Page 10 of The Jasad Crown

Namsa wiped the blood under her nose. “We aren’t in the habit of striking our leaders here, Mawlati.”

“Stop calling me that!” I shoved her shoulders. She went back on her heels, but again, her arms remained poised only to defend.

The resigned set of her jaw, the weary pull of her brow. I stopped in my tracks, furling and unfurling my stinging knuckles.

She wouldn’t fight me. No matter how hard I hit or for how long, she wouldn’t strike me back.

In the realization, I heard the ghost of my own voice, teasing and inquisitive.

“Do you train the new recruits yourself?”

Arin sighed. “Rarely. They are too frightened of me. They will simply obey.”

“Is obedience not what a Commander should seek?”

“Obedience should be conscious, not instinctual.”

Something vast and sickening cracked open inside me.

Arin.

I staggered back, catching the edge of a dresser.

My mind curled into itself, shutting off the memory before it could spawn more. I couldn’t think about him. I couldn’t remember the way he’d looked at me before my cuffs fell away—the depths of the betrayal reflected in the eyes that only moments before had been gazing into mine as though they might never be convinced to look away.

“Are you all right?” Namsa lowered her arms, taking a cautious step in my direction.

A mistake.

I hit her in the stomach and shoved her to the side as hard as I could. Without waiting to see where she landed, I sprinted toward the door.

Pretty as Arin’s notions of honor and responsibility were, they were Arin’s alone.

My rules were simpler: survive, survive, and survive. Feel guilty about the means later.

A grip on my hair reeled me backward just as I crossed the threshold, dragging me into the room by my curls.

Namsa shoved me to the ground, releasing her absurdly tight grip on my hair. She scowled down at me, her nose a mess of clotted blood, twin streams running over her lips and chin.

“Since we’re playing dirty,” she said, and proceeded to kick me in the stomach like my organs had done her a personal disservice. She did it without fanfare, without even pulling her leg back far enough to give me warning.

Pain erupted in my middle. I gasped, curling around my stomach and coughing violently.

“I think you ruptured something,” I choked out.

The coughs turned into ugly hacks. Concern hedged out Namsa’s wariness, and she knelt by my side.

Baira’s blessed hair, it wasn’t fun if it was this easy.

I swiped Namsa’s legs out from under her and rolled, shoving my knee against the bone between her breasts. “Are all Urabi this gullible, or did they send me the exception?” I snarled.

Namsa struggled against my knee, but I held firm. Even weakened from days of sleep, I could execute this hold without trouble. Three different guards tasked with protecting the Nizahl Heir had forced me to perfect it or risk getting flung into the wall.

The facade of deference vanished as Namsa spat, “The only simpleminded thing any of us have done is trust you. Doing so killed my uncle, and by Rovial, it will be the death of us all.”

I raised my arm, planning to deliver a hit that would rearrange the inside of this Jasadi’s skull.

Wait. “Your uncle?”

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