The Jasad Heir — Chapter no 14

CHAPTER FOURTEEN

It took hurling a heavy bowl at Vaun’s oversize head during supper for Arin to allow the guards to take me to the surface.

“Clear your head,” he ordered from the top of his horse. He was going on yet another trip. Vaun and Ren mounted their horses. “We do not have the luxury of soothing your every tantrum.”

I managed not to throw rocks at his disappearing back, comforting myself with the warmth of the sun against my skin. I hadn’t been to the surface in ten days. Wes and Jeru accompanied me on the walk, kicking a pebble back and forth. It reminded me of Soraya and Dawoud during our afternoon strolls through the palace garden. I grimaced, batting aside the memory like a troublesome fly. In Mahair, I’d rarely dwelled on my life in Usr Jasad. I certainly hadn’t allowed the memories to encroach on my consciousness. That moving wall and the Jasadi weapons must be unsettling me more than I thought.

My continued silence disturbed the guards. “It gets easier once you improve,” Jeru said. “The beginning is always the worst.”

Even Wes was inclined to offer reassurance. “The midnight hunting drills our first year—” Wes started, prompting a groan from Jeru. “I cannot count the number of times I lost myself in these woods, half-naked and confused.”

“Holding a spear,” Jeru added. “I woke up late once and grabbed a mop instead. Our unit leader found me waving it at a sparrow.”

“Wait. Did you hear that?” Jeru stopped.

Wes’s forehead puckered in concentration. “It’s the river.”

Jeru swiveled. “No, I thought I heard… I will catch up.” He jogged into the trees before we could answer.

Wes and I resumed walking in a much less comfortable silence. We tended not to spend time together without Jeru’s stabilizing presence.

“Is Jeru’s family very wealthy?” I asked, apropos of nothing. The

sudden interrogation technique seemed to work for the Heir.

Wes eyed me. “No.”

“He is a kind man,” I observed. “A liability in the Citadel.”

For a long moment, I thought Wes wouldn’t respond. I counted the prints our boots made in the mud. He answered at number forty-six. “His family comes from an impoverished village in Nizahl’s southern provinces.

He qualified for exemption from conscription and—”

Much as I hated to interrupt and risk Wes clamping shut again, I couldn’t contain my shock. “There’s exemption from conscription in Nizahl?”

“His Highness the Heir made it law five years ago. Unless there is an active war, Nizahlans may submit for exemption should their circumstances fit the criteria His Highness set forth. The southern provinces are in famine.

Jeru was needed to keep his family from starvation.”

“The Supreme allowed this law?” Skepticism colored the question.

Supreme Rawain loved nothing more than soaking the earth in Jasadi blood and throwing adolescents into the army’s gaping maw. A law providing relief to commoners—the easiest population to recruit—deviated from his agenda.

“His Majesty hadn’t a choice,” Wes replied, and I would have wagered all of Nadia’s chairs that he sounded smug. “Nizahl’s laws limit the Supreme’s powers over the army. Once the Supreme appoints a Commander, those responsibilities transfer.” He shook his shoe loose from the clutches of a shrub. “The Commander happened upon Jeru hours before his execution.”

Execution? What in Dania’s sacred skirt could Jeru have done to merit losing his frizzy head? “Did he murder someone? Burn a village to the

ground?”

“He stole a bag of oats.”

I opened my mouth, then clamped it shut.

“They leveled the charge against Jeru, though the real culprit was the stonemason’s twelve-year-old son. The child’s father had lost his arm in an accident, and his younger sister hadn’t eaten in three days. The child stole the oats. Jeru told the patrol he did. Fortunately, His Highness had an appointment with a dignitary from the village. The child recognized the royal crest on his horse and pleaded for Jeru. His liege pardoned Jeru and

offered him a position in the academy.”

“What about his family?”

“His Highness set up a nimwa system for their village. It allotted every family a weekly amount of grains and milk. Jeru’s family live off his wages.”

Nimwa. The Nizahl dialect sounded gruffer leaving Wes’s tongue. It reminded me of another word. “Wes, what does suraira mean?”

