Page 102 of The Jasad Heir

“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.”

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