The Jasad Heir — Chapter no 18

CHAPTER EIGHTEEN

I could not bring myself to visit the keep. Raya would try to feed me ten meals’ worth of food and cluck over the state of my under-eye circles, the girls would beg for stories of the Heir and the training, and Fairel… Fairel would try to hide her pain so she didn’t inconvenience me. She might babble too much, as always, but maybe not. Maybe she would stare at the ceiling and pretend she was alone like she had seen me do when I fell into my darker moods. It was selfish and weak, but I just couldn’t bear to see how Felix had permanently altered Fairel. Not yet, at least.

My breath billowed in white clouds. I drew my cloak closer. Where were Wes and Jeru?

The horses’ clomping came from the opposite end of the road. I turned, shivering, an acerbic remark ready on my tongue.

Jeru and Wes weren’t the ones approaching with two horses in tow. Arin held out a set of reins, surveying the street behind me warily.

I suppressed a smile. Always searching for a threat. “Why are you here?

Don’t say more business in Gahre.”

We mounted our horses. Arin scanned the trees, and I was sure his keen hearing strained for any odd noises. “Caution is an area where I am prone to excess,” Arin admitted. “My faith in my guards has taken a beating.”

“You? Paranoid? Steady me, sire, I may keel from my mount.”

The corner of his mouth twitched. A small victory. I wondered if I might someday see the Nizahl Heir smile without acting as though he’d be fined for it. “You should have sent Wes and Jeru. Seeing you scares the villagers.”

“I have done nothing to frighten them.”

I shot him a dry look. “You exist.”

“Despite your most accomplished efforts.”

I glanced over, surprised. The Nizahl Heir joked like a wary bird stretching its wings for first flight. Miracle of miracles.

The horse’s hoofbeats quieted as we passed the wall separating Mahair

from Essam. I relaxed on my mare, holding the reins loosely on my thigh.

Lanterns in white and blue dangled from the row of trees closest to the wall.

Clay miniatures of Kapastra’s beloved rochelyas circled the bottoms of the trees. The blue-scaled protectors of Omal.

“Hazardous.” Arin eyed the curtain of dyed sheepskin draped over the lowest branches. MEHTI, spelled the letters sewed onto the sheepskin. The

Omal Champion.

“Celebratory.”

“You are arguing with me again. You must be better.” Our horses had drifted closer at some point.

“I feel better.” Aside from the moment in Rory’s shop, the dizziness and nausea hadn’t made an appearance. Yesterday, I doubted I could have remained upright on this horse. “I won’t say you were right, only that you weren’t as wrong as usual.”

A gleam of laughter brightened Arin’s eyes. Being away from me for a few hours had apparently done wonders for his mood. “I’ll take your renewed enthusiasm for disrespect as a good sign.” My knee bumped into his before I straightened the reins, putting more space between our horses.

We wound past the spot where Hanim’s desiccated specter had sheared several years from my lifespan. The more distance we put between ourselves and Mahair, the more it felt like I would never return. The chances that I would perish in Orban’s Ayume Forest, during the very first trial, were incredibly high. My breath came fast, spilling in plumes of white. I would die in the Alcalah as the Nizahl Champion. Meet my fallen family wearing the enemy’s colors.

“I enjoyed architecture,” Arin said, rather abruptly. “In my youth. I memorized sketches of the Citadel and the other palaces.”

I flushed with embarrassment. The Heir kept his gaze forward.

“Architecture?” A detail-oriented pursuit worthy of a man who once spent forty minutes whittling all the arrows in the chest to match one another.

“Usr Jasad was my favorite.” Arin steered his horse around a dead bird.

“It was a marvel. Without magic, the southern wing would have collapsed.”

He shook his head. “A shame, its loss.”

I could not believe my ears. “Breaking your cart’s wheel is a shame.

Coming home to find the good fruit’s been eaten is a shame. What

happened in Jasad was an atrocity.”

“What happened in Jasad was well deserved.” Spoken in a tight clip.

I drew on my horse’s reins, coming to a stop. “Deserved? Your father reveled in Jasad’s ruins. Razed what was left of the palace to the ground.

You should have mentioned you were fond of it. Maybe he would have saved you a piece of the southern wing.” I drew the horse to a halt. Fury tightened my cuffs, digging barbed tips into my skull. Grief. Rage. Fear.

A dozen feet away, Arin pivoted his horse, his lips pursing with resignation. We dismounted at the same time.