His thick brows met in a U-shaped wrinkle. It seemed to surprise him any time I displayed evidence of intelligent thought. Whether this was a byproduct of my constant complaining or his own preconceived bias was unclear.

“Suraira is said to be a demon of mishap protecting Sirauk,” he said.

“Some Nizahlans believe Suraira dwells beneath the bridge and emerges during a crossing to compel humans to their death.”

I rubbed my arms, stepping over the carcass of a partially eaten rabbit.

“Compel?”

Wes sighed, likely wishing he’d chosen sleep over this conversation.

“No one is certain what occurs in the crossing. Suraira crafts her victims an image of beauty, decadence, freedom from their woes and burdens. She lures them into willingly leaping off the bridge and into the abyss. Every kingdom has outlandish stories about crossing Sirauk; Suraira is merely one of Nizahl’s. How did you hear the name?”

Apparently, by being likened to a devious demon of mishap by his Heir.

Mist sprayed my face as we crossed the last line of trees. The gush of Hirun had never sung so sweetly. I jogged ahead, abandoning my slippers behind me. The first splash of cool water against my ankles was heaven.

I waded deeper. This river wound through every kingdom, and no one had ever traveled from one end to the other. Of all that had come and gone, Hirun remained unchanged. The only true axis in a land of shifting sands.

“Sylvia!” Jeru shouted. His voice was far away. Water surged around my waist. My feet had carried me farther than I intended.

A ball of tightly packed dirt hit the water and exploded in my face. A lump flew into my mouth. I hacked, pounding my chest, and lost my balance.

Wes and Jeru’s shouts faded as the river catapulted my weightless body along. I flailed, struggling to keep my head above the murky water. A log

bobbed ahead, directly in my path. Cheerfully waiting to behead me.

I ducked. Frigid water swept over me. My skirt dragged, pulling me deeper. I kicked it off and pumped my legs. When the river curved, I used the momentum to launch myself toward shore.

Hands reached forward, hauling me onto solid ground. I slapped them aside as soon as my knees were on dry earth and gagged.

“How did you run so quickly?” I rasped. I shoved my dripping hair off my shoulders, shuddering in disgust at the green webs tangled in the strands. “I left you on the opposite bank.”

The pair crouching in front of me were not Wes and Jeru.

“Rovial’s horned heifer,” I groaned. “Are you two determined to die?”

Marek grinned. “We missed you, too.”

I shook my head, shoving aside my glee at the sight of my two favorite fools. “A whiff of sense, a drop. That’s all I ask. If the guards find you—”

“They won’t,” Sefa reassured. “Unless you plan on lounging for much longer.”

Belatedly, I remembered my legs were covered only by the thin white shift I’d worn beneath my skirt. My hair fell from its braid, hanging in wet waves around me.

“Did you plan this?” Neither Marek nor Sefa attempted to touch me again, a gesture I appreciated now more than ever.

“We’ve been searching for you since the waleema,” Marek said.

Dread pooled in the pit of my stomach at the mention of that accursed celebration. A name knocked against my skull, politely asking to be let out.

“Fairel. Is—did she—how is she?” I didn’t notice my hand had found my heart. I counted the beats in my head, my body strung tight like it was anticipating a blow.

“She is still recovering,” Sefa said, and I almost keeled over in relief before she finished her sentence. She is. Fairel still existed, still lived, and the rest were details.

“She and Rory are going to have matching canes,” Marek said. “She misses you, but she is excited to know a Champion.”

I shook my head, a fond smile on my lips. Maybe she would finally stop revering the Champions when she remembered she’d seen one of them shove burned bread into her dress to hide it from Raya.

Murky liquid dribbled down the nape of my neck. I squeezed mud from

my hair and paused. “Wait, did you throw those damned dirt balls?”

“The dirt was necessary to get your attention, since those two guards never left your side. I didn’t expect my aim to be so excellent.” Sefa prodded me with the end of her walking stick. “Walk and complain, come on.”

I slapped the stick aside. “I can’t leave.”

“They won’t find you, Sylvia,” Marek said, and the ferocity of his conviction startled me. “We’re going to protect you.”

