Page 61 of The Jasad Heir

CHAPTER FIFTEEN

History has a twisted sense of humor.

The day Jasad’s fortress rose was remembered for all the wrong reasons. The newly appointed Qayida Hend had stood shoulder to shoulder with Malika Safa and Malik Mustafa. Behind them, a sea of Jasadis gathered on the hill that would become the courtyard of Usr Jasad. As one, they lifted their hands and poured their magic forth. Back then, magic was still as powerful in their veins as it was rich in the land. A conductor stood centered in the masses, guiding the flow of magic to the Qayida. They say on the day of the fortress’s rise, the Qayida’s entire body had burned silver and gold as she read the enchantment the Malik and Malika had toiled for years to produce.

The fortress had been a dream for Jasad since shortly after the age of the Awaleen. Protection. Peace. The monsters in Essam stalked their borders. Visitors came to stand at the edge of Sirauk, gazing upon the misty bridge and leaving bizarre offerings littered in Janub Aya. Trade had become unreliable, and the skirmishes with Omal were escalating. A fortress tuned to the unique magical marker of each of Jasad’s citizens would allow us to move freely, but keep our kingdom secure from anyone—or anything—else.

The ground had quaked, knocking everyone but the Qayida to the ground. She had the magic of thousands flowing through her, and if she stopped, if she let it settle, it would incinerate her. With a roar heard all the way in the farthest corners of Lukub and Orban, the ground split. A wall the color of thick resin had surged from the earth, traveling past the hill, curving around Jasad’s borders. The Qayida’s scream was said to have filled the Malik and Malika’s ears with blood. Gold and silver orbs burst from her chest, streaking inside the wall. The colors moving within the fortress would be known as Zeenat Hend, named after the Qayida who burned from the inside out to erect Jasad’s impenetrable fortress.

I hadn’t thought of Qayida Hend in years. Her bravery had guaranteed that each subsequent Qayida would be trusted with annually renewing the enchantment keeping the fortress intact.

I washed my face in the basin by the door. The water rippled with my reflection. I tried not to linger, but the sight of my face still stung. The hollows beneath my eyes were darker than date pits. My hair hung in a lusterless braid down my back. The face of someone who had failed to fulfill a legacy of sacrifice.

I shoved the basin away. Qayida Hend burned for her bravery. One of Jasad’s foremost heroes. But if you asked me, Qayida Hend’s death was an amusement of fate. She burned to raise magic, and centuries later, Jasad would burn so they could tear it down.

We mourn what history mocks.

In the training center, the Nizahl Heir did not bother with a greeting. He pointed at my legs and turned around, devoting his focus to the weapons chest. I should have been thankful for his silence. A serpent’s tongue slithered only when it had poison to spread.

“Aren’t Heirs supposed to travel with their personal chefs?” I asked, jogging past the wall with my grandparents. As usual, I averted my gaze. Guilt tightened my throat every time I looked at them, so I did my best not to.

Arin diligently arranged the day’s tools on top of the chest. All I’d heard about the mysterious Heir prior to that fateful day in Essam had to do with his looks and his prowess in combat. It is significantly more enjoyable, I supposed, to wax poetic about the Heir’s heart-wrenching beauty or his lethal grace than it is to dwell on this intense perfectionism.

A javelin wobbled on the chest. Arin scowled, moving it to the second row. After a moment of reflection, he nudged everything else an inch to the right.

Perfectionismmight be too generous a term.

“Yes, typically. Why?”

I finished my circuits, bracing myself on my knees. “The guards can’t cook,” I panted. “I want a royal’s chef.”

“You’re getting one.” He held out the rounded end of the spear. “I eat what you eat.”

“I am fully aware,” I groaned. Had Arin not been so gallingly Nizahlan, I might have believed he was Orbanian, so uninterested was he in luxury and comfort.

The back of my neck prickled as he moved closer. “Spread your feet.” He kicked my ankles apart in a succinct motion, momentarily catching me off guard.

I bounded forward, springing off my back leg to push my body’s momentum into the spear. It sailed true, cracking the wooden board in the center.

“Did you see that?” I exclaimed. If anything would impress the unimpressible Heir, it would be throwing a spear with enough force to cleave a man’s chest in two. “Half the Orbanian army cannot land a throw like that!”

He made me repeat it twenty-seven times before he was pleased. Our next task of the day required a trip to the surface. Arin refused to divulge details on what this particular training entailed or why we needed to complete it outside the tunnels.

Wes passed Arin a strip of fabric. “What do you know of the first trial?” Arin asked.

I shifted to the other foot, casting a nervous glance at the three waiting guards. “The first trial is held within a cursed forest in Orban. No one is permitted to enter the forest outside the Alcalah.”

“Why can they not enter?” Jeru prompted. A blush rose high on his tanned cheeks when Arin glanced over.

“The forest is the site of a massacre from the age of the Awaleen. During the battle of Ayume, Awala Dania brought life to the forest. The trees, the lake, even the leaves—Dania enchanted everything in the forest to kill Kapastra’s marching soldiers. Though the centuries have weakened Ayume Forest’s curse, the poison of Dania’s magic lingers.”

Jeru looked suitably impressed.

“Correct,” Arin said, plucking the fuzzy fibers from the cloth. I watched the deft movements of his fingers, oddly engrossed, until Arin continued, “The trial will be held at midday. History has shown that the Champions who do not reach the other side of the forest by dusk do not reach it at all. Our goal today is to have you navigate with magic as your only sense. You will follow me through the woods, and the guards will serve as decoys.”

Kapastra’s forked brow, it was a near replica of Hanim’s old training. Except he wasn’t resurrecting three-headed creatures to give chase. “My magic will not aid me. I’ll be following on instinct alone.”

“We will see.” Arin raised the strip of cloth, preparing me for the coming contact. I was once again bemused at the strangeness of his personal code of ethics. “Close your eyes.”

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