Page 89 of The Jasad Heir

“I can give you a home, Sylvia. Point at any building in Lukub, and I will make it yours. Felix’s patrol can’t touch you within my kingdom’s borders. Any leadership position in my army will open to you before anyone else.”

The casual treachery in her offer intrigued me. She would go against her fellow rulers, earn the ire of Omal and Nizahl combined, all for the sake of winning the Alcalah?

The darkness closed in around us, and I couldn’t tell which danger to assess: the one at my back or the one smiling at me. I circled my wrists with thumb and finger, reassuring myself with the chilled metal of my cuffs.

“Why ask this of me? I could lose on my own, without any incentive.”

Vaida flipped her wrist, brushing aside the question. “The three Champions Arin has chosen over the last nine years have emerged the Victor. Nizahl has not lost an Alcalah since Arin was a child. I am confident he has chosen another winner.”

My breathing grew labored, fighting against the press of night on all sides. The darkness smelled like fruit forgotten in the heat, sweet and rotten. I pushed my knuckles against my mouth, suppressing a gag.

“Yes, Baira’s chambers are inhospitable to those who don’t possess the ring. I suffered the same reaction when my mother brought me here.” The candle burned low, the wick reduced to a nub. We had moments until the light vanished. “Think carefully on your course of action, my darling. Think of your little chemist, hobbling around in his shop. That ramshackle keep and its disheveled orphans. The chatty girl and her chairs. If you become the Alcalah’s Victor, I cannot harm you. But Arin is not the only one capable of visiting destruction on his enemies. Felix owes me a debt; he can be persuaded to forget a few tragic accidents in a lower village.”

My cuffs warmed. Some of the darkness receded as my magic surged, responding to her threat.Grief. Rage. Fear.

“What benefit do you gain if I lose? Are you so determined to see your Champion triumph?”

The shadows skittered away, the hum of my magic ringing in the hollows. “Do not fret over my gain. Busy yourself with the thought of what you stand to lose. Consider your loved ones.” Vaida stepped away, putting her back to the opposite wall. A chilling determination glinted in her gaze. She took another step backward. “Above all, consider yourself.” One last step, and the dying candle cast its light over the wall behind her. Dozens of faces, mouths opened in soundless screams, protruded from the wall. Their skin was stretched and mottled, eyes a gaping hole in their bleached skulls.

In front of them, Vaida smiled, and the shadows extinguished the light.

I walked straight to Arin’s room.

For all Vaida’s threats, she had sprinted headfirst into the one error Arin had never made with me: she vastly overestimated my willingness to gamble.

What I stood to gain by accepting her offer was substantial. She had packaged her proposal with the right balance of persuasion, temptation, and coercion. Lose the Alcalah and you can call Lukub home. Lose the Alcalah or lose your village.

Unfortunately, I had no interest in redrawing the lines of my prison to match Lukub’s borders. Assuming, of course, that Vaida did not sell me to the highest bidder as soon as Felix and Arin asserted their sincerest wishes to mount my head on their palace gates. Arin had won my trust—albeit after throwing several daggers into my limbs—and trust was not a resource I carried in duplicate.

Locating his room was laughably easy. It was the only one besides my own with its own set of guards.

Wes and Jeru did not look pleased to see me.

“Ren came by to tell us he couldn’t find you,” Wes said.

“I took a bath.”

“Your hair is dry.”

“I didn’t wash it. Let me pass. I have a matter of urgency to discuss with the Heir.”

Jeru glanced at Wes with a shrug. “He told us she could enter as she pleased.”

My brows lifted. He did?

Wes knocked on the door twice. “Sire?”

“Enter,” came Arin’s distracted voice. Wes sighed and swung the door open for me. Arin didn’t glance up when I slid inside. Wes closed the door with a resentful thud.

The Nizahl Heir had his back to me. He wore a pair of loose sleep pants, tied low at his waist, and nothing else. A dinner tray sat abandoned on the bed. Arin bent over a table, hip cocked to the side as he scribbled on some parchment. I studied the strong slope of his shoulders, the notches of his spine. I vaguely wondered if his back would be harder to break than the soldier’s.

“Your room is bigger than mine,” I remarked.

The muscles in Arin’s back locked. I dropped to the bed, flicking around the items on his tray. I dipped a piece of his bread into the dark green molokhia. It had long since gone cold, and the skin on top stuck to my bread.

Arin turned. He sat back, bracing his hands on the table. “Do you want to trade?”

I swallowed the bite in my mouth with difficulty. My gaze lingered on his chest. The evidence of our encounter with the Ruby Hound hadn’t fully healed. The bandage looked much cleaner than the sleeves I had haphazardly wrapped around it.

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