Page 91 of Children of Blood and Bone

“They’ll love this.” The announcer grins as he leads the three of us underground. “Women never compete as captains. ’Cause of you, we got to charge double.”

Zélie snorts, but it lacks her usual bite. “Glad our blood is worth a little extra.”

“Novelty’s always worth extra.” The announcer flashes her a disgusting smile. “Remember that in case you ever go intobusiness. A maggot like you could turn a fair amount of coin.”

Zélie grabs Tzain’s arm before he can react and fixes the announcer with a murderous glare. Her fingers slide along her metal staff.

Do it, I almost whisper.

If she beats the announcer senseless, perhaps we’ll have another shot at stealing the sunstone. Anything would be better than the fate that awaits us if we board that boat.

“Enough talk.” Zélie takes a deep breath and unhands her staff.

My heart sinks as we continue forward.To our deaths we go.

When we enter the rusted cellar housing the ship, our designated crew barely looks up. The laborers appear small against the vast hull of the wooden vessel, weakened from years of hard work. Though most of them are divîners, the oldest appears to have only a year or two on Tzain. A guard unshackles their chains, a moment of false freedom before the slaughter.

“Command them as you wish.” The announcer waves as if the laborers are cattle. “You have thirty minutes to strategize. Then the games begin.”

With that he turns, retreating from the dark cellar. As soon as he’s gone, Tzain and Zélie pull loaves of bread and canteens from our packs and distribute them throughout the crowd. I expect the laborers to devour the meager feast, but they stare at the stale bread like it’s the first time they’ve ever seen food.

“Eat,” Tzain coaxes. “But not too fast. Go slow or you’ll get sick.”

One young divîner moves to take a bite of bread, but a gaunt woman holds him back.

“Skies,” I mutter. The child can’t be much older than ten.

“What is this?” an older kosidán asks. “Your idea of a last meal?”

“No one’s going to die,” Tzain assures them. “Follow my lead and you’ll leave with your lives and the gold.”

If Tzain feels even half the terror I do, he does not show it. He stands tall, commanding respect, confidence laced through his voice and gait. Watching him, it’s almost possible to believe we’ll be alright.Almost.

“You can’t fool us with bread.” A woman with a grisly scar running across her eye speaks up. “Even if we win, you’ll kill us and keep the gold.”

“We’re after the stone.” Tzain shakes his head. “Not the gold. Work with us and I promise you can keep every piece.”

I study the crowd, hating the smallest part of me that wants them to revolt. Without a crew, we couldn’t enter the arena. Zélie and Tzain would have no choice but to stay off the ship.

Be brave, Amari.I close my eyes and force a deep breath. Underground, the memory of Binta’s voice is louder, stronger inside my head.

“You don’t have a choice.” All eyes turn to me and my cheeks flush.Be brave.I can do this. This is no different from elocution at the palace. “It’s not fair and it’s not right, but it’s happening. Whether you want to work with us or not, you have to get on that boat.”

I lock eyes with Tzain and he nudges me forward. I clear my throat as I walk, forcing myself to sound strong. “Every other captain competing tonight just wants to win. They don’t care who gets killed or hurt.Wewant you to live. But that’s only going to happen if you trust us.”

The crew looks around the cellar before turning to the strongest among them—a divîner almost as tall as Tzain. A tapestry of scars ripple across his back as he walks over and meets Tzain’s eye.

The air seems to hold its breath as we wait for his decision. My legs nearly collapse when he holds out his hand.

“What do you need us to do?”

CHAPTER TWENTY-EIGHT

AMARI

“CHALLENGERS IN POSITION!”

The announcer’s voice booms below the arena. My heart lurches against my chest. Thirty minutes have passed in a blur as Tzain discussed strategies and delegated commands. He leads like a seasoned general, wise from years of war. The laborers hang on Tzain’s every word, a spark alight in their eyes.

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