Page 115 of The Jasad Crown

I slid onto Ingaz’s back and wrapped my hands around her horns. I took one last look at the fig necklace lying in the hollow of Arin’s throat.

The Commander of Nizahl had a choice to make.

CHAPTER THIRTY-EIGHT

MAREK

Hundreds of recruits poured into the compound, a hush of exhaustion silencing any conversation other than which rooms would get first turn at the baths. Buoyant with dreams of collapsing for a long night of uninterrupted sleep, Marek released a groan fit to rattle every window in the Ravening compound when he opened the door to find someone sitting on the edge of his bed, his hand freezing halfway inside Marek’s stash of sugar-coated pistachio squares.

Outraged, Marek momentarily forgot he was addressing a guardsman of the Heir. “It took me two weeks to save enough for those! How many did you take?”

Jeru paused, then proceeded to lower the bag to the ground and shift it under Marek’s bed. “Not many.” A guilty beat. “I’ll replace them.”

“Right.” And afterward Marek would grow wings and fly.

Collapsing onto the rickety chair by the door, Marek kicked his boots out in a sprawl. “Are you not concerned your Commander might notice your repeated visits to the Ravening compound?”

Jeru pushed a couple of rebellious curls from his brow. Troubled grooves had formed in the young guardsman’s forehead. “The Heir has too much demand on his time to notice my movements.”

Marek snorted, unfastening the clasp of his gunk-stained coat.“Your liege would notice a mosquito in a storm. Unless he lost his touch?”

Jeru’s face hardened. “What did you find at the Shinawy household?”

Dania’s dusty bones, whatwasit about that tombs-damned Heir? The guards, Sefa, even Sylvia had fallen victim to his thrall. Marek didn’t understand it. When Arin of Nizahl looked at him, Marek’s insides tried to evacuate through his shoes.

“Have you found Sefa?” Marek answered Jeru’s question with one of his own.

It would be fair of Jeru to ignore Marek, but Jeru was cursed with the tragic trait of being entirely too nice.

“I have reason to believe she’s in Lukub.”

Marek sat up straight, his coat dropping into a forgotten heap on the ground. Every ounce of exhaustion in his body evaporated. “Where?” If he took a horse tonight, he could be across the eastern border of Lukub in three days’ time. The compound was swimming with new recruits; Sulor hadn’t noticed Marek arrive while tallying the wagons, so the section leader shouldn’t notice him escape. If he did—well, it wouldn’t be the first time Marek had evaded Nizahl soldiers.

“Her last known location was the Ivory Palace.”

“The—” Marek stopped short. “What? Sefa would never go anywhere near the Ivory Palace. Sultana Vaida is more twisted than the Nizahl Heir. She’d pluck out Sefa’s tongue to use as a hairbrush if it suited her.”

Marek leaned forward in his chair, clasping his hands between his spread knees. The inside of his mouth tasted vaguely of the bosomat the soldiers had been passing around the back of the carriage. “What reason do you have to believe she is in Lukub?”

Jeru scooted backward on the bed and braced his back against the wall, arms crossed over his chest. His boots dangled over theside in a way Marek would’ve typically found entertaining. “Does it matter?”

Marek’s wash of excitement ebbed, and it salted its retreat with a bone-deep dread.

“That depends. How badly do you want to see what I found at the Shinawy household?”

In another context, Marek might experience a stroke of guilt for putting such strain on the guardsman’s face. For Sefa, Marek would put Rovial’s tomb itself onto the man.

“There is a… man. Heilan Huz. He has spent the last month yowling about how the Sultana stole his lap girl. The girl he described matches Sefa, down to her mannerisms.”

The blood drained out of Marek’s face. He stared at Jeru, unable to articulate a response. Afraid, in fact, to open his mouth and vomit directly onto the uniformed guardsman.

“Lap girl?” was the best he managed to produce.

“Keep your head. The man is older than the mountains. High nobles in Lukub like to preen with pretty girls on their arms, particularly during festivals hosted at the Ivory Palace. It seems likely he took Sefa to the Ivory Palace, the Sultana kept her, and Huz is sore that the Sultana stole something he viewed as his.”

Sweet Sirauk. Marek didn’t know what was worse: the idea of Sefa relying on the generosity of lecherous high nobles to stay alive or the idea of Vaida imprisoning her in the Ivory Palace.

“But she is alive.” He could not make it a question. It couldn’tbea question.

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