Page 104 of The Jasad Crown

But the taunt curdled on his tongue. The cabinet rocked dangerously behind him as Arin shot forward. The pain, the cheering villagers, the raw skin of his wrists—everything faded into black as Arin’s entire being narrowed down to the spot at Essiya’s collarbone where her torn tunic had slipped.

“What is that?” Arin rasped, harsh with horror.

Essiya followed his gaze and blanched.

A gold vein curled around the ridge of Essiya’s collarbone. It hadn’t been there when they were grappling outside. It hadn’t been there.

“Damn it,” Essiya groaned.

This time, her fist slammed Arin’s head into a metal bucket sitting at the edge of the shelf.

Agony, and then—

Silence.

CHAPTER THIRTY-FIVE

SYLVIA

Iraised a trembling, blood-streaked hand to Arin’s nose.

Breathing. Still breathing. The way his head had hit the shelf, I—

I yanked my glove back on. There was no time to drown in guilt or regret. It had to be done. Pushing myself off of Arin’s prone form, I ran to the giant hole I’d made in the side of Rory’s shop and scanned the scene outside.

The Omalian soldiers who hadn’t been killed had immediately surrendered, and I watched the villagers tie their hands behind their backs while the Nizahl soldiers presumably went in search of their Commander. I spotted Namsa and Maia crouched beside Medhat, rubbing his back while Lateef scooped Kenzie’s corpse from the ground.

The only person who seemed to notice my absence right away was Efra, who skulked around the Nizahl soldiers like a cat with its tail standing on end. Thank the tombs he refused to use his magic on me—the distress and indecision wafting off of me would have drawn him straight to Rory’s shop.

Once Nizahl’s dead had been accounted for and the last of the Omalian crown’s threat was subdued, they would arrest the Urabi. All but Maia had used magic during the battle, clearly marking themselves as Jasadi. If I knew Mahair, they would not allow thesoldiers to arrest the Jasadis who fought at their back. It would be a bloodbath—another set of soldiers, another round of carnage. Except the Jasadis were probably out of magic, and the villagers were weary.

I exhaled slowly, forcing my whirling thoughts to slow.

There was one order that superseded all else; one order every Nizahl soldier was required to obey and put above magic.

The safety of their Heir.

If they saw me leaving with Arin, they would abandon the village immediately. Their one and only priority would be tracking down their Commander. I could take Arin far enough that it would be pointless for the soldiers to try returning to Mahair, since the Jasadis would be long gone by then.

I rotated my palm. The gold vein had gained new friends, thin silver cracks fracturing through my palm and across the space between my fingers. I didn’t even want to think what other veins had appeared after I saved Raya.

One last time. I would use my magic one last time, and then not again. Not for any situation, not for anybody.

Dust rose from the floor of the apothecary. My magic pumped, excited to join the fun again, and I caught a glimpse of glowing eyes in a shattered bottle. I looked away instantly, heart pounding, fear so potent on my tongue I feared I might choke on it.

That wasn’t my face in the bottle.

Before I could summon the bravery for a second look, my magic barreled over the edge. The dust spun faster, and streaks of color flashed through the whirling clouds. Iridescent veins crawled over my hands. They shaped themselves into the lines of a kitmer’s wing—silver on my right, gold on the left.

When the dust settled, two kitmers stood in the center of Rory’s shop. Unlike the kitmers from the cliffside, this pair filled up half the apothecary, and they lacked the abnormalities of their oldersiblings. Shining horns curved several inches above their heads. Clawed feet scraped eagerly against the floor.

Like the others, they had my eyes.

“Hello,” I said. “As we will be partners for my latest feat of idiocy, it seems only fitting you should have names.”

I pointed to the bigger kitmer, the tiny silver feathers on its chest fanning from its thick neck in a distinct V shape. “Would you be offended if I called you Niseeba?”

It stared at me.

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