I studied Marek’s combative stance, Sefa’s wary surveillance of the other bank. Oh dear. A fundamental misunderstanding had occurred somewhere between the waleema and now. Had they really spent the last few weeks searching for me?

“The Commander did not abduct me.” At their disbelieving glances, I continued, “I am training to be his Champion.”

Sefa’s mouth hung open. “Tell me you don’t actually mean to compete in the Alcalah. We thought—we thought you were stalling for time. Waiting for an opportunity to escape.”

I stomped north, toward the spot in the river where I’d fallen. I kept a scattering of trees as a cover between us and Hirun in case the guards happened by. It wouldn’t help anyone if these buffoons were accused of attacking the Nizahl Champion.

“Is he threatening you?” Marek asked. “He can’t hurt you if you refuse the role. Turning down an honor isn’t a punishable offense.”

I tipped my head back and laughed. “There is no shortage of crimes to choose from, should the Heir wish to harm me.” I was positive he maintained a running tally. Whatever expression I wore must have alarmed Sefa, because she thrust a bundle into my arms before I could speak.

“I washed it.” It was my cloak, cleaned and repaired. My throat tightened. Sefa babbled, “It took three scrubbings to get the bucket clean after the grime and mud drained from your infernal cloak. There hasn’t been much sun, so the wretch took a few days to dry. Does it smell all right?”

I did not trust myself to speak for a long moment. The image of Sefa on her knees in front of the water basin, scrubbing her hands raw against my cloak…“It’s perfect.”

“You can skulk wickedly around corners again,” Marek said, with a grin of such fraternal fondness that I could hardly bear it.

A dangerous torrent gathered strength inside me. My cuffs were burning vises around my wrists. I made an idle note of it. “Your kindness would be better spent on someone else.”

“Impossible,” Marek said. “I’ve never met someone who needs it more.”

This was far worse than I could have imagined. I had not earned this.

Loyalty could be broken. These destructive fools loved me.

Love. Hanim mocked me. A new name for an old insanity.

When Arin threatened to expose Sefa and Marek, the tactic was only a piece of a much larger ploy. Without the offer of my freedom, without the threat of Felix’s armies, I would have walked away. I might have searched for methods to secure Sefa and Marek’s release, bartered and threatened to

spare them from Nizahl’s tribunal.

But I wouldn’t have exchanged myself.

I stepped from the cover of trees, approaching Hirun with a stifled groan. Night had fallen, and the river’s silhouette frothed in the darkness.

“We can hide you,” Sefa blurted, darting away from Marek. She spoke fast, as though anticipating an objection. “Marek and I, we know how to move undetected. We have mastered the art of disappearance.”

“Sefa!” Marek demanded. “Don’t!”

Sefa splashed into the river, out of Marek’s reach. “We’re Nizahlan, Sylvia. I am sure you’ve gathered as much. What you don’t know is after we fled Nizahl, we spent two years flitting between Orbanian and Lukubi villages, surviving on what we could get by cheating or stealing.”

On my right, Marek sank to the ground, covering his head with his arms.

A frog hopped onto his shoulder, its chest ballooning with a croak. A disbelieving chuckle slipped from my lips. “Do you mean to say you and Marek were vagrants?”

Sefa nodded vigorously. “Worse. Your route is nothing compared to our deceptions. We stole everything—jewels, clothes, farm tools. Then we sold them in the next village. We cheated our way into homes, charmed merchants and healers. Over and over, for years.”

I shifted the cloak to my other arm and scooped the frog from Marek’s arm. “What changed?”

Marek finally animated, lurching to his feet. He pointed at Sefa. “Go on, tell her. Tell her what changed.”

The frog wiggled in my grip, unsettled by the tension whipping between

the two. I released him on a boulder and enviously watched him scurry away. Sloshing onto the river’s bank, Sefa worried her bottom lip. “There was an… incident… in one of the Orbanian villages.”

Marek swung in my direction. “By ‘incident,’ she means we were caught in a scheme. While I was visiting a market, Sefa was beaten nearly to death.

I stole a cart and barely outran the patrol. She was on her last breath when we stumbled into Mahair.”

