Children of Blood and Bone - Tomi Adeyemi Page 0,101

the hill.

But in the brief moment before the attack, his gaze narrows. A vein bulges against his throat. His muscles tense against his strong build. His magic surfaces like a warm breeze, heating the air around us.

He cuts through two animations; they crumble into dirt. He strikes like lightning against the others, dodging and attacking at the same time. Dammit. I bite the inside of my cheek and chew. He’s faster than the average guard.

Deadlier than the typical prince.

“4mí àwọn tí ó ti sùn—” I chant again, giving three more animations new life. I hope the rush will slow Inan down, but after a few frenzied seconds, he stands alone. Sweat rolls down his forehead, dried soil crunches under his feet.

Twelve animations later and still, he stands.

“Satisfied?” Though he pants, he looks more alive than I’ve ever seen him. Sweat glistens off the curves of his muscles; for once he’s more than skin and bone. His face flushes red with color as he stabs his sword into a crack in the ground. “If I can take down twelve at full strength, how do you think fifty fighters will fare?”

I press my palms into the cliff. I’ll make an animation he can’t defeat. The ground rumbles, but my ashê is too drained to breathe new spirit soldiers. Without resorting to blood magic, I can’t do it. No matter how hard I strain, no animations spring forth.

Whether Inan sees my desperation on my face or senses it with his magic, I don’t know. He pinches the bridge of his nose, all but stifling a low groan.

“Zélie—”

“No,” I cut him off. My eyes drift toward my pack. The sunstone lies beneath the leather, silently tempting me.

If I used it, I could conjure more than enough animations to take down fifty fighters. But Inan doesn’t know I have it. And if those masked figures are after the scroll, they’ll want the sunstone, too. My frustration grows, though I know I’m right. I have a chance at retrieving the scroll and the bone dagger, but if the sunstone falls into the wrong maji’s hands, they’ll become too powerful for me to ever get it back.

But if I used blood magic …

I look down at my hand; the bite marks around my thumb have just begun to scar. A blood sacrifice would be more than enough, but after what happened in the arena in Ibeji, I never want to use blood magic again.

Inan stares at me with expectant eyes, solidifying my answer. I can’t use either.

“I just need more time.”

“We don’t have time.” Inan runs his hand through his hair; the white streak seems wider now than it did before. “You’re not even close. If you can’t do this, we need to summon the guards.”

He takes a deep breath, and the warmth of his magic begins to fade. The color drains from his skin. His vigor dies as he pushes his magic away.

It’s like the very life is being sucked out of him.

“Maybe the problem isn’t me.” My voice cracks and I close my eyes. I hate him for making me feel weak. I hate him for weakening himself. “If you would just use your magic, we wouldn’t need guards.”

“I can’t.”

“Can’t or won’t?”

“My magic doesn’t have offensive capabilities.”

“Are you sure?” I press, remembering Mama’s stories, Lekan’s pictures of the Connectors. “You’ve never stunned anyone? You’ve never cast a mental attack?”

A flicker passes across his face, something I can’t read. He clenches the handle of his sword and looks away. The air grows colder as he pushes his magic even further down.

“For gods’ sakes, Inan. Have some resolve. If your magic could help save Amari, why aren’t you doing everything you can?” I step closer to him, trying to put gentleness in my tone. “I’ll keep your stupid secret. If we use your magic to attack—”

“No!”

I jump back at the force of Inan’s words.

“My answer is no.” He swallows hard. “I can’t. I’m never doing that again. I know you’re wary of the guards, but I’m their prince. I promise you, I will keep them under control—”

I turn on my heel, walking back toward the ledge of the hill’s incline. When Inan shouts my name, I grit my teeth, fighting the urge to smack him with my staff. I’ll never save my brother. I’ll never get back the dagger or the scroll. I shake my head, fighting the swirl of emotions that wants to explode.

“Zélie—”

“Tell me, little prince.” I whip around. “What hurts more? The feeling you