The Jasad Heir — Chapter no 16

CHAPTER SIXTEEN

Arin and Ren stayed away from the tunnels for the next few days. I’d overheard the guards discussing the Commander’s renewed rotations in Essam to search for evidence that could help him learn more about the Jasadi groups’ movements. I was glad for a reprieve. Others seemed to view the Heir’s absence with less relief. I returned from the washroom to find a smashed mess of fruit on my door. Juice trickled onto the ground, threatening to draw several armies of ants. I scraped a chunk from the top

and held it to the lantern.

Jasad’s white berry.

Vaun was not as inclined to bide his time as Arin. It was becoming a dangerous pattern with the guardsman. There were worrisome ways he could harm me without directly violating Arin’s orders. The duty binding Vaun to Arin went deeper than that of the rest of the guards. Jeru, Wes, or Ren would gladly throw their lives at their Heir’s feet, but they were not subject to the tumult of protectiveness and rage plaguing Vaun.

On our walk to the tunnels, Wes had mentioned that Vaun had been by Arin’s side since childhood. Instead of flourishing into his own person, the guardsman seemed to have grown around Arin, branched into an extension of the Heir. Vaun believed in the Nizahl throne, in his kingdom’s ultimate supremacy, with the same fanatiscim driving his vitriolic hatred of Jasadis.

The answer hit me with the force of a gale.

Arin was to Vaun what Sefa was to Marek.

Which meant Vaun would stop at nothing to ensure the Heir’s security, even if it meant going against Arin’s will.

The thought bothered me through the next day. Arin had yet to return.

After I finished my set of trainings, Jeru accompanied me to Hirun carrying two baskets of dirty clothes. I breathed in the river’s scent and felt a knot in my chest loosen. It smelled terrible, as always, but a familiar terrible.

Jeru cursed as he sloshed around the river’s shallow shore, trying to

spread the clothes out on the rocks without losing them to the current. I considered offering to help, but I was enjoying a rare moment of sunshine and did not feel inclined to move. I leaned back against a tree and crossed my legs at the ankles, wishing I’d brought a treat from the kitchen.

Jeru finally managed to secure the clothes over the boulders and rocks.

He scooped water into the empty baskets and poured it over the clothes. I didn’t see Arin’s coats anywhere. Shame. I would have loved to kick them to the fish.

I had just closed my eyes to bask in the sunlight when a shout struck me upright.

Jeru splashed in the middle of Hirun, struggling to keep afloat. The water flowed around him, leaving him fixed in the same spot.

Magic.

I bolted to my feet. An immaculately dressed woman stood on the banks of Hirun. Seven slits at the bottom of her abaya made the fabric seem to float around her legs, which were protected by gold-colored pants.

“We’ve been searching for you.” She turned around. Silver and gold swirled in her eyes. “Mawlati.”

Terror seized me in its grip and squeezed. The world spun, and I grabbed the tree for balance. She knew. She knew. Hadn’t I suspected as much? I’d been so desperate to be wrong that I barely let myself consider what I’d do when I came face-to-face with the Jasadis hunting me.

Mawlati. I hadn’t heard anyone but my grandmother called Mawlati. I never thought the title could belong to anyone other than her.

I forced myself straight. Weakness would win me no favor.

“Why do you call me Mawlati? The Jasad royal family is dead.”

She chuckled. “So we all thought. We cannot fathom how you remained hidden for so long, but you need not fear anymore. We have come to help you reclaim the throne that was taken from you.”

Denial was a doomed route. She would have already knocked me out without the grace of a conversation if she didn’t know who I was. “Do you belong to the Mufsids or Urabi?”

She stepped delicately around a pile of munban nests. The colors of magic continued to seethe in her eyes, holding Jeru in the river. The strength of her magic, her clothing, her demeanor. I had grown up around power like hers. She had to be from the first or second wilayah.

Her nose wrinkled. “I have no association with the brigade of cowards who call themselves Urabi.”

I wanted to pound my head against the tree. She belonged to the Mufsids. The Jasadi group Arin claimed left more dead Jasadi bodies in

their wake than his soldiers.

“How did you find me?”

She stepped closer. I reached into my pocket, only to feel the lines of it sew themselves shut. The Mufsid wagged her finger. “I come in peace, Mawlati. I suggest you receive me in peace, as well.”

“You are drowning the guard.”