A lone bird squawked above us, coasting on the winding breeze.

“You don’t have a clue what happened in Jasad.”

I clenched my fists. “Is that right? Enlighten me. Was there a second kingdom your father gutted?”

The darkest winter night could not match the frost in Arin’s voice. “I have allowed you to persist in your delusions of persecution long enough.

We are not amoral executioners, and Jasadis are far from innocent.”

I had pushed too hard this time. The mild irritation he exhibited whenever I insulted his father or Nizahl finally spilled beyond its brim.

“Did you know Malik Niyar led a raid through Essam into southern Lukub during a territory dispute and used magic to strangle young Lukubi soldiers sleeping in their tents? How much have you heard about the enchantment Malika Palia cast over Omalian fields to rot their crops and sicken their livestock? Entire villages starved to death.”

“Stop it,” I said. “Lying is beneath you.”

That only infuriated him more, and I had to quell the instinct to flinch away. “For hundreds of years, Jasad has bled its glory from the lives it ruined. One need only look as far as the last Malik and Malika, who killed their own daughter’s lover—the father of her child—because an alliance with Omal meant an end to their blood-soaked prosperity. They threw the Jasad Heir in a tower to silence her when she demanded they cease their mining operations in Jasad’s wilayahs. Jasadis worked in abysmal conditions, died in droves, and why? Because the king and queen wished for more gold and silver to furnish their palace. They hoarded magical artifacts and pitted the other courts against each other. No two more insidious royals have existed since them.”

Arin had never spoken so much in a single sweep. My pulse drummed in

my temples, the pressure in my cuffs shifting to my head. He had to be lying. Like Hanim and the Mufsid woman. They were all cut from the same Jasad-hating cloth.

“Stop,” I repeated, more weakly. Somewhere, a lurking threat roused to life. I could feel its fingers tapping along my spine.

“Someone used magic to attack at the Blood Summit. Magic only a Jasadi could have wielded. Hundreds died. Magic inevitably leads to tyranny and abuse. It devours you at the core, and it cannot be allowed to flourish again. My father did not act alone in dismantling Jasad. Every kingdom sent soldiers to help ensure none could stake a legitimate claim to the Jasadi throne. Perceive his actions how you will, but I won’t have you laboring under an illusion of Jasadi purity.”

Agony scorched broad stripes in my head, fueled by my caged magic.

Scrambling my vision in white. I could feel it, my body sending frantic pulses of warning. He mistook my silence and sighed.

“I understand your stance—”

“Arin,” I gasped. The first time his name had ever passed my lips.

“Please stop.”

It worked. He tensed, tilting his head. His eyes went wide.

The creature blasted toward us, leaping directly for Arin. In the spare two seconds between its flight and landing, I assessed this new monster. Its body was beautiful, composed of sharp red crystals winking and gleaming in the dim light. A coat of rubies carved to deadly points covered it from the paws wider than my hips to its long ears. It was far too large to be a wolf.

The more important consideration, of course, was the teeth. They would

sink through Arin and rip him apart.

Good! Hanim shouted.

I snapped my fingers, and the creature slowed.

It didn’t freeze, but the air congealed around it, making movement heavy and cumbersome. I had less than a minute before it broke through.

My mount bolted, following Arin’s riderless, fleeing horse.

“Hold it as long as you can.” Arin withdrew a circular object from his boot. A compass, maybe?

He removed his gloves. “If your magic fails, run. Do not look back or react to anything behind you. Get to the barrier above the tunnels. The Hound will not be able to cross.”

“What about you?” I demanded. Ivory claws twitched in midair. Thirty seconds.

The object unclasped and extended, tiny metal spikes stabbing outward from each side of the two flat disks.

“This will hurt,” Arin said, and clasped his bare hand with mine.

The reaction was immediate. My magic roared toward the surface of my skin, pounding against my cuffs. The agony of the Relic Room renewed.

My magic stripped me to the bone from the inside out.

Arin’s grip turned crushing, and if it weren’t for the monster a foot away, a different fear might have taken priority.

My hold on the creature shattered.

Arin surged forward just as the creature’s enormous claws swung, shoving his arm into its mouth. Had he lost his mind?

When I threw my magic out this time, it was stronger. I forced the creature’s jaw open while Arin-—who had clearly suffered a bout of insanity—pushed the object into the roof of the monster’s mouth. Nearby, a boulder burst into flinty shards, and branches rained down on us from the quaking trees.

For once in your accursed life, behave! I shouted at my magic.

