Children of Blood and Bone - Tomi Adeyemi Page 0,19

scratches the back of his neck. “If a swordfish is caught, it goes to the palace. That’s the law of the land.”

The noble’s face turns red and he pulls out a small velvet purse. “What does he offer?” He jingles the coins. “I’ll pay double.”

The merchant stares at the purse longingly but stays firm. “I can’t risk it.”

“I can!” I shout.

The noble turns, eyes narrowed with suspicion. I wave him toward me, away from the merchant’s stand.

“You have swordfish?” he asks.

“Better. A fish no one else in this market can sell you.”

His mouth falls open, and I feel the same rush I get when a fish circles my bait. I unwrap the sailfish with care and move it under a ray of light so that its scales gleam.

“Skies!” The noble gapes. “It’s magnificent.”

“It tastes even better than it looks. Red-tailed sailfish, fresh from the coast of Ilorin. They’re not in season, so you can be sure even the king’s not eating this tonight.”

A smile crawls onto the noble’s face, and I know I’ve made my own catch. He holds out his purse.

“Fifty silver pieces.”

My eyes widen, but I grit my teeth. Fifty …

Fifty gets us by this tax, maybe leaves us enough for a new boat. But if the guards raise the taxes next quarter moon, fifty won’t keep me out of the stocks.

I let out a loud laugh and start rewrapping the fish.

The noble’s brow furrows. “What are you doing?”

“Taking this jewel to someone who can afford it.”

“How dare you—”

“Forgive me,” I interrupt. “I don’t have time for a man who bids fifty on a prize worth ten times that much.”

The noble grumbles, but he reaches into his pockets and pulls out another velvet purse.

“You won’t get a piece above three hundred.”

My gods! I dig my feet into the dirt to keep myself from wobbling. That’s more than we’ve ever seen in our lives. At least six moons of taxes, even if they’re raised!

I open my mouth to take the deal, but something in the noble’s eyes makes me hesitate. If he folded so quickly on the last offer, maybe he’ll fold again.…

Take it, I imagine Tzain warning. It’s more than enough.

But I’m far too close to stop now.

“I’m sorry.” I shrug and finish wrapping the sailfish. “I can’t waste a meal for a king on someone who can’t afford it.”

The noble’s nostrils flare. Gods. I may have gone too far. I wait for him to break, but he only seethes in silence. I’m forced to walk away.

Each step lasts an eternity as I crumble under the weight of my mistake. You’ll find another one, I try to calm myself. Another noble desperate to prove his worth. I can do better than three hundred. The fish is worth more than that … right?

“Dammit.” I almost ram my head against a shrimp stall. What am I going to do now? Who’s going to be stupid enough to—

“Wait!”

As I turn, the plump noble shoves three jingling purses into my chest.

“Fine,” he grumbles in defeat. “Five hundred.”

I stare at him in disbelief, which he mistakes for doubt.

“Count them if you must.”

I open one purse and the sight is so beautiful I nearly cry. The silver shines like the scales of the sailfish, its weight a promise of things to come. Five hundred! After a new boat, that’s almost a year’s worth of rest for Baba. Finally.

I’ve done something right.

I hand the fish to the noble, unable to hide my glowing smile. “Enjoy. Tonight you’ll eat better than the king.”

The noble sneers, but the corners of his mouth twitch up in satisfaction. I slide the velvet purses into my pack and start walking, heart buzzing so quickly it rivals the insanity of the market. But I freeze when screams fill the air. This isn’t the sound of haggling. What the—

I jump back as a fruit stand explodes.

A troop of royal guards charges through. Mangoes and Orïshan peaches fly through the air. Second by second, more guards flood the market, searching for something. Someone.

I stare at the commotion in bewilderment before realizing I have to move. There are five hundred silver pieces in my pack. For once, I have more than my life to lose.

I push through the crowd with a new fervor, desperate to escape. I’m almost past the textiles when someone grabs my wrist.

What in gods’ names?

I whip out my compacted staff, expecting to meet the arm of a royal guard or a petty thief. But when I turn, it’s neither a