The Jasad Heir — Chapter no 24

CHAPTER TWENTY-FOUR

I sank through clouds of mist and ash, grappling for purchase.

We were in a nursery, me and two other shadows. An infant slept in the corner.

“You cannot do this to him!” a frail woman gasped. Recognition rippled through my flickering body. Isra of Nizahl. Arin’s mother. “He won’t survive it. Please, Rawain, you have to wait.”

The second shadow took shape. I stumbled back, hitting the baby’s bassinet. The Supreme did not react, oblivious to my presence. Supreme Rawain regarded his weeping wife with disdain. “What do you care what happens to my son?”

“He is mine just as he is yours. Please, I beg you. Two years old, three.

He’ll withstand it then. Imagine the power of your ascension with a healthy Heir at your side. Your father had you. See how he prospers! When you become Supreme, Arin will be your Heir. Your legacy.”

Rawain palmed the jeweled glass orb at the head of his scepter. The sight of it had his wife reaching for the infant, bundling him in her arms.

“Two years, not three,” Rawain grunted. “He cannot remember the loss.”

She rocked the child in her arms, stroking tufts of black hair.

Black hair?

Voices floated in the nothingness, calling my name. My false name.

The voices argued loudly. One of them, melodic even in fury, sent

awareness trickling through the fog.

I was so cold.

The voice changed, coming closer. The lilting one spoke in gentle Nizahlan. I glanced at the place where my hand used to be, startled by a phantom pressure.

I landed in a void of darkness. Water lapped at my legs.

The darkness writhed, coalescing into four thrones before me. I stumbled back. My foot caught on the edge of a sheer stone. If I had a body,

I might have bled.

Each throne save one held an occupant. They glittered with the glory of the stars and sun, the only light in a barren wasteland. They were time and life and death made magic, existing beyond the realms of earthly souls.

Reverent tears dripped from my chin, joining the shallow waters moving beneath the Awaleen.

“An eternity of sleep does not guarantee their safety,” said Kapastra, beloved mother of Omal. “What if we wake?”

“What if we do not?” whispered Baira. Her beauty seared me so thoroughly I could not lift my gaze a second time. “What if we dwell between the bounds of life and death forever?”

“We cannot remain aboveground any longer,” Dania boomed. “Our children need peace.”

“Rovial ruined them. Why should we punish ourselves with him?” Baira rasped. “Especially since he is not even—”

“Fortify your faith in my prophecy, sister,” Dania said. The Orban Awala’s gaze lingered over the vacant throne, a grief older than the fabric of our world swimming across her features. “Infinite slumber is not our

destiny. When—”

Dania paused. Her head turned slowly.

The darkness pulsed, and she took shape directly in front of me.

“You should not be here.” Her power undulated the void around us. “Not yet.”

She pressed two fingers to my temples. Warmth replaced the encroaching cold, chasing it to the fringes. Colors filled the shadowy

outline of my body. The mist whirled.

“Soon, Essiya,” Dania promised.

I woke choking on a scream.

Eventually, my racing heart slowed. I blinked up at the roof of a tent, far bigger than the one I’d slept in during the trip to Lukub.

I sat up gingerly, waiting for the tearing pain from my wound. Nothing happened. I palpated my chest. Smooth skin met my touch.

A stirring to my right distracted me from my complete bewilderment.

Arin slept soundly, an arm’s length away from my makeshift cot. He hadn’t woken. Crescent shadows circled his eyes, deep enough to bruise.

Pushing myself tentatively to a stand, I staggered under a spurt of

dizziness and glanced down at myself. They must have cut me out of the gown. I had on a long woolen frock that fit too snugly around my hips. I’d been lying on several stacked bedrolls, yet Arin only had a thin quilt beneath him.

I eased myself through the flap in the tent.

Dawn hadn’t yet breached the horizon. The air was warm. Far warmer than Lukub. The soles of my feet brushed cracked earth, unsettling tiny pebbles of dry sand. This was an Orbanian landscape. Had we crossed the border?

I soaked in these little marvels, grateful to be alive for them. Nine smaller tents clustered near Arin’s. A mighty procession of horses whinnied, clomping their hooves against the ground.

How long had I slept?

The guards on sentry duty came into view. I ducked into the tent, not ready to be seen or spoken to.

Arin jerked to his feet, blade aloft before he’d fully roused from his slumber. I raised my arms.

