Page 133 of Children of Blood and Bone

“You were in danger,” he answers. “I wasn’t.”

He reaches down and grazes a cut on my chin. A strange flutter travels through me at his touch. Any possible response jumbles in my throat. I don’t know what to say to that.

Inan still bathes in the glow of the sunstone’s touch. With his magic still at the surface, his copper complexion is rich with health. In the lantern’s light, his bones are elegantly pronounced instead of harsh and protruding against his skin.

“This’ll do.” Zu brings us into a tent where a few makeshift cots have been set up.

“Set her down here.” Zu points to a cot, and Inan lays me down with care. As my head hits the rough cotton, I fight a wave of nausea.

“We need liquor and bandages for the wounds,” Inan says.

Zu shakes her head. “I’ll take care of it.”

She presses her palms to the gash in my side, and I cringe. A searing stabs at my insides as she chants.

“Babalúayé, dúrótìmíbayi bayi. Fún mi níagbára, kínle fúnàw?n tókùníagbára—”

I force my head up; a bright orange light glows beneath Zu’s hands. The pain of her touch transforms into a numbing warmth. The searing inside me cools to a dull ache.

The soft light from her hands kneads its way into my skin, spreading throughout every ripped muscle and torn ligament.

I let out a long breath as Zu’s magic mends my wounds.

“Are you alright?”

I look up; I didn’t even realize I was squeezing Inan’s hand. My face heats as I let go and run my fingers over where the arrow pierced me. Wet blood still trickles down my skin, but the wound is completely healed.

Once again questions arise, louder now that they don’t have to fight through the haze of my pain. In the past hour, I’ve seen more different types of magic than I’ve seen in the past decade.

“You need to start talking.” I study Zu; the russet hue of her brown skin is strangely familiar, like the fishermen who sailed up to Ilorin every two moons to exchange their saltwater trout for our cooked tigerfish.

“What’s going on? What is this place? Where are the bone dagger and scroll? And where are our siblings? You said you had my brother—”

I pause as the tent flap flies open; Amari stumbles in with a half-conscious Tzain slung around her arm. I jump to my feet to help her. My brother is so battered he can hardly stand.

“What have you done?” I yell.

Amari withdraws the bone dagger and points it at Zu’s neck. “Heal him!”

The girl steps back, palms raised.

“Set him down.” She takes a deep breath. “I’ll answer all your questions now.”

***

WE SIT IN RIGID SILENCE, digesting everything as Zulaikha heals Tzain’s leg and head. Behind her, Kwame and Folake stand at attention, stances tense.

When Kwame shifts, my hand moves to my leather pack, searching for the heat of the sunstone under its skin. It’s still hard to look at him without imposing the memory of flames around his face.

I lean against Nailah, relieved to be reunited after Zu ordered her people to release my ryder. I tuck my pack behind her paw to keep it and the stone out of sight. But when Zu’s limbs begin to shake from the strain of her incantation, I find myself wanting to pull out the sunstone and lend it to her.

Watching Zu, it’s like I’m five years old again, trailing after Mama with bandages and pots of heated water. Whenever the village Healer couldn’t tend to the worst of Ibadan’s sick alone, she and Mama would work together. Side by side they sat, the Healer using the magic of her touch while Mama kept the patient from taking his last breath.The best Reapers don’t only command death, little Zél. We also help others live.

I stare at Zu’s small hands, remembering the hands of my mother. Though young, Zu exhibits great skill over her magic. It all begins tomake sense when we learn that she was the very first divîner to touch the scroll.

“I didn’t realize what I had,” she speaks, voice scratchy from the toll of her magic. Folake hands her a wooden cup of water. Zu nods in thanks before taking a sip. “We weren’t ready when Saran’s guards descended in Warri and attacked. We barely escaped after they took the scroll away.”

Inan and Amari stare at each other, a silent conversation playing in their eyes. The guilt that’s crept onto Inan’s face all day spreads to Amari’s.

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