The Jasad Heir — Chapter no 9

CHAPTER NINE

Arin stood. I retreated, tripping over the edge of the threadbare carpet, but he moved around me.

He knelt by the soldier. A black gloved finger tapped the corpse’s throat.

“It puzzled me at first. A broken neck, a broken back, and a disguised six- inch knife wound dealt to an area of the torso thick with muscle. Such excess. To what end?”

I crossed my arms over my chest. Did he mean to unnerve or flatter me?

“What I did not question was the use of magic in his murder. Only a Jasadi could have the capacity to eviscerate and break the back of a seasoned soldier.” Arin’s hand shifted to the soldier’s vest. He reached into its pocket. “And then I found this.”

Arin unfurled his palm, revealing tangled strands of curly black hair.

Not just any hair. Dania’s dusty bones, that boar of a Nizahlan died with a handful of my hair.

My scalp stung with a phantom ache. After I bit him, hadn’t he used his grip on my hair to hurl me away? I had seen the strands caught in his fist, but I assumed he dropped them. When had he gotten the chance to tuck them into his vest? Why would he?

“When defeat becomes a possibility, Nizahl soldiers are trained to collect evidence of their killer.” Arin turned his palm over. The strands floated onto the soldier’s chest. “I was seeking a Jasadi with long, curly black hair and a fondness for sesame-seed candies. And who did I see at the river, speaking Resar over a dead Jasadi?”

The one time I tried to be kind— You weren’t being kind. You thought it would get me out of your head, Hanim snorted. “Well? Don’t leave me in suspense.” Knowing he had no immediate plans to kill me had done a great deal to loosen my tongue.

The side of Arin’s mouth twisted up. How pathetic I must have seemed to him. Like a bug running so quickly from an approaching shoe that it

stumbles onto its back, arms and legs writhing in midair.

“You’re abnormally strong. You lie well enough to fool an entire village.

Despite your attempts to prove otherwise, I believe you possess an agile mind.” He unfurled to his full height, and the shift was unmistakable. This was the moment he had foreseen as Felix’s guards leveled their swords at us. The crossroads he had already traveled and planned out.

“You will train and serve as my Champion for the Alcalah. When you have finished the trials, freedom is yours.”

My breath hitched. I must have heard him wrong. “Freedom?” I could barely shape my mouth around the word.

“I will not hunt you. Every village in every kingdom will hail you as the Alcalah’s Victor and offer you home and hearth. You will be assigned a retinue of guards for the rest of your days, offered more wealth than you can spend in ten lifetimes.” The lilt in his Nizahlan accent lengthened as he spoke. “I offer you a new life.”

I scarcely dared to believe it. I would never need to vacate this identity.

Sylvia’s fame as the Alcalah’s Victor guaranteed Essiya’s ultimate erasure.

After all, it would be unthinkable that the Champion riding beneath Nizahl’s banner was also the dead Heir to the kingdom Nizahl brutally razed from the earth. That wealth and liberty could outweigh such a loyalty.

Whose blood could run so cold?

“You must be truly desperate to catch them,” I said, “if you are willing to offer me this.”

The endless possibilities streamed before me. I could return to Mahair with enough money to buy the shop from Rory and a home of my own.

Feed Raya’s wards and take care of Fairel. I could purchase a horse—a stable of them—and take Marek to the places he dreamed of visiting. Chase

adventures with Sefa.

I could visit Jasad.

There is no Jasad, Hanim said harshly. Why would you go visit the Scorched Lands?

It was a slap of cold reality. Hanim had taken great pleasure in telling me of the war between Jasad and Nizahl. When the tide of war turned in Nizahl’s favor, Hanim would draw frantic runes at our feet. Dirt would twirl in the air and coalesce into moving images of the war. A hundred miles away, we watched flames char the palace’s grand pillars. Children torn

screaming from their beds as hoofbeats thundered into wilayah after wilayah.

“How can I trust your word?” I asked. “You have but to gesture in my direction after the trials are complete, and a dozen of your company will be upon me.”

