Bloodmarked (Legendborn, #2)

by Tracy Deonn

I laugh icily. “When white people say something’s ‘not about race,’ it’s usually because it is and they don’t wanna talk about it.” “Excuse me?” Cestra sneers. “Excuse yourself,” I sneer back. “It was about race to Lord Davis, but at least he had the decency to admit it to my face instead of”—I jerk my chin at the room, the screen, the camera—“all of this!”

“Since when has a man’s title prevented his brutality instead of further emboldening it?” Cestra hisses.

I nod. “Completely.” I clutch the paper. “Thank you.” Samira pulls me into a hug. “Black folks don’t need Oaths to take care of each other. We never did.”

My hair is beyond wild. It’s been days since I’ve been awake long enough to wash or style it. The curls feel dry. Parched. Like they could break at my touch. At the Institute, they didn’t even give me a hair tie, and I’ve definitely been sleeping on a plain cotton pillow. I look like a wreck and feel like worse.

Curly girl life. I would look a hot mess in any fantasy, dystopian novel LOL

Ironic that the Order, with the blood of chattel slavery on the hands of their founding fathers, with their Wall of Ages and thick tomes of family records, has to face the all-too-common challenge of researching Black American family ancestry. Maybe they actually have the resources to track down my ancestors, but then again… maybe not. Enslavers never expected the descendants of the enslaved to be free enough to look back in time.

PREACH GIRL