“You’re awake,” he said. The blade fell to the ground.

“Yes, and you shouldn’t be.” I frowned. “A rambunctious leaf could knock you over. Come, take my cot.”

Rendered inanimate by exhaustion, the Nizahl Heir simply stared at me.

I gestured for the cot, and he followed the command without argument.

Rovial’s burning beard, how much had healing me cost him?

We sat across from each other.

“You have an unpleasant habit of nearly dying,” Arin said.

“Twice does not a habit make.” I tapped the newly repaired place where Soraya ran me through. “I suppose I have you to thank for this?”

Arin exhaled. “I could heal the wound only in increments. I had to wait until you roused enough for your magic to respond. Two days, pressing your hand and waiting.”

Two days? A chill traveled along my arms. Soraya had almost succeeded.

I raised my brows. “How? Weren’t you moved to finish me off?”

“Every second I touched you,” he said flatly. “It was… much harder than I anticipated. She did significant damage.”

Shivering, I thrust aside the reality of how close I’d come to tasting

death. “I suppose I owe you my gratitude. Thank you.”

“Don’t—” Arin cut himself short, more agitated than I’d ever seen him.

“Keep your gratitude. Fortune alone saved you.”

Fortune hadn’t healed the hole in my chest, but I let it pass. I asked the most important question. “Did you catch her?”

Arin fixed his gaze on a spot over my shoulder. “She escaped.”

I clenched my teeth, suppressing a slew of curses. The small part of me that loosened in relief went unacknowledged. Soraya was as dead to me as she was before the Banquet.

“We’ll catch her at the Alcalah. We’ll catch Soraya and the rest of the Mufsids.”

“Why aren’t you angry?” Arin snapped. “You nearly died to give me time to catch her, and I failed.”

On a good day, I could eke out one or two visible emotions from the Nizahl Heir. A small smile, an eye roll. He was always tightly wound, a coil without a spring. The bruises under his eyes weren’t the only markers of his fatigue.

“I imagine you’ve punished yourself enough. If anyone is at fault, it’s me. I allowed an attendant to plant her dagger in my chest. She hid her glamor well, and I didn’t think to check.”

“Just to be clear,” Arin said, heavy with disbelief, “your frustration stems from somehow not reading the intentions of a random servant, who you allowed into your chambers only after I asked you to?”

Halfway to opening my mouth to correct him, I paused. I would have to tread with extreme care in divulging information about Soraya. A single insignificant detail could be the key for Arin to piece together the truth of my identity.

I changed the subject. “She wanted to know whether you were still angry. Angry over what?”

Arin leaned back, once again averting his gaze. Dismay pushed me to my feet. “What are you hiding?”

The warning in his scowl was clear. “Leave it.”

Leave it?

I paced the tent, willing my magic to settle. I didn’t understand my reaction. Nothing had changed, not in essence. Arin kept secrets. Two Jasadi groups sought to reestablish Jasad. I worked with Arin to stop them.

He had never pretended to be anyone other than himself. It was me who lacked any sense of self. Hanim, Arin—they knew my weakness, knew I could be shaped into a weapon and aimed in the right hands.

“I did not know her as Soraya,” Arin said.

His ploy—and it was definitely a ploy, because Arin didn’t tend to bandy about free information—worked. I stopped pacing, the panic ebbing in favor of curiosity. I crossed my arms over my chest.

Arin’s features were carved from stone. “I met her in our academy when I was sixteen. She claimed to be the daughter of a traveling noblewoman.

Her wealth and charm opened doors in Nizahl. In a few weeks, she gained my friendship and confidence. I admired her in every way.”

Shock reverberated to the farthest corners of my body. How many ways could he mean “admire”?

His eyes chilled. “We became intimate. I didn’t sense her magic—I suspect she was draining it regularly. She had designs beyond seduction, of course, and sought to fulfill them after I fell asleep one night. We had shared a bed for weeks. I still don’t know why she chose to try her luck with my guardsmen right outside the door. I woke to her blade at my throat.”

“Your scar,” I whispered. My stomach churned. She’d come so close to success.

He nodded. “I disarmed her, but I don’t know how I survived. I shouldn’t have.”

I shivered with a rush of loathing. At least I was not the only one on the receiving end of Soraya’s dishonesty.

“I have the blood of everyone Soraya has harmed on my hands,” he said.

“Allowing her to escape the Citadel was my greatest mistake.”