“No, not at all. Drowning would be too quick. I prefer to watch them choke over some time.” She dabbed at her glistening forehead. The magic was taking its toll.

Jasadi magic is not a bottomless well. Every Jasadi has a finite supply from which to draw.

I had to keep her occupied until she ran through her magic. By the time it replenished, I would be long gone.

“I have no desire to join the Mufsids. You kill Jasadis.”

The Mufsid gave me a look like I had just declared I dined on rat nails.

“Yet you would align yourself with the Nizahl Heir?” She shook her head, raising an apologetic hand. “Forgive me, Mawlati. We know you are under duress and do not plan to complete the Alcalah as his Champion. I have come to take you. Our leaders are most eager to make your acquaintance.”

I circled through a dozen approaches and came away empty. I couldn’t exactly explain I intended to betray them to the Nizahl Heir. “If you wish to recruit me, why did you attack me with the specter of a dead woman?” The rotting corpse of Hanim looming over me still haunted my dreams.

Her thick brows pulled together. “We did no such thing. We would never. The Mufsids do not hide like the Urabi. Once we choose a path, we do not shy from it.”

I swallowed. Jeru’s thrashing had taken a turn for the worse, dwindling to lethargic writhing. He might not outlast this Mufsid’s magic.

I studied her. In a way, I felt an echo of kinship with this Jasadi. We shared a mutual loss. A scar on our souls in the shape of our scorched home.

“Why are you killing Jasadis?”

The sunlight caught the lighter strands in her brown hair. The gold and

silver had slowed to a churn as her magic depleted from the effort of holding Jeru. “We are trying to save Jasadis. But some of our people believe it is better to hide, to live a life under another’s control, than to stand up and reclaim what they took from us. We cannot allow those Jasadis to be weaponized against our movement.”

“Why do you get to make that choice for them?” I shook my head. “And how do I factor into any of these plans?”

Brown had almost entirely replaced the other colors in her eyes. Soon, Jeru would be freed from the clasp of her power. He might hear this conversation. Hear her call me Mawlati.

Or she would kill him. Probably kill him.

“Are you not Essiya, once Heir of Jasad? Daughter of Niphran, granddaughter of Malik Niyar and Malika Palia? You were born to lead us.

To fight at our helm.”

Rust filled my mouth. I wanted to join Jeru in the river.

Tell her the truth. Tell her you are spineless and pathetic, that you believe you do not owe your kingdom your life, Hanim said.

“How did you know I was alive?”

Her annoyance grew with each question. It wouldn’t be long before her patience reached its limit. “A new recruit decided to try a locating spell and discovered Qayida Hanim’s body. We hadn’t been able to track her since her exile. Whatever warding she used to prevent us from finding her collapsed when she died. They were insistent on investigating. Despite our misgivings, we agreed and spent the next year trying to track your magic, but it was like trying to catch a grain of sand in a storm. We finally found that horrible little Omalian village a month ago, but unfortunately, the information had leaked to the Urabi that we believed the Jasad Heir to be alive.

“Not everyone was pleased about the idea of recruiting you to our cause,” she continued. “There was strong dissent in our ranks. Some who rightfully believe reinstating anyone raised within the corrupt walls of Usr Jasad flies in the face of our mission. They wanted to find you and kill you.

But we believe your name—and most importantly, your magic—will serve a greater purpose than anyone realizes.”

Corrupt walls of Usr Jasad? What was she talking about?

I did not have the luxury of time to process the information thrown at

me. I had a plan that would hopefully see the three of us leaving this encounter alive.

Lies mixed with truth on my tongue, sealing together seamlessly. “The Nizahl Heir believes my power will help win the Alcalah for his kingdom.

The Heir is like his father—power-hungry, obsessed with glory. He does not know who I am or that you hunt me. If I disappear now, all four kingdoms will devote their armies and efforts to finding you. The Alcalah is well protected, but I can create opportunities for you to find me. If I go missing during one of the trials, they will simply assume I died. Find a vulnerability in their security and take me then.”

She frowned, but I could see the idea turning in her head. “I was told to bring you back now.”

I pushed steel into my voice. “If you want me to lead, you need to listen.”

The silver and gold in her eyes evaporated. The current finally pulled Jeru, carrying him downstream. I wasn’t worried. He would catch himself on a turn and climb out.

The Jasadi inclined her head. “As you command, Mawlati. I do hope you remember this when the time comes to choose between us and our cowardly counterparts.”

