Page 112 of The Jasad Heir

Sefa, piecing together the Lukub Champion’s death and her newfound freedom from Nizahl, did not share in my excitement. “And how exactly do you plan to keep Vaida from following through on her threat? Forgiveness is not a virtue shared among many royals.”

“Her seal,” I said. Seeing Vaida’s ring open the doors to her disturbing underground room had planted the seed. My deal with Arin was well and good, but no plan was complete without a contingency. “I will need your and Marek’s help to steal the Sultana’s seal at the Omal palace. We can use it to negotiate our safety.”

A knock at the door interrupted Sefa’s response. She straightened, her petrified gaze colliding with mine.

“Enter!” I shouted. “Sefa, what is it?”

The door swung open, and my neck pricked. Eerie foreboding arrived seconds before I heard his voice.

“Our Champion wakes at last,” Supreme Rawain said.

The axis of my world ground to a scraping halt. A quiet shatter echoed in my head.

A man with a raven-headed stick sits near a woman drowning in her Nizahlan garb. An older lady with soft brown eyes keeps glancing at me and then away. Teta Palia said she was the Queen of Omal, and I wasn’t to speak to her. At the other end of the oak table, Gedo Niyar hands me a sesame-seed candy. Teta puts her hand onto my knee to stop my restless legs from kicking. I want to go home. Dawoud said he would take me to Har Adiween so I can climb the dancing trees. I glance around the table. Something important is being discussed, probably. I go back to staring at the raven-headed stick. I wonder if I would be allowed to hold it.

The man in violet and black catches my eye. He winks.

The table explodes.

Dangling from the rope in Ayume was nothing,nothingcompared to the war waging inside me. My cuffs became shackles of fire around my wrists, damming the magic baying for violence in my blood. Furious tears gathered at the corners of my eyes. Iron filled my mouth as I bit my bottom lip. I wasn’t ready.

I turned my head.

Thousands of Jasadis shadowed the Supreme. Their murky outlines warped, mournful, and folded into the scepter at his side.

My memory had done Supreme Rawain a disservice. Age had laid a conservative touch on his handsome features and powerful build. He was shorter than his son, but taller than me. Gray streaked the hair at his temple.

His eyes. The same unnatural shade that met mine the day I lost everything. The day he stole my world. As unblemished by the trappings of compassion or kindness as they had been at the Summit.

My bedridden state had one advantage; he would not question why I would not kneel, and I didn’t need to explain that I would sever my legs before I knelt to him.

Supreme Rawain strode into the room. Framed in the door, Arin’s indecipherable gaze followed his father.

“Well? How is she doing?” the Supreme asked.

The physician slunk back, clearing his throat. “Superbly, Your Highness. The venom has passed without ill effects, and the worst damage was to her palms.”

Rawain clapped his hands. “Wonderful. You gave us a fright, Sylvia. I’ll admit, I had reservations about Arin’s choice of a Champion, but you have certainly lived up to his vision.” He laughed, the sound sliding like viscous oil over my skin. “My son has been reluctant to introduce us. Worried I would intimidate you.” He raised his brows at an impassive Arin. “See? She’s of hardier stock.”

I shook with the effort of crushing my magic back. It struck over and over, lightning charring its fragile vessel. Sweat beaded on my forehead. I needed to speak. My teeth were stuck together, and I had the most terrible notion that they were protecting me from what might fly out of my mouth if I unhinged my jaw.

Rawain did not seem concerned with my silence or inability to lift my gaze from his chest. “Since you’re feeling better, I insist you join Arin and me for supper this evening.”

“We leave for Omal at dawn,” Arin said, speaking at last. “She should rest.”

“And rest she shall,” Supreme Rawain said. “After supper.”

My cuffs seized, tightening desperately against my magic’s assault. In a flash, Arin was between us. “I will have the guards bring her. We should go; King Murib is expecting us.”

I wanted to shove Arin aside and lunge. Rip out the throat spewing poison, crush the head that molded its crown on the scorched remains of my kingdom. How dare he come in here and speak to me? To praise my efforts for him?

Grief. Rage. Fear.A pit of darkness fed my magic, and it chose which hand to help—and which to ignore. It cared for Jasad and for the ones I loved, but it would happily watch me scream beneath a beast’s gaping maw or Hanim’s whip without once stirring.

No wonder my magic never helped me. It hated me as much as I hated myself.

“Then let us be on our way. I can’t tolerate another tour of his banal little weapons cellar,” the Supreme said. He lifted his chin in disdain. “Who would steal from Orbanian huts and hovels?”

Rawain’s voice moved to the door. I had both hands fisted in the quilt.

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