Children of Blood and Bone - Tomi Adeyemi Page 0,12
in history. He will make an excellent king.”
“He will.” Mother glows, leaning in closer to the daughter she cannot wait to have. “Though I do wish the promotion was not accompanied by such violence. You never know what a desperate maggot might try with the crown prince.”
The oloyes nod and dispense useless opinions as I sip my tea in silence. They speak of our subjects with such levity, as if they were discussing the diamond-stitched geles sweeping Lagos’s fashion. I turn back to the servant who told me about Binta. Though she is far away from my table, a nervous tremble still rocks her hand.…
“Samara.” Mother’s voice breaks into my thoughts, pulling my focus back. “Have I mentioned how regal you look today?”
I bite my tongue and drain the rest of my tea. Though Mother says “regal,” the word “lighter” hides behind her lips. Like the regal oloyes who can proudly trace their lineage back to the royal families who first wore Orïsha’s crown.
Not common, like the farmers who toil the fields of Minna, or Lagos’s own merchants bartering their wares in the sun. Not unfortunate like me, the princess Mother is almost too ashamed to claim.
As I peek at Samara from behind my cup, I’m struck by her new, soft brown complexion. It was only a few luncheons ago she shared her mother’s mahogany coloring.
“You are too kind, Your Majesty.” Samara looks down at her dress in false modesty, smoothing nonexistent wrinkles.
“You must share your beauty regimen with Amari.” Mother places a cold hand on my shoulder, fingers light against my dark copper skin. “She lounges in the gardens so often she’s beginning to look like a farmhand.” Mother laughs, as if a horde of servants don’t cover me with sunshades whenever I step outside. Like she didn’t coat me with powder before this very luncheon began, cursing the way my complexion makes the nobility gossip that she slept with a servant.
“That is not necessary, Mother.” I cringe, remembering the sharp pain and the vinegar stench of her last cosmetic concoction.
“Oh, it would be my pleasure.” Samara beams.
“Yes, but—”
“Amari.” Mother cuts me off with a smile so tight it could split her skin. “She would love to, Samara, especially before courting begins.”
I try to swallow the lump in my throat, but the very act almost makes me choke. In that moment, the smell of vinegar becomes so strong I can already feel the searing on my skin.
“Do not worry.” Samara grips my hand in her own, misreading my distress. “You will grow to love courting. It really is quite fun.”
I force a smile and try to pull my hand away, but Samara tightens her hold, as if I am not allowed to let go. Her gold rings press into my skin, each band set with a special stone. One ring feeds into a delicate chain, connecting to a bangle adorned with our monarchy’s seal: a diamond-studded snow leopanaire.
Samara wears the bangle with pride. No doubt a gift from Mother. In spite of myself, I admire its beauty. It has even more diamonds than min—
Skies …
Not mine. Not anymore.
Panic floods me as I remember what happened to my own bangle. The one I gave to Binta.
She did not want to take it; she feared the price of a gift from the throne. But Father raised the divîner taxes. If she didn’t sell my bangle, she and her family would’ve lost their home.
They must have found out, I realize. They must think Binta is a thief. That’s why she’s been summoned to the throne room. That’s why she needed to be escorted.
I jump out of my seat. The legs of my chair screech against the tiled floor. I can already see the guards holding out Binta’s delicate hands.
I can see Father swinging down his sword.
“Pardon me,” I say as I step back.
“Amari, sit down.”
“Mother, I—”
“Amari—”
“Mother, please!”
Too loud.
I know it the instant the words leave my mouth. My shrill voice bounces along the tearoom’s walls, quieting all conversation.
“M-my apologies,” I sputter. “I feel ill.”
With all eyes burning into my back, I scurry toward the door. I can feel the heat of Mother’s coming wrath, but I do not have time for that now. The moment the door shuts, I take off, hiking up my heavy gown. My heeled slippers clack against the tiled floors as I sprint through the halls.
How could I be so foolish? I chastise myself, swerving to avoid a servant. I should have left the moment that girl told