“Are you suggesting I would order our Champion executed after she has earned Nizahl victory?” he asked. “That I would dishonor my kingdom by revealing our Champion as a Jasadi and admitting I allowed an abomination to stand in Nizahl’s name?”

He raised a shoulder. “Anything is possible, I suppose.”

Arin lifted a golden ribbon from the pillow. It must have fallen from my hair while I slept. He slid the strip of gold between his fingers. “Allow me to spare you further strain and answer your next question. What keeps you from escaping? No supervision is flawless. You might very well decide to forgo the nuisance of the ordeal and simply vanish.”

This time, it was he who closed the distance between us. He lifted his arms and paused. He was giving me an opportunity to steel myself against the instinct to flinch away.

Irritation at his contradictory behavior simmered. Arin would hand-feed me to wolves without a second of regret, yet he would not breach the boundaries of my body.

Gathering the long ropes of my hair in his gloves, he said, “The decision is yours, suraira. I will not be your warden. However, Sayali and Caleb may have a more vested interest in your participation.” He deftly twined my curls together. The silk ribbon trailed across the back of my newly freed

neck.

Suraira?

I couldn’t focus with him so close. My muscles were tense, braced for attack. “I have never met a Sayali or Caleb,” I managed.

He chuckled softly. “My apologies. You know them by other names.” He finished tying my hair. A velvety press of leather on my chin guided my gaze up to his. More frustrating than even the twisted maneuverings of Arin’s mind was his Awaleen-forsaken beauty. Trying to ignore it from this close was like glaring at the sun and pretending not to smell your eyes burning. I cataloged each facet of him as one studies the sharpness and shape of their executioner’s scythe. The strong contours of his jaw, the

elegant line of his throat. I wanted to rip the pretty illusion apart and reveal the beast I’d seen in the war room.

“The Citadel’s High Counselor has searched long for his stepdaughter and her blond lover after they left him for dead and emptied his coffers.

Should their location be made known to him, I imagine they would be hung for their crimes. Maiming and robbing a High Counselor is punishable by nothing less. They wouldn’t even need to factor in her lover’s defection from the army.”

My eyes narrowed. I genuinely did not have an inkling what he was talking about. I wouldn’t associate with any Nizahlans, let alone fugitives. I opened my mouth—and went utterly still.

If you are hoping to light a fire of fear in me, you are too late… Before it ever came to a tribunal, I would promptly follow you into death.

My nails dug into my palms. “Sefa.”

Her blond “lover” could be none other than Marek. Hadn’t I questioned their history? Wondered after Marek’s specific knowledge of Nizahl’s customs? To be fair, not even the farthest limits of my imagination could have conjured the possibility of Sefa as the stepdaughter of the Supreme’s High Counselor.

“You would hinge their lives on my compliance?”

Like a stone against the surface of still water, the brutal efficiency of his plan rippled through me. If I left, he would haul Sefa and Marek to Nizahl to account for their crimes. Crimes I doubted had any basis in truth. Sefa wept at the sight of limping stray dogs and taught the girls in our keep how to braid their hair. She wouldn’t brutalize and rob her family. Marek… Marek might, but not without a reason.

If the High Counselor was anything like the Supreme, he would chain their carcasses on the Citadel’s gates. Their flesh would be a feast for the carrion-eaters.

A mirage standing by the river, a bare hand extended for mine. An impossible decision. And just as I was trapped then, I was wholly cornered now.

“Hundreds of lives hinge on your compliance,” Arin replied. “They are two of many. Yours is counted in the number. If you do not triumph in the Alcalah, the protection you are granted as a Champion will disappear. Felix is a prideful man. There will be no safety for you anywhere in Omal. If any

patrol captures you in another kingdom, Felix will have the right as your true Heir to drag you to stand trial in his courts.” He didn’t need to finish.

We both knew Felix would never suffer me to live long enough to stand trial after I lodged a knife in his leg and humiliated him.

There was more. There had to be. One doubt circled stubbornly to the forefront. “Why me?”

He withdrew, releasing me from his strange thrall. A beat of silence passed, and I gritted my teeth. Another instance of information he deemed privileged to himself only. He preferred to spin me where he aimed, ground me in half-truths and suspicion.