Thinking Arin wore his scar as a barrier between him and the world underestimated the Heir. He had plenty of barriers already. His scar served as a reminder. A debt to settle. His relationship with Soraya explained a few discrepancies. Vaun’s rabid animosity toward me, Arin’s visceral reaction to Marek’s snide comment about a lovers’ spat. The conversation between Jeru and Wes a lifetime ago.

“How did she escape?” I couldn’t imagine such a deadly attack on the Nizahl Heir was treated carelessly.

Arin slid to his feet. “How do you think? Someone slaughtered the

soldiers guarding her cell. Highly trained soldiers, barely older than you.

They didn’t have a mark on them, and I doubt they were given a chance to scream.” Wrath tightened the Nizahl Heir’s jaw, answering the question I hadn’t dared ask. Any fondness he entertained for Soraya died with his soldiers.

An old conversation floated forward. My voice emerged in a wash of horror. “Wait. Hani. Kapastra’s bloody hands, please do not say Soraya killed Marek’s brother.”

I grabbed the dresser to steady myself. Accepting that the girl who rescued me from a lonely childhood wanted to kill me? Fine. She was in good company. But this? What had my grandparents done to break Soraya so completely?

“Caleb’s brother was among the slain,” Arin confirmed. “It signifies nothing good that Soraya has gone against the Mufsids to kill you.”

I hadn’t realized the Mufsids had been operating for so long. I wasn’t shedding tears over any Nizahl soldiers, but the number of Jasadis they must have hurt in all those years… I couldn’t comprehend it. Hadn’t we been through enough? The Mufsids and Soraya had no right to demand allegiance, no right to take what was not freely given. Someone should have noticed. Someone should have cared.

Dark threads of guilt spread inside me. Panic, the ever-present companion to it, crawled up my throat. I knew this feeling. Like I had failed a test designed for me to pass. This guilt had strangled me every day I lived with Hanim, and I had worked incredibly hard to leave it behind.

Nizahl ruined our kingdom, but you stole its dignity, Hanim said. Do not pretend to care now.

“Soraya will not survive the Alcalah,” I vowed. I had not given my people much, but I would give them my promise. I dug my nails into my palm. “I swear it.”

It took less than an hour to pack and prepare the horses. Arin left the tent while I changed clothes. Sefa and Marek entered halfway through, and I

reassured them I was all right.

Since the brigade of soldiers accompanying us made anonymity impossible, Arin chose not to board us up in the carriages. The assembly formed a sprawling formation. Our horses ambled at a steady pace over the desert stretching between Lukub and Orban. Cracked yellow earth surrounded us, unraveling for miles on every side, broken only by the white-capped mountains in the horizon. A most bizarre landscape of seasons. I preferred the arid environment to the wet chill of Essam, but I hated how exposed we were.

Up ahead, two soldiers spoke to Arin. Or tried to, anyway. The skinnier one seemed unable to drag his gaze higher than Arin’s chin.

Why would Soraya try to kill the Nizahl Heir instead of the Supreme?

“Stay away! I won’t let you touch her,” Niphran shouted. She swung my small frame into her arms, backing away. I twisted my neck to see Dawoud approach my mother with both hands raised.

“The Malik and Malika want the second Heir to join them for supper.

No harm will come to her. I promise you.”

Sweat dripped onto the arms I’d wrapped around my mother’s neck. Her whisper was visceral with fear. “I know what they want to do to her.”

Wes snapped his fingers inches from my face, startling me. “Sylvia?”

Kapastra’s horned beasts, what was that? A memory or a dream?

Soraya’s words echoed in my ears. Your mind is a maze of mirrors, reflecting only the memories you choose to save.

A headache threatened at my temples. “How much longer?” I asked

Wes.

“Not much,” he said. “How do you feel?”

“Hungry. I’m expecting a feast to rival all feasts upon our arrival.”

Wes smirked. “The Champions do not gather after the Banquet. They’ll deliver trays to your accommodations.”

I groaned. “Who knew I would long for your tooth-chipping bread, Wes?”

“You can chew on your horse’s harness. It’s probably softer.”

We rode in companionable silence. The soldiers near Arin strayed to the fringe of the assembly, leaving him solitary in the center. Surrounded by those who would die for their Heir, and yet few who could muster the nerve to speak to him. His hair shone near-white in the sun’s glare, tied neatly

behind his head.