The creature swiped at Arin and snarled. “Move back!” I screeched.

My magic wavered. Arin snatched his arm just as the creature’s teeth clamped together. The object seemed to have confused it. It shook its head hard. Trying to dislodge the obstruction.

I tried to hurl a faraway log at it. My magic nudged the log, uninterested, and chose to explode another boulder.

The creature’s red eyes skipped past Arin and narrowed on me.

You should recognize when a creature has been sent after you by now, Hanim said. This isn’t random.

I stared at the beast without blinking. “Wait,” I told Arin. “Don’t move.”

He leapt to his feet, clearly intending to ignore me. Not this time. I pushed my magic toward him, and the Commander found himself stuck.

“Sylvia!” His eyes widened, fixed on the creature advancing toward me.

“Go!”

If I was wrong, this was going to be an embarrassing way to die.

I reached for the creature’s head, carefully framing its massive maw between my hands. Arin made a smothered noise, but the creature didn’t

dive for my flesh. It sat back on its haunches and panted.

Eyes made of the same bloodred jewels composing its jagged body held mine.

“Can you see me?” I whispered. A single Jasadi could not enchant a creature like this to carry their bidding, see through its eyes… this was the work of several Jasadis. Powerful ones.

“I don’t understand. Are you trying to kill me or contact me?”

Steeling my nerves, I maneuvered my arm past its teeth and found Arin’s object adhered to the roof of its mouth. I traced its edges. “Allow me to introduce myself properly,” I murmured, audible to the creature and its masters only. “I am Sylvia, a village ward and chemist’s apprentice. I cannot be recruited, and I will not be intimidated.”

A clasp clicked, and the object tightened. Arin hadn’t activated the switch. I almost felt sorry for the wretched creature. As soon as the magic keeping it alive extinguished, it would return to the dust from which it came.

“The time of our meeting is near, my friends, but here is a taste of what

is to come.”

I pressed the switch.

The creature howled, tearing a strip from my tunic. I stumbled back as it writhed, tossing its head from side to side. Its front legs buckled on another mournful howl.

When it stopped kicking, lying still and pitiful in the dirt, I dared to venture closer. Its paw twitched, and a flash of white drew my gaze. A piece of parchment had fallen from its kicking limbs.

“It’s dead,” Arin said, startling me. He crouched, pulling the object out of the creature’s mouth. He twisted the sides in opposite directions, and the spikes disappeared. He stayed down, assessing its bejeweled corpse. I gave him my back and unfolded the note. It was written in Resar. I scanned the words, heart beating fast. There was no mention of my true name. I passed it to Arin.

He read it aloud. “We offer you here a display of our power. United, we can raise Jasad from the ashes and bring war to those who would see us exterminated. Do not trust the others. The enemies of Jasad begin from within.” His thumb grazed the bottom of the parchment, where a kitmer’s wings flared up on each side. “This is the Urabi’s seal.”

The enemies of Jasad begin from within. Did they mean Hanim or the Mufsids? How deep had the Mufsids infiltrated before the Blood Summit?

Maybe all the awful events Arin described were perpetuated through the Mufsids. Incompetence was an easier crime to attach to my grandparents than corruption.

I craned my neck for our escaped horses. “We need to go.”

Arin tucked the note into his pocket, examining the vast wilderness around us. “They must have found out a member of the Mufsids made contact with you and kept watch over the road to Mahair.”

I cast a nervous glance around the woods. They could still be nearby.

Arin bent to retrieve his gloves and winced. Barely perceptible, and on most I would have ignored it, but Arin wincing was equivalent to a dozen soldiers screaming. He favored his right side, where the Hound had slashed at him.

“What did you say about martyrs, again?” I asked. “Are you angry because I used my magic on you? You passed through it in half a minute.”

He put on his gloves, content to pretend I didn’t exist. The fabric at his right side was matted, slightly darker than the rest.

I threw my arms up. “If you want to quietly bleed for the next hour, it is not my place to stop you. But don’t expect me to drag you to the tunnels if

you faint!”

He paused. “I wouldn’t faint.”

“I know you are the mighty immortal man, impervious to the woes of us commoners. If it would behoove Your Highness to allow me to dress your injury—why, I can’t express how honored—”

“Fine.” Arin scowled. “Unless your magic includes secret physician abilities, I am not confident you won’t do more damage.”

