Page 163 of Children of Blood and Bone

Inan’s voice stays so even I almost believe the lie. He’s trying to keep me away from his father. He must know I’m about to die.

A shudder runs through me at the thought, but it’s quickly met with an unearthly calm. The fear in Saran’s presence is undeniable, yet it doesn’t overwhelm my desire for vengeance.

In this man—this one wretched man—is an entire kingdom. An entire nation of hate and oppression, staring me in the face. It may have been the guards who broke down the doors in Ibadan that day, but they were simply his tools.

Here lies the heart.

“What of Admiral Kaea?” Saran lowers his voice. “Is this her killer?”

Inan’s eyes widen and drift to me, but when Saran follows his gaze, Inan realizes his mistake. No matter what he says now, he can’t stop the king of Orïsha from approaching me.

Even in the sweltering room, Saran’s very presence chills my blood. The burning in my skin intensifies as he nears with his majacite blade. This close to him, I can make out the pockmarks in his deep brown skin, the gray hairs of old age speckled throughout his beard.

I wait for the slurs, but there’s something worse about the way he looks at me. Distant. Removed. Like I’m some beast dragged from the mud.

“My son seems to think you know how the admiral died.”

Inan’s eyes bulge. It’s written all over his face.

Someone died, his words from the festival come back to me.Someone I loved.

But it wasn’t just someone…

It was Kaea.

“I asked you a question,” Saran’s voice breaks back in. “What happened to my admiral?”

Your maji son killed her.

Behind Saran, Inan jerks back, likely horrified at my thoughts. They’re secrets I should scream to the world, secrets I should spill ontothis floor. But something about Inan’s terror makes it impossible for me to break.

I look away instead, unable to stomach the monster who ordered Mama’s death. If Inan’s truly on my side, then when I die, the little prince might be the divîners’ only ho—

Saran’s grip jerks my chin back to his face. My whole body flinches. The calm that sat in Saran’s eyes before explodes with a violent rage.

“You would do well to answer me, child.”

And I would. I would do well indeed.

It would be perfect to have Saran find out here, try to kill Inan himself. Then Inan would have no choice to attack back. Kill his father, take the throne, rid Orïsha of Saran’s hate.

“Plotting, are we?” Saran asks. “Cooking up those precious incantations?” He digs into me so hard his nails draw blood from my chin. “Make any moves and I will personally rid your body of its wretched hands.”

“F-Father.” Inan’s voice is faint, but he forces himself forward.

Saran glances back, wrath still burning in his eyes. Yet something about Inan reaches him. With a violent jerk, he releases my face. His lips curl as he wipes his fingers against his robe.

“I suppose I should be angry with myself,” he muses quietly. “Pay attention, Inan. When I was your age, I thought the children of the maggots could live. I thought their blood needn’t be spilled.”

Saran grabs on to my chains, forcing me to meet his eyes.

“After the Raid you should’ve been desperate to keep magic away. You were supposed to be afraid. Obedient. Now I see there is no educating your kind. You maggots all crave the disease tainting your blood.”

“You could’ve taken magic away without killing us. Without beating our bodies into the ground!”

He jumps as I pull against my chains, wild like a rabid lionaire. Iitch to unleash magic fueled by the blackest part of my rage. A rage born because of everything he took away.

A new searing burns my flesh as I fight the majacite, doing everything I can to call forth my magic despite the power of the black chains. Smoke sizzles from my skin as I fight in vain.

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