“He went back,” Wes murmured, so quietly I almost missed it. I tugged on the reins, slowing my horse’s pace to match his. Putting distance

between us and Arin’s keen ears.

“Went back to what?”

“After His Highness set off to chase the rogue, I left you with Ren and Jeru and followed him,” Wes said. “He pursued her through the upper town and ran right into a festival. She vanished in the melee.

“But see, Sylvia, His Highness has memorized every map for every kingdom in existence. He has succeeded in trapping offenders under far more complicated conditions. He could have found a path around the festival and cut her off.”

He paused. I made an impatient noise. “What stopped him?”

The glance Wes shot me held enough fresh insolence to put Vaun to shame. “He made a calculation in that moment between the time it would take to capture the girl and the time you had left. He made his choice.”

I was at the waleema, facing down Felix’s guards.

I choose her.

“I don’t understand,” I said. Desperation colored my voice. “Why would he go back for me? He’s a practical man. He’s been after her for years.”

What did it matter if my death was a possibility? My death was a possibility in the Alcalah, too.

“It wasn’t a choice based on practicality,” Wes replied, his tone implying I had exceeded every limit of naïveté.

Ren steered his horse to us. “We’re here. Sylvia, you’ll go through alongside the Commander.”

I pursed my lips, relieved at the disruption. This was too much information for someone who had spent the last two days asleep. The soldiers spread into formation as I galloped ahead. The Meridian Pass loomed before us, a gigantic reddish-brown rock formation sloping into a steep gorge. In the otherwise barren land, the Meridian Pass blotted the sun.

The canyon splitting the center of the Pass couldn’t fit more than two riders side by side. Half the cavalcade went in front of Arin in the narrow canyon, and the other half lagged with the guards.

Moss grew in bold swaths over the sheer red crags. A brewing sense of wrong slipping along my spine intensified as we neared the foreboding

crevice.

“I remember the massacre,” Arin said. I jumped. The first fleet disappeared into the Pass. I patted my skittish mare’s head. “I was seventeen and just appointed Commander.”

We approached the narrow opening. The horses spooked easily, and I tucked my knees tight in case mine tried to buck me off.

“I didn’t authorize it,” Arin continued quietly. “There were children. The soldiers acted the way the former Commander taught them.”

The former Commander, his father. The crags cast a long shadow over us. An impenetrable silence hung in the canyon, broken by the sound of hooves clicking against rock. Dust swirled lazily in the gloom, and I struggled to see the soldiers ahead of us.

“What would you have done differently?”

It dealt him a hard blow, my question. Arin’s breathing changed, coming in harsh bursts. His knuckles whitened around the reins. “I am not—”

He inhaled sharply, bowing forward under a sudden pressure. I finally turned to him. “What’s wrong?” I demanded. I searched for a secret assailant. “What’s happening to you?”

His gaze emptied. Bluish veins strained under his skin. I doubted he

could hear me.

“I am not my father,” he whispered.

Ren rode forward from the brigade forming the rear, pulling his horse alongside Arin’s. “Sire, our scouts have not reported in. I think we may

have lost con—”

An arrow speared through Ren’s eye.

Screams split the air around us. Arrows rained into the canyon. Ren’s body slid from his horse.

A gasp died on my lips. I caught the reins of my horse to keep it from lurching over Ren. Sefa and Marek! Where were Sefa and Marek?

I couldn’t leave Arin in this condition. His gaze was glassy, unaware of anything outside his head. Magic. It had to be. But why only him?

The amount of power necessary to trap Arin in this state was staggering.

It should have passed through him quickly, through whatever breach in his biology allowed him to sense magic in the first place.

An arrow flew into the throat of the soldier ahead of us. The Meridian Pass flickered, and suddenly, it was my father on the horse ahead. His

features slackening in death as blood poured in an inverted V around the arrow cleaving his throat.

“Wake up!” I shouted, shaking Arin’s arm. “Please!”

My magic slammed around my cuffs, agitated. I had to stop the arrows.

This was a Jasadi attack, and I did not need to venture a guess what they wanted. How could Arin allow us to risk the Meridian Pass? We were waiting targets down here.

The soldiers would protect their Heir. Sefa and Marek only had me.

Grief. Rage. Fear. I had no doubts as to which was motivating my magic this time.