Cowardly, because the Urabi thought men like Adel didn’t deserve to die for preferring to spend their life working in an Omalian bakery over joining a doomed rebellion? Then again, the Urabi wouldn’t have left Adel alone, either. Jasadis spent their lives watching for Nizahl. How devastating it must be for the attack to come from within, from over your shoulder instead of across enemy lines.

She stopped near my shoulder as she passed. “Until next time.”

I gritted my teeth at the underlying threat. She spoke to me as though I owed her a long-standing duty. Essiya would always be an anchor around my neck, chaining me to a fate I never wanted or asked for.

I met her gaze with a stony one of my own. “Only if you catch me before they do.”

A knock came at my door in the middle of the night.

I sat straight up, the blanket spilling to my waist, and squinted around my dark room. What now? Nothing good could come from a visit at this hour.

Arin stood on the other side of the door. Mud stained his boots, and his windswept hair fell in a silver shock over his forehead. He must have returned to the tunnels and come straight here. It was satisfying to see the fastidious Heir so disheveled. Despite his best efforts, Arin was still human.

“Is everything all right?”

“There is a matter of some urgency I would like to discuss with you,” he said. “May I enter?”

I waved him inside, settling into a cross-legged position on the bed. I hadn’t been able to sleep, anyway. The words corrupt walls of Jasad pounded like drums each time I closed my eyes. It made no sense. If the rest of the Mufsids were like the woman I’d met, then most of them once belonged to the wealthiest, most powerful wilayahs in Jasad. What quarrel could they have had with the crown keeping them in their riches?

After deliberating briefly, Arin claimed the chair in the corner.

“Jeru spoke to you,” I said.

“He did.” The Heir tapped his knee. “What did she say to you?”

I didn’t hesitate. I had played this coming conversation in my head from the moment the Mufsid left the river. “How can you sense magic?”

Arin paused. Amusement crept into his face. It baffled me, how much he seemed to enjoy being cornered or outpaced. Every exchange with the Nizahl Heir was a game. A battle of wills on a blood-soaked field with him

as the last man standing.

“You want to trade?”

“Yes.” I pointed an innocent smile at him. “You told me every truth has

its time. Let this be yours.”

“I could force it from you. Painfully.”

Front strike. Obvious and easy to block. Too easy.

“We only have three weeks left until we leave for Lukub. My magic still isn’t working. You cannot afford to waste training time while I recover from your torture.”

“But I can afford your friends’ time.” He tipped his head. “Who shall I start with, Sefa or the boy?”

“You will not have my full cooperation if you torture them. You might even run the risk of motivating them to escape, which would be a waste of your resources and loss of a training tool.”

I was enjoying myself. I had had little opportunity to be truly cunning in Mahair. It felt like flexing a muscle I had forgotten existed.

I had never met anyone quite as still as Arin of Nizahl. The man could be carved from stone. “I have a theory.”

I raised a brow. “Congratulations.”

He ignored me. “I propose a different trade. Tell me about the Jasadi by the river, and I will share my theory behind your attack in Essam.”

Oh, a fatal blow. I pulled at the frayed ends of my gown while I considered my options. Learning why he possessed a strange sensitivity to magic was important, but not urgent. It would not serve me unless he also mentioned how one could develop an immunity to his touch. But the person who attacked me in Essam knew me, knew my history with Hanim, and wanted to kill me for it.

A sigh escaped my lips. “I accept your trade.” And so he once again remained alone on the battlefield, my shadow of resistance chased to oblivion.

He knit his hands over his stomach. Leaned back. “Next time, you might

have more to bargain with.”

“I don’t need your consolation.”

“Would you prefer my mockery?”

“Just your theory. Or your well-crafted lie. They are probably one and the same.”

Thunder cracked over his expression, bright and startlingly violent. Oh, I had pierced his granite layers, had I?

“I do not lie. Who do you think you are, that I would tarnish my integrity to fool you?”

“I am your Champion. Your student. You work hard to provoke my magic into existence.” This time, it was me who remained calm. “I have unfortunate news about your integrity, Commander.”

The ripple of anger dissolved as quickly as it appeared. His expression smoothed into the mask I had learned to approach with extreme caution, and Teta Palia’s old caution rang in my ear. A tree without roots is like a river without a current, Essiya. A sign of disrupted nature. Of chaos. If

something is not made to bend, what can it do but break?

