Page 78 of Children of Blood and Bone

“Our deepest apologies.” I step forward, calling forth my most deferential tone. I almost sound believable. Mother would be proud.

I place three gold coins in the guard’s hand and take Zélie’s canteen, forcing her to step back as I fill it.

“Here.”

I press the canteen into her hand, but Zélie clicks her tongue in disgust. She grabs the canteen and walks back to the laborers, approaching the dark girl in white.

“Drink,” Zélie urges. “Quick. Before your stocker sees.”

The young laborer doesn’t spare a second. She drinks the water hungrily, no doubt savoring her first drink in days. When she finishes ahearty swig, she passes the canteen down to the divîner shackled in front of her. With reluctance, I hand the two remaining canteens over to the other laborers.

“You’re too kind,” the girl whispers to Zélie, licking the last droplets off her lips.

“I’m sorry I can’t do more.”

“You’ve done more than enough.”

“Why are there so many of you?” I ask, trying to ignore my dry throat.

“The stockers send us here for the arena. The girl nods toward a spot just barely visible beyond the clay wall. At first nothing sticks out against the red dunes and waves of sand, but soon the amphitheater fights its way through.

Skies…

I’ve never seen a structure so vast. A collection of weathered arches and pillars, the arena spreads wide across the desert, covering much of its arid land.

“You’re building it?” I scrunch my nose. Father would never approve of the stockers building an edifice like this out here. The desert is too arid; there are only so many people this land can hold.

The girl shakes her head. “We compete in it. The stockers say if we win, they’ll pay off all our debts.”

“Compete?” Zélie wrinkles her brow. “For what? Your freedom?”

“And riches,” the laborer in front of the girl pipes up, water dripping down his chin. “Enough gold to fill a sea.”

“That’s not why they have us compete,” the girl cuts in. “The nobles are already rich. They don’t need gold. They’re after Babalúayé’s relic.”

“Babalúayé?” I ask.

“The God of Health and Disease,” Zélie reminds me. “Every god has a legendary relic. Babalúayé’s is theohunè?3aiyé, the jewel of life.”

“Is it actually real?” I ask.

“Just a myth,” Zélie answers. “A story maji tell divîners before they go to sleep.”

“It’s not a myth,” the girl says. “I’ve seen it myself. It’s more of a stone than a jewel, but it’s real. It grants eternal life.”

Zélie tilts her head and leans forward.

“This stone.” She lowers her voice. “What does it look like?”

CHAPTER TWENTY-THREE

ZÉLIE

THE ARENA BUZZESwith the drunken chatter of nobles as the sun dips below the horizon. Though night falls, the amphitheater glows with light; lanterns hang against the pillared walls. We push past the hordes of guards and nobles filling the stone-carved stands. I grip Tzain for support, stumbling as we make our way through the weathered sand steps.

“Where’d all these people come from?” Tzain mutters. He forces his way through two kosidán wrapped in dirt-covered kaftans. Though Ibeji can’t boast more than a few hundred residents, thousands of spectators fill the stands, a surprising number of them merchants and nobles. Everyone stares at the deep basin of the arena floor, united in their excitement for the games.

“You’re shivering,” Tzain says when we sit. Goosebumps travel up and down my skin.

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