Tzain reaches into the pockets of his black pants and pulls out Mama Agba’s weathered map. We follow his finger as it trails down the coast from Ilorin, stopping just outside a dot marking the settlement of Sokoto.
“We’re about an hour out,” he says. “It’s the best place to stop before we head east to Chândomblé. There’ll be merchants and food, but we’ll need something to trade.”
“What happened to the coin from the sailfish?”
Tzain dumps out my pack. I groan as a few silver pieces and Amari’s headdress fall to the ground. “Most of it was lost in the fire,” Tzain sighs.
“What can we trade?” Amari asks.
Tzain stares at the finery of her dress. Even with dirt stains and a few burn marks, its long, elegant cut and lined silk scream of noble origin.
Amari follows Tzain’s eyes and her brows knit. “You cannot be serious.”
“It’ll trade for good coin,” I jump in. “And we’re going to the jungle, for gods’ sakes. You’ll never make it through in that.”
Amari scans my draped pants and cropped dashiki, gripping the fabric of her dress tighter. I’m amazed she thinks she has a choice when I could hold her down and cut it off with ease.
“But what will I wear?”
“Your cloak.” I point to the dingy brown cloth. “We’ll trade the dress for some food and get new clothes on the way.”
Amari steps back and looks at the ground.
“You were willing to evade your father’s guards to save the scroll, but you won’t take off your stupid dress?”
“I didn’t risk everything because of the scroll.” Amari’s voice cracks. For a moment her eyes glimmer with the threat of tears. “My father killed my best friend—”
“Your best friend or your slave?”
“Zél,” Tzain warns.
“What?” I turn to him. “Do your best friends press your clothes and make your food without pay?”
Amari’s ears redden. “Binta was paid.”
“A mighty wage, I’m sure.”
“I am trying to help you.” Amari clenches the skirt of her dress. “I’ve given up everything to help you people—”
“‘You people’?” I fume.
“We can save the divîners—”
“You want to save the divîners, but you won’t even sell your damn dress?”
“Fine!” Amari throws her hands in the air. “Skies, I’ll do it. I never said no.”
“Oh, thank you, gracious princess, savior of the maji!”
“Cut it out.” Tzain nudges me as Amari walks behind Nailah to change. Her delicate fingers move to the buttons on her back, but she hesitates, glancing over her shoulder. I roll my eyes as Tzain and I look the other way.
Princess.
“You need to lay off,” Tzain mutters as we face the natal mahogany lining the vibrant forests of Sokoto. A small family of blue-butt baboonems swings from the branches, shaking the glossy leaves free when they pass.
“If she can’t handle being around a divîner not enslaved by her father, she’s free to return to her little palace.”
“She hasn’t done anything wrong.”
“She hasn’t done anything right, either.” I nudge Tzain back. Why is he so insistent on defending her? It’s as if he really thinks she deserves better. Like somehow she’s the victim.
“I’m the last person to give a noble a chance, but Zél, look at her. She just lost her closest friend, and instead of grieving she’s risking her life to help maji and divîners.”
“I’m supposed to feel bad because her father killed the one maji servant she liked? Where’s her outrage been all these years? Where was she after the Raid?”
“She was six.” Tzain keeps his tone flat. “A child, just like you.”
“Except she got to kiss her mother that night. We didn’t.”
I turn to mount Nailah, positive I’ve given Amari enough time. But when I glance over, her bare back is still exposed.
“Oh my gods…”
My heart lurches as I take in the gruesome scar carved along Amari’s spine. The mark ripples across her skin, so ghastly it makes my own skin tingle with pain.
“What?”
Tzain turns just before Amari whips around, sucking in his breath at the mark. Even the scars lining Baba’s back don’t look half as hideous as hers.
“How dare you!” Amari scrambles to cover herself with the cloak.
“I wasn’t trying to peek,” I say quickly. “I promise, but—gods, Amari. What happened?”
“Nothing. A-an accident when my brother and I were young.”
Tzain’s jaw drops. “Your brother did that to you?”
“No! Not on purpose. It wasn’t … he didn’t—” Amari pauses, trembling with an emotion I can’t place. “You wanted my dress, you have it. Let us trade and be on with it!”
She holds her cloak close and mounts Nailah, keeping her face hidden. With nothing more we can say, Tzain and I have no choice but to follow suit.
He mumbles an apology before urging Nailah ahead. I try to apologize as well, but the words stall when I look at her cloaked back.
Gods.
I don’t want to imagine what other scars hide along her skin.
* * *
THE WEATHER WARMS as we reach the forest clearing that marks the settlement of Sokoto. Kosidán children run along the bank of the crystal clear lake, squealing with delight when one young girl falls in. Travelers set up camp between the trees and muddy patches; merchant carts and wagons line up their wares along the rocky shore. One cart’s aroma of spiced antelopentai meat envelops me, making my stomach rumble.
I was always told that before the Raid, Sokoto was home to the best Healers. People traveled from all over Orïsha, hoping to be cured by the magic of their touch. As I survey the travelers, I try to imagine what that might look like. If Baba were still with us, he might’ve liked this. A moment of refuge after losing our home.
“So peaceful,” Amari breathes, clutching her cloak as we slide off Nailah.
“You’ve never been here before?” Tzain asks.
She shakes her head. “I barely left the palace.”
Though crisp air fills my lungs as we walk, the sight reawakens the memory of burning flesh. In the lake I see the calm waves of the floating market back home, the coconut boat I should be in as I fight with Kana for a hand of plantain. But like Ilorin, the market’s gone, all burnt at the bottom of the sea. The memories sit among the charred lumber.
Another piece of me taken by the monarchy.
“You two trade the dress,” Tzain says. “I’ll take Nailah to get a drink. See if you can find a few canteens.”
I chafe at the prospect of trading with Amari, but I know she won’t leave my side until she gets new clothes. We part ways with Tzain, traveling through the campsites toward the row of merchant carts.
“You can relax.” I arch my eyebrow. Amari flinches whenever someone so much as looks her way. “They don’t know who you are, and no one cares about your cloak.”
“I know that.” Amari speaks quickly, but her stance softens. “I’ve just never been around people like this.”