Page 12 of Children of Blood and Bone

Baba’s brow creases as he deliberates. “Zélie should make the trade—”

“Thankyou.”

“—but Tzain, keep her in line.”

“No.” Tzain crosses his arms. “You need one of us here in case the guards come back.”

“Take me to Mama Agba’s,” Baba says. “I’ll hide there until you return.”

“But Baba—”

“If you don’t leave now, you won’t be back by nightfall.”

Tzain closes his eyes, stifling his frustration. He starts loading Nailah’s saddle onto her massive back as I help Baba to his feet.

“I’m trusting you,” Baba mutters, too quiet for Tzain to hear.

“I know.” I tie the worn blanket around his thin frame. “I won’t mess up again.”

CHAPTER THREE

AMARI

“AMARI,SIT UPSTRAIGHT!”

“For skies’ sake—”

“That’s more than enough dessert for you.”

I lower my forkful of coconut pie and push my shoulders back, almost impressed by the number of critiques Mother can hiss under her breath in one minute. She sits at the top of the brass table with a golden gele wrapped snug around her head. It seems to catch all the light in the room as it shimmers against her soft copper complexion.

I adjust the navy gele on my own head and try to appear regal, wishing the servant hadn’t wrapped it so tight. As I squirm, Mother’s amber eyes scan the oloyes dressed in their finest, searching for the hyenaires hiding in the flock. Our female nobility paste on smiles, though I know they whisper about us behind our backs.

“I heard she’s been pushed to western quarters—”

“She’s far too dark to be the king’s—”

“My servants swear the commander’s carrying Saran’s child—”

They wear their secrets like glittering diamonds, embroidery woven through their lavish buba tops and wrapped iro skirts. Their lies and lily-scented perfumes taint the honeyed aroma of sweet cakes I am no longer allowed to eat.

“And what is your opinion, Princess Amari?”

I snap my head up from the heavenly slice of pie to find Oloye Ronke studying me expectantly. Her emerald iro sparkles bright along her mahogany skin, chosen precisely for the way it shines against the white stucco of the tearoom walls.

“I beg your pardon?”

“On a visit to Zaria.” She leans forward until the fat ruby hanging from her throat grazes the table. The garish jewel serves as a constant reminder that Oloye Ronke wasn’t born with a seat at our table. She bought her way in.

“We would be honored to have you stay at our manor.” She fingers the large red gem, lips curving as she catches me staring. “I’m sure we could even find a jewel like this for you as well.”

“How kind of you,” I stall, tracing the path from Lagos to Zaria in my mind. Far past the Olasimbo Range, Zaria sits on the northern end of Orïsha, kissing the Adetunji Sea. My pulse quickens as I imagine visiting the world beyond the palace walls.

“Thank you,” I finally speak. “I would be honored—”

“But unfortunately Amari cannot,” Mother cuts in, frowning without the slightest hint of sadness. “She is in the thick of her studies and she’s already fallen behind in arithmetic. It would be far too disruptive to stop now.”

The excitement growing in my chest deflates. I poke at the uneaten pie on my plate. Mother rarely allows me to leave the palace. I should have known better than to hope.

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