Page 119 of The Jasad Crown

For a time, he had believed them. Aside from Soraya, Arin had spared the lowest level of attention toward pursuing the whims of his body. When Arin decided on a course of action, it was premeditated. Measured and thoroughly considered. Planning was the antidote to passion, and Arin had rationalized himself away from every bed that had tried to invite him in.

Arin leaned forward, bracing his elbows on his knees as he cataloged the marks on his chest.

What they had done in the Mirayah was not premeditated, measured, or thoroughly considered, and it had been the best night of Arin’s life.

Vaun materialized beside Arin, his expression a mask of fury as he gestured at Arin’s battered face. “I will repay her for each injury she has dealt you twice over, my lord. She will regret ever laying hands on you. You helped keep those ungrateful, insipid villagers alive, and in return she nearlykilled you!”

Arin flicked a dismissive hand. “Superficial wounds. She was trying to save my life.”

Arin’s attention caught on Vaun’s lapel, where he typically displayed his guardsman pin in flagrant disregard of his own safety. “Did you lose your pin?”

Vaun’s hand flew to his lapel. He seemed mystified to find it naked. “I must have dropped it. Apologies, my liege—I will see togetting a new one.” Vaun shook his head. “How would tying Your Highness to a wall and brutalizing you save your life?”

Jeru pulled aside one of the excessively long drapes to peer out the window.

Arin withdrew a long-sleeved black shirt and set it aside while he rifled for a new vest. “As long as I was conscious, I was a liability to both of us. The Urabi would try to kill me to prevent me from capturing the Malika, and my soldiers would arrest every Jasadi in the village as soon as the Omalian threat was subdued. But if I am critically injured—”

“Your soldiers have to immediately ensure your safety.” Vaun’s scowl could carve through steel. “She cheated.”

“No.” Arin pressed his tongue to his teeth in an effort not to smile. “She played the game.”

“They said she flew out of the village on the back of a kitmer.” Jeru leaned against the wardrobe. “Riddah and some of the other soldiers reported seeing gold and silver thunderbolts flying from her hands.”

The vest Arin had triumphantly located slipped from his fingers. The haze over his thoughts cleared away at last, and Arin went cold.

Every time I use my magic, I find a new vein.

I am afraid that I will have to choose—my mind or my people.

“My lord?” Jeru tentatively picked up the fallen vest. “You have visitors. Layla and Bayoum are eager to confirm your good health, but I can tell them to return at a later time.”

Jeru tried to hand Arin the vest, but Arin pushed it away. He drew the shirt over his arms and lagged, staring at the laces waiting to be done.

“I’ll require a moment alone.” Arin spoke without inflection. “Tell Layla and Bayoum I will be out to see them shortly.”

When his guardsmen withdrew, Arin picked up his coat. He couldn’t recall if he had returned the pieces of her cuff back into his pocket after showing them to her.

A wrinkle in the inner left pocket disrupted Arin’s search. He paused, noticing the slight bump for the first time.

Arin extracted a sheaf of torn pages folded tightly within the heavily lined pocket. The pages were worn in the center from countless folds, their surface faded from the press of too many negligent fingers. The writing wasn’t in her hand, so Arin flipped to the last page immediately and skimmed for the signatory.

Binyar Lazur, First General of the Southern Regiment of Nizahl.

Binyar Lazur? Arin’s brows drew together. When would Essiya have crossed paths with a deceased Nizahlan general? Arin had met Binyar during his brief stay in the Citadel. A stalwart, matter-of-fact man with stern notions of honor and family legacy. Nothing like his younger brother, whose only commitment in life was to a girl ten times braver than him. Perhaps the younger Lazur brother had given Essiya these pages.

Arin sat on the armchair by the window and began to read.

The fortress fell before the messenger did.

Arin had reread the pages four times, rearranging the pieces of the story over and over again, and failed to find a fit.

Arin brushed his thumb over Binyar’s increasingly frantic script. He aligned the pages into a neat stack.

The fortress fell after the Blood Summit.Becauseof the Blood Summit. Nobody fully understood how it had happened, but the most commonly cited theory was the loss of Jasad’s entire royal bloodline had weakened the fortress and left it vulnerable to collapse.

Which might have been perfectly plausible if not for Essiya of Jasad. The second Heir of Jasad survived the Blood Summit. Her magic and bloodline had still existed when the fortress fell.

Arin took a measured breath. He needed to look further—to pull new pieces onto his board.

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