“We have led decent lives since then,” Sefa interjected, largely ignoring Marek’s ire. I couldn’t blame him for his frustration; Sefa invited danger with startling frequency. “We can hide you from Nizahl soldiers.”

I still didn’t understand. “Why would you leave Nizahl in the first place?

Sefa, your stepfather is the High Counselor.”

The effect on Sefa was instant. Her eyes went dim and vacant. The luster drained from her face. So thoroughly blank did she look that I wanted to snatch my words back.

Marek moved, blocking my view of Sefa. Hostility rolled off him. “How do you know about the High Counselor?”

Having this conversation at the edge of the river, where anyone could sneak up behind us, wreaked havoc on my nerves. “The Nizahl Heir said you were wanted for assaulting and robbing the High Counselor.” I withheld the reason he had shared the information with me. They would believe I had succumbed to the Heir’s offer simply to save them.

Marek used both hands to scrub his face. “He said nothing else?” I couldn’t mistake the undercurrent of suspicion in his question.

“What else should he have said?”

The golden-haired fugitive lowered his hands. His mouth twisted bitterly, and I braced myself. Marek could be incredibly vicious when it suited him. “Less than two weeks, and you already talk like him.”

My shoulders went stiff. “What do you mean to imply, Marek?”

“Sylvia.” Sefa interrupted the sharp insult I’d planned to hurl at Marek.

Other than the tightness in her expression, she appeared mostly restored from the mention of the High Counselor. “I can explain later. But please, come with us. Let us help you.”

I massaged my temples. “Do you believe me resigned to my own fate? If Felix didn’t find me, the Nizahl Heir would.” I thought of the Mufsids and Urabi. His determination to catch them outweighed his commitment to his

own father’s law. “He is a devoted hunter.”

And you are determined to exist only as prey, Hanim murmured.

Complacency is spelled with the letters of your name… Sylvia.

Sefa refused to accept defeat. “There are places we heard about during our travels. Lands lost to the mountains and Essam, beyond the reach of any

hunter. They are only rumors, but—”

“Sefa,” I sighed.

“Listen to me!”

My neck prickled. I spun around, but it was too late. Vaun tackled Marek to the ground. Ren caught Sefa, pulling her back against him with a dagger at her throat.

Arin materialized from the dark arch of trees, hands tucked behind him.

“If she won’t listen, I certainly will.”

Marek hurled a filthy epithet at the Heir, words choking off when Vaun slammed his face into the ground.

“Get off them!” I cried out. I rushed forward, but Sefa’s yelp as Ren’s dagger dug into the line under her jaw halted me in my tracks. I whirled on Arin. “They have nothing to do with this!”

“Considering they’ve been bumbling around the woods in search of you since the waleema, I would have to disagree.”

“You can’t harm them. We have an agreement!”

In my periphery, I saw Marek stop struggling to stare at me.

“We do.” Arin’s attention moved beyond me, assessing our surroundings. “They will be kept in a secure facility in Nizahl until the Alcalah is over. They can irritate my soldiers to their hearts’ content from there.”

“No,” Sefa whispered. Ren’s arm went around her midsection as her knees gave out. Pure terror splashed across her face. “Please, please, no.

He’ll find me. He can go wherever he likes, access any building. He’ll kill Marek!”

“You bastard,” Marek spat. Vaun purpled, and the crack of his fist against Marek’s jaw echoed in the dark wood. He raised his fist again, and Sefa screamed as Marek’s head hit the earth.

Tendrils of agony snaked from my cuffs. “Stop!” I shouted.

They would die. They would be put into a wagon for Nizahl and never reach their destination. And I would have no way of knowing.

My fingers curled against the pressure swelling in my veins.

Marek spit blood directly onto Vaun’s face. The hotheaded fool was going to get himself killed, and the only person who could stop Vaun

seemed disinclined to intervene.

“Sylvia!” Sefa shrieked.

The ground shook. Overhead, a flock of birds left their roost in a burst.

The pressure lessened on my cuffs. This time, the surge of magic was cleaner. Less agonizing as it slammed around, seeking an exit.

This time, some of it succeeded.