When I pushed my magic toward him, it complied. I could only hope it wouldn’t hurt him more. I had neither the skill nor the time to form a proper shield.

With great difficulty, I turned my horse away from him and spurred it on. If anyone was going to kill Arin of Nizahl, it would be me.

Dust and pebbles churned over the canyon, obscuring my vision. A boon. The soldiers wouldn’t see me toss my horse’s reins to the side and leap onto the side of the Meridian Pass. The smooth rock face slid beneath my boots, but I had climbed worse. With a push from my magic, I scaled it quickly.

I hauled myself to the top of the canyon. Arms grabbed me. A dozen bows took aim at my face.

“You need to stop,” I panted. “Do what you will to the soldiers, but I have friends down there.”

“It is you.” A man lowered his bow in disbelief. He studied me as though I might disappear at any moment. “Malika Essiya.”

The group on the opposite side of the canyon was still shooting arrows.

Every muscle in my body was tensed for a scream I recognized.

“Are you… the Urabi?”

He nodded, pressing a palm to his heart. One by one, the other archers lowered their bows. “My name is Efra, Mawlati. We have come to rescue you.”

The next time I saw Soraya, I would make her gargle with all the teeth I planned to knock from her mouth for leaking the news of my existence to the Urabi. They were looking at me with a reverence I didn’t deserve, calling me by a title I left in the ash with my grandparents’ bodies.

She had plucked my nightmare into reality. My heart pounded in a familiar song: run, run, run. I was watching Niphran burn on a lake. The kitmer pacing around me, waiting. My knees buckling beneath the weight of the crowd of shadows on shore.

“He is using me to lure you to the Alcalah,” I said. “You have to run.”

Efra stared at me. “The Nizahl Heir knows you are a Jasadi?” And then, with blistering accusation, “And you agreed to help the silver serpent lure us to our deaths?”

“Will someone grab her? We need to move!” cried a bowman on the opposite side.

Efra’s disgust filled me with shame, and shame was an old friend. My heart slowed.

The Meridian Pass vibrated. New shouts alerted the Urabi. Some lifted their bows; others, their hands. Rotating through the finite supply of magic at their disposal.

Like a black cloud rolling over the horizon, hundreds of Nizahl soldiers marched onto the Meridian Pass. An object with three sharp spearheads landed next to my foot. The rope on the other end tightened, dragging the three-headed hook to the edge of the cliff and catching.

My lips parted. Arin had not led us into a vulnerable position by choosing the Meridian Pass. This was a calculated trap. A moving piece on his game board. He knew an attack at the Meridian Pass would be

impossible for an enemy to resist.

“They’re climbing!”

We had seconds before they were upon us. These Jasadis would be slaughtered. They had committed crimes against other Jasadis, yes, but they were not for Nizahl to punish. My magic brimmed against my cuffs, eager to assist.

Clouds of dust still swirled around the canyon, granting me the perfect cover. I raised my hands, twisting them in the air as one might squeeze a wet rag. My magic pulled taut. Waiting for my command.

“It’s a trap!” I shouted. I shot a desperate glance at Efra. “They will kill you!”

Knowing Arin intended to capture these Jasadis did not mitigate my horror at seeing it before my eyes. The first soldier’s head appeared over the cliff. The Urabi were out of time.

I couldn’t watch a Jasadi die again. I hadn’t felt responsible for Adel, but the Urabi were here for me. Because of me.

You said our lands. Our villages. Not “the Jasadis’.”

I threw my arms open. A high-pitched whine reverberated in my ears.

Magic poured from me in waves, each stronger than the last. The ground beneath us quaked. Dust exploded as rocks cascaded down the shaking slope.

Through the haze, I spotted Efra. Shock had frozen him in place, and the Urabi yanking at his arm seemed unable to dislodge him.

The ground shifted. With a roar of detritus and dust, each side of the Meridian Pass moved apart. I touched my cuffs. They singed my fingers.

My magic… it was splitting the canyon wider.

When I glanced back, Efra was gone. The Nizahl soldiers in the canyon were tripping over the bodies of their fallen fellows, stumbling in the force of the shaking earth.

Relief poured through me. The Urabi had escaped.

I scanned the fallen bodies, heart in my throat. I did not see a head of bright blond hair or black curls.

The Meridian Pass finally stopped moving. I grabbed the rope the soldier had thrown and fixed the sharp end to the earth. My feet glided down the side of the canyon.