“You were fate’s choice, not mine. While I hunt the Jasadis who have slaughtered a legion of innocents from Orban to Lukub, they hunt you.”

After Arin left, the guards blindfolded and led me from the room. I strained my ears for the babble of the river or the rumble of carriages, any marker of our location. The crunch of leaves underfoot did not leave plenty for me to work with. Fresh air replaced the foul odor of decay, and I wondered who would be left with the miserable task of burying the deteriorated soldier.

“Will we be much longer?” I complained. Walking blind at the mercy of Nizahl guards wrought havoc on my nerves.

One of them exhaled. “Not much.”

“Do not indulge her,” came the other’s retort. The bald one? “Log.”

They nudged me to the left.

“You saw him, Wes,” Jeru said, defensive. “I have never seen our liege in such a state.”

I tried to diminish my presence. They were speaking as though they had forgotten I stood between them. I was curious to hear what they had to say in the absence of their master.

A pregnant pause, then, “I have. Seen him in a similar state, I mean. I was appointed to his guard when he was sixteen.”

Apparently, this meant something to Jeru, because he bumped into me.

“I thought only Vaun was present for that.”

“Vaun has been by his side since they were both old enough to carry a sword. They were friends long before Vaun became his guardsman. I was there when it happened, too.

“You should believe better of our Heir,” Wes continued, stern. “To think him capable of such a thing…”

Baffled as I was trying to parse out what could have happened to Arin at sixteen, it took me a second to catch up. “Oh dear, did you think lust overcame your Heir?” The very notion of the icy Nizahl Heir allowing a physical urge to overcome his ruthless control made me cackle.

“He was on top of you. The mistake could’ve been made by anyone,”

Jeru snapped. “Wes is right. I should have known better.”

I couldn’t help myself. Angering Nizahlan men was just too diverting.

“Are you calling your Commander frigid?” I winced at the resulting clench

on my arm.

“You trespass your bounds,” Wes spat.

The events of the last two days had driven me into delirium. “Then redraw your maps, soldier. Haven’t you heard? I’m your Champion. The rules changed. No, they disappeared.” They lifted me again. The heels of my borrowed calfskin shoes brushed the prickly tops of a bush.

The rustling signs of nature faded into eerie silence. Our footfalls changed, taking on an echo. “If it brings you relief, Jeru, Wes is right,” I said. Distracted, I dragged my heels, bewildered when the calfskin slid without catching on any loose dirt or puddles. The terrain had gone flat and smooth. Similar to the roads leading to Omal’s upper towns. Where were we?

“Your Commander was hardly moved by passion, although I suppose sensing my magic changed that.” His feverish reaction still lingered in the vault of unanswered questions. How could the strictest discipline fray into such a mania? Niphran’s specter had said he was reacting to my magic. Was it an anomaly of birth? The way some children sense death or a coming storm—was that how he sensed magic?

But then, why had my magic reacted to his touch?

Jeru and Wes stiffened. I continued, unperturbed. If they did not already know I was a Jasadi, they would learn the truth soon. “I think he was

annoyed I tried to stab him.”

Wes choked. “You what?”

“Oh, don’t fuss. He disarmed me immediately. The most I managed to do was graze him with the axe.”

“Graze him,” Jeru repeated, several decibels above his normal register.

“It is a miracle you have survived as long as this.”

“You have no idea,” I said. “Where are we?”

The blindfold fell away. Swiping my hair from my face, I surveyed our surroundings. We stood in the dead center of a clearing between four towering trees. I made a slow turn, unease trickling down my spine at the unnatural symmetry. The rain had followed us as soon as we started walking, yet we stood completely dry in this pocket of space. The rain hit an unseen barrier at the apex of the trees and sluiced over the sides of the invisible walls.

I spun in the void, reaching for the rain that didn’t fall. Extraordinary.

For a sphere of protection to be woven into the fabric of the woods so seamlessly, a dozen Jasadis must have pooled their magic.

I didn’t recognize our surroundings. If I had truly slept for eleven hours, they would have had time to take me entirely out of Omalian territory. The majority of Essam was unclaimed by any kingdom.