Ren shouted as he was catapulted backward, falling into Hirun with a splash. The current eagerly swept him away. Vaun’s muscles locked, though his eyes still darted around in confusion. Marek shoved him aside, and the guard keeled over easily. My empty stomach contracted.

The eye that hadn’t swollen shut in Marek’s face widened. Sefa’s breaths came too fast, juddering out of her shaking body. “Am I dead?” She patted

at her throat.

“You’re a Jasadi,” Marek breathed.

Arin seemed to have forgotten about the two wards. He kicked Vaun’s shin, but the guard could only quiver. A calculating gleam sparked in the Heir’s gaze. Marek stumbled upright, helped along by Sefa. Before they could go any farther, Arin casually raised his blade. “I wouldn’t recommend running,” he said.

Marek sneered, shoving Sefa behind him. “Go! It’s only one dagger.”

I groped around in my cloak, a litany of curses on my lips. A single dagger was all he needed. Sefa would sever her own limbs before leaving Marek to die, and Arin probably knew it.

Sefa had turned out the pockets when she washed my cloak. Had she returned everything to its original place?

My fingers closed around a solid, cool shape.

It was exceptionally satisfying that my magic over Vaun broke at the same instant Arin found the tip of my blade pressed against his side.

“Vaun, if you take a single step, your Heir will be dead before the blade leaves his body,” I said.

“I will feed your bones to the dogs,” Vaun snarled. “Jasadi filth.”

I pushed the dagger against the hard plane of Arin’s stomach, tearing through his black vest. Arin glanced at the blade, then at me. He pursed his

lips, looking vaguely annoyed.

There are two dozen ways he could disarm you, Hanim said. Half of them involve your own blade buried in your body.

I spoke fast. “My magic responds in their presence when it responds to little else. They know about my abilities now. They might reveal my magic if you send them to Nizahl. Any confidence is easy to betray under the right pressure.”

“A sound argument for killing them,” Arin said. Sefa had her arms around Marek’s waist, holding him up. They watched us with the wariness

of chickens on the butcher’s block.

“Or keeping them in the tunnels.”

Arin blinked, and I pressed my advantage. “It’s the most practical option. They are the sole clue we have to my magic, and they can hardly spread my secret from the tunnels.”

The fastest route to persuade Arin lay in logic, and from the furrow forming in his brow, I had him.

“Why lose a bargaining chip needlessly?” I pushed.

“And if they escape?”

“They won’t.”

Arin assessed the trembling Nizahlans. I held my breath, my palm slick around the dagger’s hilt. Essam was unnaturally quiet, waiting with me.

Though his voice was soft, the wind carried his words like ice falling from a seething sky. “Do not waste this mercy,” Arin said. “It will not be granted twice.”

He dropped his arm. Relief coursed through me. The argument for sparing their lives had triumphed. A tenuous victory. If Sefa and Marek proved too troublesome, Arin’s scale would shift in death’s favor.

“Vaun, escort them to the tunnels,” he said. “Remembering, of course, that they are our invited guests. No harm can come to them.”

Arin’s training was apparently worth its weight in gold, because Vaun managed to bow despite the protest lodged in his scowl. I nodded at Marek and Sefa. His flaws were many, but Vaun would not disobey a direct order from his Heir.

“Your Highness,” Vaun said. He motioned at the dagger I still held to Arin’s abdomen.

“Oh,” Arin said, having deemed my threat inconsequential enough to

forget. I scowled and slid the dagger back into the cloak’s pocket. Marek and Sefa walked ahead of Vaun, leaning on each other.

Arin turned. From the way his brows crawled up his forehead, he hadn’t taken a proper look at me until now.

“I lost my skirt in the river,” I said primly.

“You’re holding a cloak.”

I crossed my arms. “I’m certain it has never been a consideration of yours, but wool is a difficult material to launder. Sefa spent hours—” I cut myself off with a huff. It was unexplainable, how effectively he roused my ire. “I’m keeping it dry.”

He shrugged off his coat and held it toward me. I stared, uncomprehending.

“It’s cold, and you are shivering.” A touch of defensiveness crept into his tone. “Illness eats more time than I have to spare.”