“You’ve injured me.” I put a hand to my heart. “Somehow, I’ll find the strength to live another day. You may not, and I have little desire to be implicated for the Nizahl Heir’s murder without the actual pleasure of murdering you. Remove your vest, please. I promise to protect your virtue.”

From his dark glare, it appeared he didn’t appreciate my thoughtfulness.

Arin tore the laces of his vest in a single yank. Heat pricked the back of my neck, and I studied my nailbeds.

He eased his coat, vest, and tunic off. I inhaled between my teeth. The creature had gouged scores into his side. A few were shallow enough to

temporarily ignore, but four scratches were the size of my forearm. How was he still awake?

“Well?” He guided himself to a seat at the base of a tree, back straight and left arm angled away from his raw side. I crouched across from him and picked up the tunic.

The material was finer than anything I owned and did not tear easily.

“My apprenticeship with Rory was not all chasing frogs.” It mostly was, actually, but Arin did not need to know I had learned how to wrap my own wounds with the rag and cup of dirty water Hanim usually left for me to patch myself up with.

The sleeves finally tore. I stripped them into long pieces, avoiding his face. “You have neglected to tell me if you’re angry.”

“You neglected to mention a hidden ability to sense Ruby Hounds.”

“Ruby Hounds, that’s the name! Weren’t those Baira’s guard dogs?” I said. “I thought they were extinct.”

After the entombment, magic had guttered like a dying candle across the kingdoms. Ruby Hounds took three centuries longer than Kapastra’s rochelyas to die. In their time, the dazzling Hounds heeded Lukub’s Sultanas alone. They had charged into battle alongside Lukub’s fiercest steeds, prowled the Ivory Palace’s grounds in the night. A century before the Battle of Zinish, the Ruby Hounds began to sicken, dying despite the Sultana’s best efforts. Magic had already disappeared in Omal, and with Lukub’s failing quickly, the Ruby Hounds rotted like fruit planted in tainted soil. Orban followed thirty years later.

“They are. To resurrect one is unheard of. The Urabi will be weakened after exerting such a large amount of magic.” Arin’s gaze, though shrouded with discomfort, was still keen on our surroundings. “They must truly wish to impress you.”

I knotted the sleeve strips together. “This is going to hurt,” I warned him, and placed the end of a strip between my teeth. The muscles in Arin’s stomach tensed, but he didn’t make a sound as I wrapped the makeshift bandage tightly around his torso. I had to press my knee into his hip to reach around his back. My knuckles grazed everywhere I wrapped the bandages. His chest, his waist, the small of his back. The effect on my magic was significantly duller than when he grasped my hand.

I made the mistake of glancing up and found my face inches from

Arin’s. Curiosity hooded the gaze fixed on mine, entirely too attentive for someone in his condition.

“Stop looking at me,” I demanded. “I am not going to make a mistake.”

A soft laugh escaped Arin. The sound reverberated beneath the palm I’d placed on his chest. It was the first time I’d heard him really laugh. Baira’s blessed hair, how much blood had he lost?

“Are you aware you have five freckles under your jaw?” He offered this information to me with complete seriousness, as though it had escaped from a vault of secrets.

I resisted the impulse to touch my jaw. “They are called hasanas in Jasad, not freckles.” I cursed the heat in my ears that meant they were turning the same shade as the dead Hound and quickly refocused on my task.

“You dangle yourself over a rocky riverbed, beat down my guards, wedge your arm into a Hound’s mouth. Yet you blush at a bare chest.”

Naturally, this encouraged the redness in my ears to spread to my cheeks. I tied the next strip with more force than intended, pulling a pained grunt from the Heir.

“I am not blushing. I’m afraid you have become delirious.”

Arin tipped his head back against the tree. “Maybe.”

My jest about dragging Arin to the tunnels might be closer to reality than I had imagined. I had forced him to fight past my magic. How much blood had he shed struggling against the barrier?

“I’m sorry,” I said. “I should not have trapped you. It’s just—you would have interfered and lost a limb unnecessarily. I knew it was here for me.”

“Don’t do it again.” The fleeting humor vanished from his tone. He was completely somber. “If you had been wrong, I wouldn’t have been released until you were dead and your magic’s hold broken.”

“You would have had time to run if it killed me first.” I finished tightening the bandages. Though I wagered Arin would walk through a pool of his own blood rather than surrender to his body, tenacity did not grant any superhuman abilities, even to its most ardent disciples.

Arin’s stare bored into the side of my face.

“Yes, I suppose I would have,” he said, and looked away.

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