“If you’re quite finished,” Wes said. “Slacken your muscles and brace your knees.”

I’d heard those instructions before, typically right before Hanim shoved me off a bluff. I glanced at Jeru questioningly. He pointed at my knees.

The ground crumbled beneath us, and I dropped straight down.

Landing on my heels, I coughed at the explosion of dust. The guards hit the ground smoothly.

He wanted to train me underground? Baira’s blessed breath, I would need a miracle tonight. Each passing minute made my prospects of escape more and more unlikely.

Not that it mattered. Unlikely or not, I did not plan to spend a single night in this… living grave. I had a complicated relationship with luck, but after the last few days, it owed me.

They led me through a complicated series of tunnels. The halls narrowed the longer we walked, until I had to duck my head to avoid brushing the ceiling with my hair. Stale air tickled my nose. Alabaster tiles covered the walls, their edges emanating an iridescent light. I grazed my fingers over the glowing tiles with no small amount of awe. The evidence of magic was

everywhere. Who had these tunnels belonged to? Even Jasad’s wealthiest wilayahs wouldn’t have expended the amount of labor and expense needed to build all of this beneath Essam. An underground network of this scale was beyond their eccentricities.

Just as I started to think the goal was to suffocate me, the hall ended at the threshold of a towering silver door. Etched along the door’s round frame were intricate gold letters, winding through and into one another. Was the writing… Resar? I squinted at the letters, trying to make out any words. I couldn’t stand this Resar writing style, where the words were written to appear elegant and, as such, made almost unintelligible.

Before I could decipher more than the word nahnu, Jeru and Wes extended their fists in unison and knocked twice. A piercing shriek sounded as the door heaved to the side.

When I hesitated at the threshold, Wes prodded my arm. “Go on.”

With leaden dread, I stepped through the door. The sight that greeted me nearly took me to my knees.

High above us, a glass ceiling swirled with pillowy clouds. They moved around an invisible wind, floating halfway down each side of the enormous room, at which point a lively, verdant courtyard overtook the walls. The courtyard of Usr Jasad.

Every detail of the palace had been captured. Seven gold pillars soared toward the clouds, supporting the awning curving around the front of the magnificent palace. Beneath them, the staircase stretched almost a quarter of a mile wide, one banister at the first pillar and the second at the last.

Silver flames danced beneath the translucent steps, chasing the footsteps of the climbers. I’d spent countless hours darting around those steps, trying to outrun the flames. Guards wearing Jasad’s uniform patrolled at the foot of the stairs. In the courtyard in front of the Usr, children chased a rabbit hopping in midair, just out of their limited reach.

Beneath the shade of a fig tree, Niyar flipped the pages of his book.

Palia stood on the palace steps, watching him with her hands on her hips.

The scenes were alive. As though I could reach out to pet the rabbit or pluck a ripe fig from the dangling branches.

The mirage wavered almost imperceptibly. Niyar’s thumb halted on the page; the children’s arms blinked from existence. A flicker of time, and the scene began again. A perfect moment looped for infinity.

“These tunnels were discovered a year before the siege. We believe they were commissioned as a school for talented Jasadis during Niyar and Palia’s reign,” Jeru said. “For those whose magic made them promising candidates for the Jasad army.”

Palia’s chin lifted at something—a breeze, a bird’s song, the children’s laughter—and the permanent furrows in her brow smoothed for a brief instant. My heart squeezed. I never thought I would see my grandmother again.

A soft mat replaced loose soil, absorbing our tread. I allowed myself another lingering glance at the specter of my grandfather. His royal ring caught the sunlight, the golden kitmer glinting on his finger. I struggled not to turn around when we exited to the hall.

“This room is yours,” Wes said, gesturing at a door indistinguishable from the dozen others lining the hall. “The kitchen is around the corner, three doors past the lavatory. You will report to the training center after first light. There is only one exit, and it is monitored. Questions?”

Several, but I started with, “How do you suppose I shall see first light from a windowless underground room?”

Wes glanced at Jeru. His mouth pinched. “Your… kind. Have an attunement to nature.”