I did not think Arin of Nizahl could be broken. But I did think he could be pushed far enough to break everyone else.

When he spoke again, it was toneless. A recital of facts. “My theory concerns the number of Jasadis after you. The Urabi and the Mufsids maintain a general pattern. The Urabi recruit or abduct useful Jasadis. The Mufsids take the willing Jasadis away and slaughter the rest. On the few occasions in which they are after the same Jasadi, the identity of their target remains a mystery. You are the exception, because I reached you before they did.”

“Is your theory about why they are after me?”

Arin’s lips twisted wryly. “A theory is a possible answer to a posed question. I have an answer to why they are after you.”

“That I was a noble, or some important Jasadi figure? Do you truly suppose a noble could survive as a village peasant for years?” I shook my head, quickly changing the subject. “What is your theory?”

“Someone from the Mufsids or the Urabi has gone rogue,” Arin said.

I tugged the loose strands at the bottom of my braid free, curling them around my finger. “Rogue how?”

“The specter in the woods would have killed you if I had not been near.

If the Mufsids and Urabi are attempting to recruit you, and you have not rejected them, why kill you? There must be a defector, most likely someone from the Mufsids. They must have a strong reason to want you dead if they are willing to go against their own group.”

The implication was clear. I looked the Nizahl Heir directly in the eye.

“I do not belong to the nobles.”

He hummed. “So you say.”

I threw the scrutiny back at him. “Why not dangle me in Mahair and lie in wait until they attack? The Alcalah will be swarming with people.”

“The Alcalah will be heavily guarded, and there are weak points between trials where both groups will try to attack. Mahair leaves open too much room for mistakes. The Urabi send their most powerful Jasadis to recruit, and it only takes moments for them to subdue their target and whisk everyone away. If you become Victor, you will be constantly surrounded by guards, protected in upper-town homes. The Alcalah is their best chance to capture you.”

“What about the Champions’ Banquet? Would it be better for them to attack me at the Ivory Palace than during the Alcalah?”

“Enough questions. Tell me about the Jasadi.”

I folded my knees to my chest and wondered, not for the first time, if our souls had a shape. If they were like the sheep hanging from the butcher’s hook, and each decision I made hacked mine down to its dangling, bloody bones. But I refused to believe it was a failure to prioritize my own freedom, even if Hanim’s voice insisted to the contrary.

I opened my mouth and told Arin everything. How the Jasadi mentioned there had been dissent in their ranks regarding my recruitment. The lie I told her about leaving an opening for the Mufsids. I molded the story in the shape closest to the truth, slicing the pieces of Essiya and Mawlati like mold from a loaf of bread.

Arin had sat forward while I spoke, his elbows bracing on his knees. The eerie mask had dropped in favor of something I never thought I’d see: bewilderment.

“You chose to stay. Here, in this stone prison, training for a tournament that has a roughly two in three chances of killing you,” he said slowly, disbelieving. “The Mufsids have evaded me for years. They are your best chance of hiding from Felix and me. Why would you stay?”

I set my jaw. “I told you. I am here by choice. I chose my freedom, and you are my best chance at achieving it.”

“At the cost of your own people?”

“They are not my—” I caught my breath, horrified. Rovial’s tainted tomb, I had almost said it. Almost spoken a secret worse than Essiya, worse than Hanim. I ground my teeth, sudden tears of frustration pricking the back of my eyes. “Why should I owe them my life? Why is it acceptable for others to choose themselves, but it is selfish when I do it? I didn’t ask for this. I do not want it.”

Abruptly, I stood, aghast at revealing a sliver of my deepest doubts to the person most likely to use them against me. “You should go.”

“Sylvia.” The use of my name—his first time since Mahair—brought my reluctant gaze back to his. Arin regarded me with earnestness. A shadow of understanding. “Tell me who you are.”

Shock rendered me mute. I had an opening. I’d displayed honesty by recounting the Mufsid’s conversation and an accidental show of

vulnerability—apparently the right balance of ingredients to appease Arin’s guarded mistrust by an inch. If I stumbled, if he caught a whiff of dishonesty, he would never lower it again.

“You will not believe me.”

He waited.

