They don’t wrap their hands around my throat and try to bury me in the ground.
When Amari doesn’t reply, I know that’s the last we’ll talk about her brother. Fine. If she won’t tell the truth about Inan, neither will I.
I swallow his secret into silence, instead focusing on the roasted antelopentai meat as we near the merchant carts and wagons. We’re about to approach an elderly trader with a robust supply when Amari tugs on my pack.
“I never thanked you for saving my life. Back in Lagos.” She shifts her gaze to the ground. “But you did try to kill me twice … so perhaps it all cancels out?”
It takes me a second to realize she’s joking. I’m surprised when I grin. For the second time today, she smiles and I get a glimpse of why it was so hard for Tzain to look away.
“Ah, two lovely ladies,” an elderly kosidán says, beckoning us closer. He steps forward, his gray hairs glinting under the sun.
“Please.” The merchant’s smile widens, carving wrinkles into his leathery skin. “Come in. I promise you’ll find something you like.”
We walk around to the front steps of his wagon, pulled by two cheetanaires so large we stand eye to eye. I run my hands along their spotted fur, stopping to finger the grooves in the thick horn protruding from one’s forehead. The ryder purrs and licks my hand with its serrated tongue before I step inside the extensive space of wares.
The musk of old fabrics hits me as we pass through the crowded wagon. On one end, Amari fingers through old clothes while I stop and inspect a pair of suede mongix-hide canteens.
“What are you in the market for?” the merchant asks, holding an array of sparkling necklaces. He leans in, magnifying the deep-set eyes that mark those from Or?sha’s northern border. “These pearls come from the bays of Jimeta, but these glittering beauties come from the mines of Calabrar. Sure to turn any fella’s head, though I’m sure you have no problem in that department.”
“We need traveling supplies.” I smile. “Canteens and some hunting gear, maybe flint.”
“How much do you have?”
“What can we get for this?”
I hand him Amari’s dress and he unfolds it, holding it up to the light outside. He runs his fingers along the seams like a man who knows his cloth, taking extra time to inspect the burns around the hem. “It’s well made, no denying that. Rich fabric, excellent cut. I could do without the burns, but nothing a new hem can’t fix.…”
“So?” I press.
“Eighty silver pieces.”
“We won’t take any less than—”
“I’m not in the business of haggling, dear. My prices are fair and so are my offers. Eighty is final.”
I grit my teeth, but I know there’s no talking him up. A merchant who’s traded all over Or?sha can’t be swindled like an insulated noble.
“What can we get with eighty?” Amari asks, holding up a pair of yellow draped pants and a black, sleeveless dashiki.
“With those clothes … these canteens … a skinning knife … a few pieces of flint…” The merchant begins filling up a woven basket, gathering supplies to get us on our way.
“Is it enough?” Amari whispers.
“For now.” I nod. “If he throws in that bow—”
“You can’t afford it,” the merchant cuts in.
“But what if this does not end at Chan—at the temple?” Amari lowers her voice. “Won’t we need more money? More food? Supplies?”
“I don’t know.” I shrug. “We’ll figure it out.”
I turn to leave, but Amari frowns and reaches into the depths of my pack.
“How much for this?” She pulls out her jeweled headdress.
The merchant’s eyes bulge out of his head as he stares at the priceless adornment.
“My gods,” he breathes. “Where on earth did you find that?”
“It doesn’t matter,” Amari says. “How much?”
He turns the headdress over in his hands, and his mouth falls open when he sees the diamond-studded snow leopanaire. He lifts his gaze to Amari, slow and deliberate. He looks to me, but I keep my face even.
“I cannot take this.” He pushes the headdress away.
“Why?” Amari shoves it into his hands. “You’ll take the dress off my back but not the crown off my head?”
“I can’t.” The merchant shakes his head, but now that gold sits in his hands, his conviction wavers. “Even if I wanted to, there’s nothing I can trade. It’s worth more than everything I have.”
“Then how much can you give?” I ask.
He pauses, fear dancing with greed. He looks back at Amari once more, before staring at the headdress shining in his hands. He removes a ring of keys from his pocket and pushes aside a crate to reveal an iron safe. After unlocking and opening it, he inspects the glowing pile of coins inside.
“Three hundred gold pieces.”
I lurch forward. That kind of coin could last our family a lifetime. Maybe two! I turn to celebrate with Amari when the look on her face brings me back.…
I wouldn’t have this if it weren’t for my handmaiden. It is the only thing of hers I have left.
There was so much pain in her eyes. Pain I recognized. Pain I wore when I was young, the first time my family couldn’t pay a royal tax.
For months Tzain and Baba worked the sunfish harvest from dawn to dusk; at night they took extra work from the guards. They did everything possible to keep me out of it, but eventually their efforts fell short. That day I entered the floating market, Mama’s gold amulet in hand. It was the only thing of hers that we could recover, torn to the ground when the guards dragged her away.
After Mama died, I grasped that amulet like it was the last remaining piece of her soul. I still rub my neck sometimes, plagued by its absence.
“You don’t have to do this.” It stings to say those words in the face of so much gold, but ripping myself from Mama’s amulet felt like ripping away her heart; a pain so harsh I couldn’t even wish it on Amari.
Her eyes soften and she smiles. “You mocked me for not wanting to take off my dress before, but you were right. I was fixated on what I’ve already lost, but after everything my father’s done, my sacrifices will never be enough.” Amari nods to the merchant, making her final decision. “I couldn’t save Binta. But with the gold from this sale…”
We could save the div?ners.
I stare at Amari as the merchant takes the headdress and piles the gold into velvet bags. “Take the bow.” He beams. “Take whatever you like!”
Gazing around the wagon, my eyes land on a sturdy leather pack decorated with circles and lines. I lean in to inspect its firm texture but stop when I realize the design is composed entirely of dotted crosses. I run my hands over the disguised clan mark, the secret symbol of Oya, my sister deity. If the guards ever recognized the truth hidden in the bag’s design, they could seize the merchant’s entire cart. They might even cut off his hands.
“Be careful!” the merchant shouts.
I snatch my hand back before I realize he’s talking to Amari.
She turns an empty hilt over in her hands. “What is this? No blade?”