I nodded, somber. “Of course. Most mornings, the sun—I call her Beatrice, actually—taps my shoulder and invites me to tea with her and the mountains. She’s quite the gossip. Tragically, however, I don’t know how well my ‘attunement’ will hold against several layers of dirt and stone.”

The cough Jeru stifled in his fist skirted suspiciously close to a laugh. If Wes soured any more, they could squeeze him over a broth.

“Someone will come to fetch you,” he said.

“Excellent.” I shouldered the heavy door open, coughing at the resulting billow of dust. The room was bland, perfunctory: crumbling walls and bare floors carrying a constant chill, and a circular table near the wardrobe with two sturdy wooden chairs. My back ached simply looking at the narrow bed in the center of the room.

Jeru and Wes lingered outside the threshold.

“We were instructed not to enter your quarters under any circumstance,”

Jeru explained. “For your comfort.”

My comfort, which roughly translated to “no guards in the room so Vaun

can’t smother you in your sleep.”

“What if I’m dying?”

“Why would you be dying?”

“Perhaps an insect crawled into my throat. I’m choking, frothing at the mouth. Will you watch from the threshold?”

“Yes,” Wes said. “Try not to swallow any insects.”

I sniffed the sheets, relieved when I couldn’t detect the cloying scent of mold. How would I wash these? How would I bathe? Unless the soldiers intended to transport basins for my daily use. I imagined Vaun sloshing my bath water over his uniform and felt momentarily cheered.

The guards left, closing the door behind them. I collapsed onto the lumpy bed, jaw aching from hiding my tension from these Nizahlan snakes.

I’d memorized our movements as we walked through the complex, but I had no idea how I would climb out once I reached the exit. The drop had been close to eight feet. Even if I managed to pull myself out, where would I go? I lacked the faintest clue as to where in Essam they had taken me.

Nizahl maintained its surveillance of the kingdoms by keeping hundreds of secret locations sprinkled throughout Essam. Most were unoccupied, but without knowing for certain where the locations were and which were active, the kingdoms were compelled to behave. I could run directly into a busy Nizahlan stronghold as soon as I fled.

A part of me wondered if it wouldn’t be more prudent to remain in the complex until a more reasonable means of escape presented itself.

Immediately, I brushed the prospect aside. The Nizahl Heir claimed he needed me to compete in the Alcalah to capture these mysterious Jasadi groups, but I very much doubted he would tolerate me to live the six weeks between now and the Champions’ opening banquet. As soon as Arin found a solution that did not require my continued existence, he would dispose of me with the same efficient brusqueness of a captain decapitating a lamed warhorse. And if he discovered I was once Essiya of Jasad… I shuddered.

I would not pin my life on a promise from the Nizahl Heir. Sefa and Marek would be fine. By now, I was sure they had packed their life in Mahair and fled. Arin’s threats against them would go unfulfilled.

I kicked off my shoes, grimacing at their state of disrepair. Hardly fit for fleeing through the woods. And if Arin was to be believed, it wasn’t just him I would be running from. These mysterious Jasadi groups “hunting me”

would also be giving chase. Here was the trouble: I didn’t believe him. Why would a Jasadi group be interested in me? Recent exceptions aside, I didn’t have magic, and only Rory knew my true name. Arin wanted to use me as bait when my proximity to these Jasadis was entirely coincidental.

Assuming they’d discovered I was a Jasadi, I doubted their interest was more than fleeting. He’d probably exaggerated the threat simply to incentivize against an escape.

Resolved, I changed into the clothes they had set out. The seams strained; they were obviously made to accommodate a woman of more diminutive dimensions. The pants had been designed to hang loosely on the wearer, so they fit me closely but not uncomfortably. I tore the pinching sleeves from my arms and used them to tie my hair into a high bun. I would not have time to slow for branches catching in my braid.

The colors brought the taste of ash to my tongue. Black and violet. They had dressed me in the colors of Nizahl.

Why wouldn’t they? You are the Commander’s puppet now. He can do with you what he wills, Hanim said.

“His will is strong. It always is, in the self-righteous,” I said to the empty room. The gray walls echoed my hollow words.

“But the will of the damned is even stronger.”

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