Page 10 of The Jasad Heir

I slid into a crouch, grimacing at the sight of my cloak dragging against the ground. It swallowed Sefa’s small frame. “Speak plainly. Why are you doing this for me?”

Undeterred by my harsh tone, she blew gently on the rocks in her palm, flaking away the loose debris. “Despite your strong resistance to the concept, wearefriends.”

“Friendship has its limits.”

“Perhaps.”

“I wouldn’t do this for you or Marek.”

The corner of her mouth lifted like I had said something amusing. “I know.”

“If I’m caught, I will be executed. You would be thrown to the mercy of a Nizahlan tribunal for helping me.”

“If you are hoping to light a fire of fear in me, you are too late. It was lit long ago.” Sefa tucked the rocks in her pockets. “Be at ease, Sylvia. Before it ever came to a tribunal, I would promptly follow you into death.”

Sefa and I stood at the same time. Only a Jasadi would have need for such a disturbing vow, but Marek and Sefa did not have a trace of magic. Living as closely as we did, I would have seen it. What cause did they have to fear Nizahl?

I evaluated Sefa as though seeing her anew. “What aren’t you telling me?”

“Now, Sylvia. You may have my loyalty without cost.” The rest of the rocks tumbled into her pocket. “But you must earn my secrets.” She smiled, whites of her teeth bright against her skin.

I caught my breath as an earth-shattering possibility shook through me. A possibility winding into everything I thought I knew about Sefa and Marek. Marek, who leaned on hisa’s andl’s when he spoke in anger. Who complained about the weather in Mahair as though it were any different in the rest of Omal.

“Marek called the tomato by the wrong name,” I said suddenly. Remembering. “A week after I came to the keep, I saw you two in the kitchen. He asked you to pass him an oota. Omalians call tomatoes ‘tamatim.’ I thought it was strange, and I kept a close eye on him for the next month. I heard him call a slew of vegetables by other names. Lukubi, Orbanian, Nizahlan names for vegetables. He said Yuli was making him practice for the visitors who come on market days. But he was just trying to cover, wasn’t he? He was trying to cover the very first slip.”

Sefa forcefully clapped the dust from her hands. Her face was unreadable. “The corpse will be more challenging to carry after it stiffens. We should go.”

You have been so preoccupied with your own secrets, you did not bother to see theirs, Hanim murmured.Pathetic.

I wanted to drag Sefa back and shake her until the truth fell out. If what I suspected was true… but no, I couldn’t. I wouldn’t. The lives we led before reaching Raya’s keep were not discussed. As long as their secrets couldn’t harm me, I would not ask. Curiosity was always repaid in kind.

Marek had done a commendable job turning the lines of the wound jagged and uneven. We scattered rocks into the open meat of the body. Hopefully by the time they found the soldier, the fish would have made quick work of the exposed skin flap.

The run to the river felt eternal. I carried the front while Marek and Sefa supported the rest of the body. The trees closed around us eagerly, the ground dipping lower with every dozen steps. I spotted Marek shuddering. The deeper we ventured into Essam, the more it felt like the teeth of a beast too vast to comprehend were closing around us.

We stopped only twice to catch our breaths, all too aware of the crisp morning breeze and pinkening sky.

Sefa began to sing, her warbling voice covering the squelch of our footsteps. “The Awaleen came sight unseen, to survey the empty land. Abound, abound!”

“Sefa, please,” Marek groaned. I didn’t recognize the melody, but he clearly did.

“Above the hills and valleys to the west, Kapastra laid her crown. Mother of Omal, Beast Tamer of blue, abound!”

“She won’t stop,” I warned Marek. My boot went through a rotted log. Crickets exploded from the hole, hopping over my leg. Their indignant chirps joined Sefa’s incessant tune.

“Beam of beauty, sharper than ruby, Baira, Baira, Baira,” Marek intoned flatly. “To Lukub she took her light, abound, abound!”

“Battle beat in Dania’s bones, and in Orban she sang its bloody song. Abound, abound!”

A cricket jumped onto the corpse’s cheek. I watched it crawl into his nose and grimaced. I could predict what came next in the song. Or rather, who didn’t.

In the early days, the four original kingdoms—Lukub, Omal, Orban, and Jasad—had been flush with magic. Nizahl came after the Awaleen’s entombment, created to arbitrate peace between the other four kingdoms. But the centuries passed, each taking a little more magic with it, until only Jasad’s magic remained. Nizahl’s armies grew, scaring Lukub and Omal, even battle-hungry Orban. But not Jasad. Not even Nizahlan armies stood a chance against Jasad’s unassailable fortress.

At least, they shouldn’t have.

To my surprise, Sefa’s song continued, albeit softer and more reserved. “Rovial heard the hum of Jasad and gave his soul to keep her awake. Abound! Abou—”

“Quiet.” I stopped walking and listened. There it was, the best song of them all—the gurgle of Hirun. We broke through the trees, skidding to a halt at the edge of the riverbank.

---