I rolled my eyes. His precious time. I accepted the coat, pushing my arms through the long sleeves. Since Arin stood a head taller than me, the coat fell to my feet instead of my calves. Arin’s gaze lingered on my neck for longer than normal. When he reached forward, I cringed, tightening my grip on the dagger. I half expected him to close his hands around my throat.

Instead, what he did was far more baffling.

He folded back my collar.

Fastidious to a fault, it seems, Hanim observed. We might use it to our advantage.

By the cursed tombs, I would never understand him. The man hardly stirred at a raised blade, but he couldn’t tolerate a single crooked collar.

“We will work on improving your assault strategy,” Arin said. He thumbed the ragged cut I had made in his vest with a frown. “You will need it when Ren fishes himself from Hirun.”

Everyone in the keep knew Marek and Sefa bickered. They bickered about the best way to light a fire, how many thumps you need to properly beat a rug, what kinds of fruit seed tasted better roasted. Any notions the other

wards entertained about the nature of Marek and Sefa’s relationship were put to rest early on. Bickering was either an outlet for pent-up amorous frustrations or a consequence of prolonged exposure. The former resolved itself eventually, and the latter did not. Their bickering rarely escalated into full arguments. And before today, I had never seen Marek and Sefa shout at each other.

“We were willing to flee Mahair with her in tow and incur the Commander’s wrath, but staying in a shelter with food, water, and beds is too much for you?” Sefa yelled.

I sat on Sefa’s new bed, watching with a peculiar mixture of curiosity and regret. If Niyar and Palia hadn’t killed Emre, I imagined watching my parents argue might have provoked a similar feeling.

“He thinks we’re linked to her magic. He can use us against her!” Marek raked through his hair. “We can’t stay here!”

“How would trying to escape help?” Sefa pounded the dust off the quilt at the foot of the bed. She aggressively folded it into a rectangle. “He would be committed to finding us, and we would be granted far less leeway than we have now!”

Marek covered his face, sliding down the door. Sefa watched him mutinously for a long moment. I tried to make myself smaller, less like a voyeur spying on their private moments. With a drawn sigh, Sefa left the quilt and knelt by Marek, gently prying his wrists apart.

“It’s just until after the trials. What’s one more adventure?”

I felt compelled to speak. “He wouldn’t harm you as punishment for my disobedience.” At Marek’s fiery glare, I added, “Not out of compassion.

Logically, hurting you two would ruin my goodwill and keep me from training efficiently. It might even motivate us to flee together. I am not denying that inflicting pain is another tool at his disposal. Just not one he’ll turn to with other available options. But if you run, if you tell anyone about the tunnels… once the Commander reaches a decision, he cannot be dissuaded.”

“You mean he’ll kill us.” Sefa giggled, snuffing the sound in her elbow.

“What danger is there in a brute?” Sefa said, echoing the answer I gave her the night I killed the soldier. “I kept wondering what you could have possibly meant. You meant this, didn’t you? The Nizahl Heir is polite, brilliant, handsome. He is the opposite of a brute, and a thousand times

more dangerous for it, because you cannot know from which direction he will strike.”

“You find that funny?” Marek peered at Sefa with concern. He pressed the back of his hand to her forehead.

Sefa toppled from her crouch, joining Marek against the door. She dropped her head on his shoulder. “No.”

We sat there until Sefa’s eyelids drooped and light snores vibrated in her chest.

Marek’s lips tightened. “He knows who we are.”

I smiled wanly. “Caleb is a nice name.”

Marek’s flinch nearly knocked Sefa awake. His expression shuttered, and a faraway sorrow lined his features. “It was.”

His gaze hardened and snapped to mine. “We won’t enter Nizahl. If you don’t find a way to persuade him to release us before the third trial, we will

take our chances in the woods.”

“Understood.”

“So. You’re a Jasadi.”

His discomfort was evident. Too many tales existed about Jasadis, expertly planted by Nizahl over the years to destroy any lingering sympathy for the scorched kingdom. Most people remembered Jasad before the siege, had traded outside the fortress and sent invitations to their waleemas. But even those old enough to remember Jasad at the peak of its power had succumbed to the distrust and fear sown in the last ten years.

“Do I frighten you now?” I was only partly joking.

