Page 45 of The Jasad Heir

“You don’t think the riderless horse may have already alerted them?”

“Look. There is blood on this tree.” Ren.

It did not take them long to spot Arin and the Jasadi at the bottom of the riverbank. To his guards’ credit, they hid their reaction to the bizarre sight of Arin pinning the unconscious Jasadi with a grip on her collar. Jeru skidded down the slope, a rope fastened around his middle. Shock finally flickered over his face at the full tableau waiting by the river. “My liege, you’re injured.”

“Nothing is broken or severed. Take the girl and send her back to the tunnels with Ren immediately.”

Jeru obeyed, bending to scoop the Jasadi into his arms. As soon as he lifted her, she began to writhe.

“No, no!” she shrieked. Her eyes moved rapidly behind her closed lids, chasing invisible threats. “Do not touch me. Don’t!”

Jeru struggled to hold her. She spilled out of his arms. Jeru only barely prevented her from dashing her head against the rocks. “Should we tie a rope around her?” Jeru asked desperately. She’d splashed him to the knees.

Arin scowled. How could she be this aggravating even in her sleep?

She was still twisting, eyes closed. “Please, please,” she whimpered, with such terror that it gave Arin and his guard pause.

Secrets. So many secrets. She was wreathed in them.

“Prop her shoulders,” Arin ground out. His collection of injuries was beginning to demand attention.

Jeru did as he asked, despite the Jasadi’s renewed thrashing. They wouldn’t be able to get her out of the riverbank if she did not lie still.

Her slurred voice echoed in his head.I believe you.As though Arin cared to win her confidence. She was caustic and contradictory. Every time she opened her mouth, she pulled Arin to the very limits of his patience. This Jasadi was the human equivalent of spilled ink over the meticulously drawn lines of his map. Whether he could refrain from breaking her neck until the end of the Alcalah was one question for which Arin had no answer.

“Tell Wes to leave a cold cloth over her forehead to reduce any swelling,” Arin said. His arm twinged when he bent it.

“What swelling?” Jeru clenched her wriggling shoulders.

Arin struck the Jasadi. Her head snapped to the side.

Finally, she was still.

CHAPTER TWELVE

Iglared at the guards through the eye their Commander hadn’t blackened. The bruising looked far worse than it felt, but I took satisfaction in Jeru’s guilty frown each time he glanced at me.

The rest of the guards ignored me. Wes, who I had woken this morning to find hovering over me with a cold cloth (to which I had garbled, “Did I swallow any insects?” and promptly earned his departing back), spooned a mealy, pale gruel into his mouth. Vaun and Ren were talking in low tones on the other side of the kitchen.

I poked at the gruel. It sprang back into place. Dania’s war-hungry axe, I had eaten some truly gruesome fare while living with Hanim, but this? If this was what Nizahlans regularly ate, it was no wonder they were such an angry people. They were hungry.

“You should eat,” Jeru said, breaking the seal of silence.

“Then give me food.” I pushed the bowl away. The spoon dropped with a clatter, spattering gruel over the table. “This is cow vomit.”

Tension wired the thick cords of Vaun’s neck. He did not look in my direction, and I wondered if it was to keep himself from dismembering me.

“It helps if you add salt.” Jeru nudged a small platter toward me.

“I would truly rather eat the salt.”

Vaun turned around. Ren put a hand on his chest.

“Is there a problem?” Arin materialized from the shadows, leaning against the kitchen’s arched entrance. The guards snapped to their feet.

He wore the black coat from the first day I met him. The violet ravens stitched along his sleeves made me faintly ill. Not a single lace in his vest missed its loop. The only imperfection to the Nizahl Heir’s refined appearance was the purple bruise on his cheekbone.

I might have supposed the marks of our voyage into Essam ended there, on an insignificant bruise, were it not for him leaning against the wall. For anyone else, leaning would be casual, not worth a second glance. But I could not fathom the tightly wound Nizahl Heir slouching, never mindleaning.He had borne my deadweight as we slid down the riverbank. The rocks might have flayed his back raw.

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