Inside it glistened a putrid yellow stone, stained with blood. At the sight of it, a memory ticked in my thoughts—the glittering green gem in Melu’s cuff—the one my mother had used to enslave him. Ai Ling recoiled at the sight of it, stroking her chin in the sign of the Pelican. “Is that—is that Pale Arts?” Bunmi nodded grimly. “My warriors found this stone embedded in the assassin’s neck. It’s a practice called ibaje. Underworld artifacts bind the user to a task, give resistance to death, and bestow them with certain abilities. That explains, I imagine, why the assassin’s arrows rarely
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