“My father was Waleed Rayan.” I packaged the name with a hint of longing, a dose of sadness, and a heap of reproach. The emotions of a betrayed but once-beloved daughter. At least, I hoped. I was never anyone’s daughter. My father vanished from the world with an arrow in his throat, and my grandparents hurled Niphran into Bakir Tower when she sought to follow him.

“Waleed Rayan. The Justice of Ahr il Uboor.” Arin tapped a finger against his knee. “You mean to tell me you are Mervat Rayan, daughter of the third most powerful family in Jasad?”

I had chosen Mervat Rayan for three reasons. First, we were the same age. Her parents visited Usr Jasad often, leaving me with the onerous task of entertaining the girl. Waleed Rayan was important enough to be widely hated, so Arin would understand the significance of recruiting Waleed’s daughter. Second, I had disliked her. She wouldn’t climb the date trees with me or chase my pet caracal through the gardens.

Third, I knew for a fact Mervat Rayan and her family were dead. They had come to pay my grandparents a visit before we left for the Blood Summit, and Gedo Niyar invited them to remain in Usr Jasad until we returned. The moment the fortress broke, the Supreme’s soldiers had slaughtered every single person in Usr Jasad.

“I prefer Sylvia,” I said.

And perhaps I was on the wrong side of exhaustion. Perhaps my encounter with the Mufsid left a deeper mark than I thought. “I know what you think of me.”

The scar cut in sharp relief against his skin. Arin’s eyes narrowed as I lifted my hand near his jaw. It was stupid, so tremendously stupid I knew I’d spend the rest of the night berating myself. I traced the air above his scar, my fingers a hairsbreadth from his face. He could not hide his scars behind a tunic or a gown.

The ones on my back were a mark of shame. Not Arin’s. Whatever the cause, he wore this scar as he wore his gloves. Another barrier between him

and the rest of the world.

“You would rather die protecting your own than live a half-life of hiding. I am fundamentally revolting to you, not only because I am a Jasadi, but because you believe me a coward.” I took one of his gloved hands in mine, turning his palm up. A thrill of terror raced up my spine when he did not withdraw. It felt like a forbidden triumph, doing this. Reaching forward and touching an Heir whose reputation for unapproachability had grown to mythical proportions. The urge to agitate him—to draw a reaction from the most reserved man in all the Awaleen-damned kingdoms—was too powerful to resist.

“Consider this, my liege: there are fates worse than death.” I drew an arrow from the edge of his glove to the tip of his longest finger. “When the treaty became the most important result of the Battle of Zinish, nobody wondered what remained of the Orbanian soldiers who had suffered the consequences of the Sultana’s magic. The ones who packed up their weapons, folded their uniforms, and went home to their families. Do you?”

“They dismembered themselves.”

I smiled. “Nothing motivates humans faster than fear. It is a lesson your father adopted to its fullest extent. I have lived in fear. It has not motivated me to join the Mufsids or Urabi and march into a battle they may very well win, but at the cost of my dismemberment.”

I folded his hand over his heart and stepped away. “I am not a coward any more than you are a savior.”

Arin didn’t move his hand for a long minute. “How very eloquent. I almost believe you.”

He stood, and I caged my breath. If someone’s sword ever brought this man to his knees, they would never bring him low. His power did not come from magic or status, but from an unassailable sense of self.

It might be the only thing I hated more than his bloodline.

Arin tipped my chin up, waiting until I stopped glaring at his forehead to speak. “You said you revolt me. You do, but not for the reasons you think.”

A strand of his hair slid against his cheek, the silk of it sending a shiver of unease along my spine.

“I do not think it is fear motivating you at all. I could understand you, then. A cornered beast will lash out to protect itself. But you…”

His hand moved to my jaw in an unstoppable motion, turning my head

to his. I could see every shade of blue in his pale eyes, count the silver lashes curling around them. I was caught fast in his hold.

“You are a creature of pure spite. You would not react out of fear, but out of fury. I think daily of chaining you to a wall and seeing which you would attack first—me, or the wall.” His voice was low, threaded with… curiosity? No, it couldn’t be that. Endeavors to unravel my identity nonewithstanding, Arin seemed to find me as noteworthy as a blunt axe.

I grabbed his arm, digging my fingers into his coat. If he made one more move, I would strike him in his unprotected throat.

“You. Definitely you.”

“I almost believed you, Suraira. Almost. But you forgot one thing.”

He moved a curl from my cheek. There it was again—the flash of curiosity.

“You gave me your name without asking anything in return.”

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