Marek chuckled, sweeping Sefa into his arms as he stood. “No more than usual. I never much believed in the idea of magic-madness.” He laid her down on the bed, brushing her curls from her forehead. “Sefa is quite angry, though. She wanted to know why you made her wash clothes by hand all these years.”

Something tight and uncomfortable loosened in my chest. I had not realized how worried I was about their potential reactions. This was the first time being Jasadi hadn’t cost me.

“Marek. What happened with Sefa’s stepfather?”

The muscles in his back tightened. “It is not my story to share.”

“I don’t want to ask her.” Not after that horrible emptiness had invaded Sefa at the mere mention of the man. “Please. Why are you both so afraid of

returning to Nizahl?”

Marek stayed silent for long minutes. I was on the brink of accepting defeat when he said, in a voice filled with old fury, “Sefa’s father died when she was eleven. Her father was Lukubi, but her mother was Nizahlan. Her mother moved them from Lukub to Nizahl and married the High Counselor a year after Sefa’s father died. The High Counselor was powerful and well respected in the Citadel. He was not a good stepfather. He took… liberties with Sefa. Liberties a man does not take with a child.”

Nausea rolled in my belly. I stared at Sefa’s sleeping face and vividly imagined flaying the skin from a man I had never met. No wonder Sefa always startled so violently if one of the girls in the keep woke her up. Even many years and miles later, her instincts remembered.

“We escaped and swindled our way through the kingdoms. But we weren’t careful enough. After the attack in the market, I carried Sefa to Raya’s and held her hand while the healer’s apprentice put her back together. When she woke, I told her we either settled in Mahair or she continued without me. No scheme was worth risking Sefa’s life.”

I was barely listening, stuck on rotating through everything Sefa had ever told me. Searching for clues. Signs of the horror she’d experienced.

She was the liveliest girl in the keep. If anyone needed an opinion, Sefa would arrive with a thousand. The farmers disliked her for releasing their chickens if she disapproved of the state of their coops. She had befriended me against my efforts, and that was not an easily accomplished feat.

Marek, guessing my thoughts, patted the spot near my hand to catch my attention. “She will talk about it with you in her own time. Leave her be.”

“I will.” Hypocrisy did not rank highly on my trailing list of flaws. I would not ask for secrets from Sefa when I had no interest in repaying the confidence.

“Go bathe,” Marek said. “You smell like the river.”

“You knocked me into it!”

“That’s no excuse.” Marek shooed me from the room. He smirked at my glower before slamming the door shut.

I caught a whiff of myself and cringed. Marek hadn’t been lying. When the hall fell dark and silent, I heated a few barrels of water and poured them into a wide wooden bath. Steam curled in white wisps from the stone floor.

I lingered in the washroom late into the evening, trying not to dwell on

Sefa’s face by the river and the High Counselor’s lies.

Checking the empty hall, I darted out, wincing at the slap of cold air.

The Jasadis who stayed here before us had enchanted the walls to glow in the evening as a clever alternative to lanterns. The magic left over was faint, however, and did little to illuminate my path.

I rounded the corner and crashed into a firm body. A hand clamped over my mouth, shoving me into the wall. I clutched my towel. The waning light outlined Vaun’s sneer.

“If you reveal your magic to anybody again, I will decorate these halls with your blood and tears,” he growled. “The Heir will not be incriminated by you.”

I licked a long stripe over his palm. He yanked his hand away with a sound of disgust.

“Should the need arise, the Heir can say he didn’t know I was a Jasadi,”

I snapped. I had plastered myself to the wall already, but Vaun stepped closer.

“His Highness will not be made to look like a fool, either. A reputation like his will not be tarnished by atrocities like you.” He leaned in, close enough for me to distinguish each bristly hair at the crown of his forehead.

“And if you ever raise a knife to the Commander again—”

“You’ll… what?” I met his glare with a maniacal one of my own. “Scold me in secret again?”

Vaun spat at my feet. With another hateful glare, he turned the same corner I had come from. I glanced at my cuffs. Not a trace of heat or

pressure.

“Helpful as always.”

If the Alcalah’s outcome depended on my magic, we were all doomed.

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