Children of Blood and Bone - Tomi Adeyemi Page 0,66

She dismounts Nailah and wraps her scarf tighter around her face, urging me to do the same.

“Let’s split up.” Tzain slides off Nailah’s back and hands us his canteen. “We shouldn’t be spotted together. You guys get water. I’ll find a place to stay.”

Zélie nods and walks off, but once again Tzain holds my gaze.

“You okay?”

I force a nod, though I cannot bring myself to speak. One glimpse of the royal seal and it’s like my throat has been filled with sand.

“Just stay close to Zélie.”

Because you are weak, I imagine him spitting, though his dark eyes are kind. Because despite the sword you carry, you cannot protect yourself.

He gives my arm a gentle squeeze before taking Nailah by the reins and walking her in the opposite direction. I stare after his broad figure, fighting my desire to follow until Zélie hisses my name.

This will be fine. I put a smile in my eyes, though Zélie doesn’t even look my way. I thought things were starting to ease between us after Sokoto, but whatever goodwill I earned was crushed the minute my brother showed up at the temple. For the past four days Zélie has barely spoken to me, as if I’m the one who killed Lekan. The only times she does seem to look at me, I catch her staring at my back.

I stay close as we continue down the empty streets, searching for food in vain. My throat screams for a cold cup of water, a fresh loaf of bread, a nice cut of meat. But unlike the merchant quarter of Lagos, there are no colorful storefronts, no displays of succulent delights. The town appears almost as starved as its surrounding desert.

“Gods,” Zélie curses under her breath, pausing as her shivers worsen. Although the sun beats down with a fury, her teeth chatter as if she’s in an ice bath. Since her awakening, she shakes more and more, recoiling whenever she senses that the spirits of the dead are near.

“Are there that many?” I whisper.

She pants when one shiver stops. “It’s like walking through a burial ground.”

“With heat like this, we probably are.”

“I don’t know.” Zélie looks around, yanking her scarf close. “Every time one hits, I taste blood.”

A chill rocks through me, though sweat leaks from every pore. If Zélie can taste blood, I don’t want to know why.

“Perhaps—” I pause, stalling in the sand as a pack of men flood into the street. Though they’re obscured by capes and masks, their dust-covered clothes bear Orïsha’s royal seal.

Guards.

I grab on to Zélie as she reaches for her staff. Each soldier reeks of liquor; some stumble with every step. My legs quake as if made of water.

Then, quick as they came, they disperse, disappearing among the clay ahérés.

“Get yourself together.” Zélie shoves me off her. I fight not to tumble into the sand. There is no sympathy in her gaze; unlike Tzain, her silver eyes rage.

“I just—” The words are weak, though I will them to be strong. “I apologize. I was caught off guard.”

“If you’re going to act like a little princess, turn yourself in to the guards. I’m not here to protect you. I’m here to fight.”

“That’s not fair.” I wrap my arms around myself. “I’m fighting, too.”

“Well, seeing as your father created this mess, if I were you, I’d fight a little harder.”

With that Zélie turns, kicking up sand as she storms off. My face burns as I follow, careful to keep my distance this time.

We continue toward Ibeji’s central square, a collection of tangled streets and square huts crafted from red clay. As we near, we see more nobles gathering, conspicuous with their bright silk kaftans and their trailing attendants. Although I don’t recognize anyone, I adjust my scarf, worried that even the smallest slip will give my identity away. But what are they doing here, so far from the capital? There’re so many nobles, they’re only outnumbered by the laborers in the stocks.

I pause for a moment, aghast at the number of them filling the narrow path. Before today, I caught only glimpses of the laborers brought in to staff the palace—always pleasant, clean, groomed to Mother’s satisfaction. Like Binta, I thought they lived simple lives, safe within the palace walls. I never considered where they came from, where else they might have ended up.

“Skies…” It’s almost too hard to bear the sight. Mostly divîners, the laborers outnumber the villagers by hordes, dressed in nothing but tattered rags. Their dark skin blisters under