Page 37 of The Jasad Heir

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 thinklustovercame 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. “Youwhat?”

“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.

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