embedded into my skull. Sharp ripples shoot across my scalp. I clench my teeth to keep from crying out.

Baldyr’s touch reminds me of where I am. Of what I must do. Tzain and the others are still trapped below deck. I have to find a way to escape.

I look beyond Baldyr to scan the Silver Skull’s room. Marble walls block out the building storm. If it wasn’t for the way the floor swayed under our feet, I wouldn’t even know we were still on the ship.

A grand wooden carving covers the back wall, depicting the colossal man made of raging storm clouds. A raised bed holds a mattress stuffed with feathers. When King Baldyr catches me looking, I stare at the floor.

“ Merle ,” he appears to name me. I flinch as he reaches forward, grabbing my chin. I expect a rough grip, but his touch is soft, almost gentle as his fingers rest against my skin. He turns my head back and forth in the torchlight, as if inspecting a ripe papaya in the sun.

“It means ‘blackbird,’” he whispers in Or?shan.

I don’t believe my own ears.

“You are surprised I speak your tongue?” Baldyr unhands my cheek to raise the bloodmetal strapped to his palm. He reaches down and presses his hand into the slain maji’s chest. The crimson metal steams as it soaks in the maji’s essence, allowing me to see the translation at work.

“I like hearing your people call out to your gods.” Baldyr looks back to me. “They never seem to come.”

Ice crawls down my neck like a spider as the king steps away, turning toward the back of the room. A wooden table is set with a rich, half-eaten spread. The warm smell of bread punches my empty stomach. Baldyr goes for a bronze goblet of mead, at ease despite the corpse lying on the floor.

To my right, a desk lies in the corner of the room, covered with maps and parchments and different reading tools.

Beside it, I spot a shelf, lined with unfamiliar weapons—animal claws, wooden clubs, and curved sabers.

A collection of crystal daggers catches the light, shining right above a sleek black rod.

My staff!

I almost cry out. A piece of home I still have. Given to me by Mama Agba, the ornate staff shines. Its black neck still glimmers with the symbols my mentor etched into its spine.

I comb over each mark, eyes settling on the crossed blades of war. The familiar crack of colliding staffs echoes between my ears. I feel the touch of Mama Agba’s wrinkled hands.

I teach you to be warriors in the garden so you will never be gardeners in the war.

Words Mama Agba shared with me all those moons ago ripple through my mind. They reach for me through the darkness, traveling through her spirit, through time.

In this world, there will always be men who wish you harm. That is why we train.

I always thought she was speaking of the guards. The monarchy and King Saran. Could she have known what enemies would invade our shores? As a gifted Seer, did she see the battles our future held?

The sight of my staff reignites something the Skulls stole when they abducted me from my land. Something I thought was taken when they held me down and shaved my head. I lost my magic once before, yet despite everything that was against us, I managed to win it back.

Despite everything, I found a new way to attack.

We brought King Saran to his knees. When Queen Nehanda stood against us, we razed Lagos to the ground. I won’t allow myself to cower now.

I won’t bow to any other crown.

“ Be vigilant ,” I hear Mama Agba hiss. “ Wait for your moment to strike. ”

I fix my eyes on King Baldyr, soaking the instruction in.

This is the man who hunts my people.

Tonight he dies.