“Sylvia!” came Sefa’s shout. She and Marek were far ahead, barely visible at the other end of the canyon. Jeru waved from Marek’s right. He must have whisked them to safety.

Oh, thank the tombs. I exhaled, pressing the heel of my hand to my forehead. They were alive.

I found Arin immediately. Instead of being surrounded by his soldiers, he was utterly alone on his horse. Bowed forward in the same position of agony I had left him in. How? The Urabi had departed and taken their magic with them.

It must be another force. Magic in the crags itself, undetectable to all but Arin. He had mentioned his father. What if it was remnant magic from the massacre? Remnant magic was rare, but the violence of the deaths here might have been enough to leave a trace.

Wes rode right past Arin, neck craned in search. “Where is the Commander?” he boomed.

He couldn’t see him. Kapastra’s crooked horns, I told my magic to shield him, and it rendered him invisible.

A whisper of alarm snaked through me. I had expended more magic than all the Urabi attackers combined. I should have felt exhausted. Half-dead.

I sprinted toward Arin without a hint of fatigue. I grabbed his coat and pulled myself onto the horse. Wresting the reins from his slackened grip, I snapped the horse into a trot. Arin didn’t react, trapped in his torment.

“Leave him alone,” I growled to the nothingness. My magic pulsed. I did not know how to repel the crags, but I had an acceptable grasp on how to block their influence. My cuffs burned as my magic cut off the insidious power assailing Arin.

His muscles loosened fractionally. I hadn’t blocked everything.

I slid one arm over Arin’s midsection. The other went across his chest, crooked so I could clasp my hands together at his shoulder. A diagonal, backward embrace. His heart raced beneath my wrist. “One, two,” I counted. “You’re alive.” I tightened my hold as his shallow breaths came faster. “Three, four. You’re safe.”

I didn’t know if he could hear me. Would a distraction help? The tools at my disposal were few, so I employed the quickest. “I was a mean child and an eternal nuisance to my caregivers. In Jasad, our fig and date trees sometimes grew into one. The gardeners would weave these hybrid trees into creations you cannot even imagine. A labyrinth of branches almost as tall as the obelisk in Vaida’s palace. I used to find the highest spot in those trees and draw for hours. I’d enchant the cicadas to swarm groups of children or create leaf monsters to skulk behind the fruit merchants and scare their customers. A boy once told me the black spots on strawberries are dead spider eggs, and I have not eaten a strawberry since.”

The rise and fall of his chest started to even. Encouraged, I continued, “The woman who raised me after Jasad fell is why I cannot tolerate touch.”

The words stuck in my throat, unwilling to budge. Ashamed. “I miss her, sometimes. I hear her voice, scolding or taunting me, guiding me in danger.

I hear her more than my own mother. Five years of terror and pain, and I have the nerve to miss her.”

A gloved hand slid over mine. I startled, rushing to withdraw my arms.

Arin’s grip tightened. “Don’t.”

After a few minutes, I relaxed. I rested my cheek against his coat. It

carried his scent, a wonderful amalgam of ink and rain. My eyelids dropped.

Ah, the exhaustion. I was not immune to it, after all. It pleased me, sharing such a small but universal Jasadi experience.

I must have dozed against Arin’s back. When I opened my eyes, we had cleared the canyon, and dozens of soldiers surrounded us. Arin’s expression was carefully blank. Dread turned my stomach. Nothing good ever accompanied Arin’s detachment.

He flicked his wrist without turning away from me. The soldiers rode away, fanning out like ants in the desert. We dismounted.

“The attackers’ magic moved the canyon. Pushed it farther apart and knocked my soldiers loose, allowing the Urabi to escape.” His voice was flat. “Might you know anything about it?”

“If you plan to dangle your hook in the water,” I said hotly, “you would do well to inform your bait.”

“We have an agreement.” His threat was almost obscured by the condescension of its delivery.

“I am still here, aren’t I?” I spread my arms wide. “If I had wanted to leave with them, I would have. I said I would compete for you, not help you catch them.”

I had foolishly lowered my guard, forgetting how suddenly and deeply Arin’s icy demeanor could cut. It yanked the tail of my hurt and snapped it into a frenzy. I took a step, bringing myself close to the Heir.

“You are right. You are not your father. Rawain is cruel by nature, but you?” I lifted my chin, spearing him with the full force of my wrath. “You are cruel by choice.”

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