Page 17 of The Jasad Heir

I hoped Adel wouldn’t mind my performing a Jasadi ritual. He had spent his life largely in Omal. Jasad might not have meant anything to him. Hanim had not taught me the Omalian death rites, but I hoped they were somewhat similar.

“Ila al mawt niwada’ak, wa na’eesh haya bakya fi fikrak. Yikun ma’ak—” I paused.To death we leave you, and we shall live our remaining life in remembrance. Be with you…what? I closed my eyes, reciting the sentence again in search of the missing pieces.

“A’malak we ahbabak,” came the smooth, measured voice above me. “I believe those are the words you seek.”

I went still. I had forgotten to listen for approaching footsteps.

I opened my eyes to boots standing a few inches from Adel’s head. My gaze crawled higher. Over the violet ravens embroidered on the bottom of a long black coat. Over a lean, broad-shouldered body shrouded in a Nizahlan uniform finer than any I’d seen before. The infamous black gloves encased his hands. A thin scar reached from the bottom of his throat to his jaw. If all this still did not sway my recognition, his eyes would have rung the final bell: pale blue and wintry. I had seen their likeness only once before.

Arin of Nizahl stood above me, watching me administer Jasadi death rites to a slain man.

I am found.

The world flipped, leaving me spinning through emptiness. Nausea surged in my gut. I leapt to my feet, forgetting the heaviness of my skirt. How was he here? When did he arrive?

I opened my mouth. To explain, to lie, to scream. A puff of air passed my lips, and nothing else.

Steady, Essiya. Remember the first rule, Hanim murmured.

It was too late. The panic had already spread. I was numb with it.

When I died, would anyone perform the Jasadi rites over my body?

A soft neigh accompanied the appearance of two horses led by the other soldier. His eyes flew comically wide at the sight of his Commander. He hadn’t known he was coming. If the Nizahl patrol hadn’t anticipated the Heir’s arrival, then why was he here?

A pulse of pure terror shot through my bones. The dead soldier. What if they’d found his body?

The soldier dropped to a knee instantly, visibly nervous. “My liege.”

“I assume he is yours.” The Nizahl Heir gestured to Adel’s body.

The soldier swallowed. “He used magic to attack us. We had no choice.”

“Did you tie him down? Blindfold him?”

“N-no.”

“Did he use magic a second time?”

The soldier shook his head. A tremor ran through him.

“I see.” The Nizahl Heir’s stare was cold. “Bury the body and meet me at your post.”

While they spoke, my instincts had sluggishly recovered. The Nizahl Heir wouldn’t be in Mahair over the death of a single soldier. He couldn’t know my true identity, either, unless the dead had learned to speak in the last few days. Marek said the Heir was spotted in Gahre, so Mahair wasn’t the first Omalian village on his route. He had seen me speaking Resar and performing the Jasadi death rites, but not using magic.

I could salvage this.

The soldier collected Adel’s body and staggered past the trees, leaving me alone with the Nizahl Heir.

When he turned to me again, I bowed my head. “I ask Your Highness’s leave to explain what you witnessed.”

The Heir tipped his head, causing a lock of silver hair to come loose from the tie at the nape of his neck. “You have it.”

“I am not a Jasadi.” I took a slow breath. Truth was perception. I couldn’t change my actions, but I could alter how he interpreted them. “I have no magic and no ties to the scorched kingdom. Though I have known Adel for years, the truth of his nature remained hidden to Mahair. To me. The savagery of his death… upset me. I only wanted to pay him a kindness by performing the death rites of his people.”

“Is it common to learn Jasadi death rites in your village?” He sounded curious. Conversational.

“No.” I pretended to hesitate. “I learned them in Ganub il Kul, before the war. My tutors placed a high premium on speaking the old languages and understanding the practices of every kingdom.”

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