Page 130 of The Jasad Crown

A pained groan tore out of him when he finally came to a stop. Before Marek could convince himself to rise, a knee pressed to the center of his back.

“Don’t move,” Jeru murmured. “Wait.”

A pair of voices drifted over the hill, accompanied by the unmistakable clomping of hooves. “She didn’t tell anyone when she would be back?”

The other rider scoffed. “No, but how long could she be gone? Sedain is tomorrow. She’ll return before morning.”

“What about the Awaleen-forsakenhordeof Nizahl soldiers camping on our neck?”

Their grumbling faded between the trees, and the point of pressure on Marek’s spine eased. Marek flipped around, angrily swiping at the dirt clotted on the side of his face. At the sight of Jeru’s scowl above him, Marek smothered his aggravation before it could shriek out of him.

“How did you find me?” he bit out.

Jeru glowered, rising from his crouch and grabbing Marek’s shoulder, hauling him to his feet. “You should be grateful it was me your fellow recruits decided to find instead of someone else. What do you think will happen if you try to pull Sefa out of the Traitors’ Wells, Marek? There are Lukubi guards crawling all over these grounds.”

Damn Zane and Almerour to the tombs. Marek yanked his elbow out of Jeru’s grip and pushed past the guardsman. “I don’t care.”

“Clearly! About yourselforSefa.”

Marek slowed, hesitated. “I can get her out before the guards catch me.”

“You can’t. Even if you had a rope, you don’t have the time. Every guard within half a mile will swarm you as soon as you reach the wells.”

Marek spun around. “Then I will kill as many of them as I can! What do you want me to do, Jeru? Leave her to rot down there while we sit around and exchange ideas?”

Jeru pursed his lips and glanced away. “It’s complicated. She is half-Nizahlan, but we cannot claim her without also claiming whatshe’s done to the Sultana. The attack would be a breach of the Zinish Accords. The Heir has every reason not to save her.”

“Did you think I would go ask the Heir for help?” Marek sneered. He started walking again. “I would have better luck appealing to the well.”

“Marek, wait.” Jeru’s voice changed, became urgent. “Do you hear—”

A point of a sword came to rest at Marek’s chest. A row of Nizahl soldiers materialized from the trees, swords aimed at him and Jeru. More soldiers arrived, closing around Marek and Jeru in a large ring. None were from the Ravening compound; these were actual soldiers, not fresh-faced recruits.

“You were right, Vaun.”

Marek whirled around.

Standing at the top of the hill, gloved hands tucked behind his back, was Arin of Nizahl.

Light seared Marek’s eyes as the sack was torn off his head.

He was on his knees in a cabin, his hands bound tightly in front of him. On his left, Jeru kept his head bent as the sack was ripped off, eyes closed as if he couldn’t bear to open them.

At the other end of the cabin, Vaun watched Jeru with such profound malice that Marek impulsively tried to scoot closer to the bound guardsman. The Heir stood by the hearth, a pretty young woman to his right and a scowling man with hair slicked like a banana to his left.

The Commander wasn’t looking at any of them. He watched the flames crackle in the hearth with a vacant look in his eyes, a detachment so thorough it chilled Marek more than the frost seeping through the floorboards.

“—collaborating with a wanted fugitive and risking a centuries-old treaty!” The banana-haired man paused for breath while rattling off Jeru’s crimes. “Do you comprehend what would have happened if you’d been caught by Lukub’s forces? If the Sultana’s guards had caught one of the Heir’s personal guardsmen trying to rescue Vaida’s assailant from the wells?”

The doe-eyed woman crouched next to Jeru, pressing a tentative hand to his shoulder. “Were you threatened, Jeru? Were you forced to assist him under some kind of duress?”

“Enough prevaricating, Layla. What kind of threat couldhe”—the banana man stabbed a thumb in Marek’s direction—“have leveraged against the Heir’s guardsman? Jeru could have cut him into ribbons at any time.”

“I did threaten him.” The lie punched out of him, hoarse, his voice roughened from a steady stream of cursing over the last half hour. Marek doubted he’d be leaving this cabin alive, but Jeru might. Jeru would keep Sefa safe—he’d given Marek his word. “He didn’t betray his Heir. I forced him to help me. He had no choice.”

Jeru’s head finally lifted, offering Marek a dumbfounded stare. “He is lying.”

“I amnot.” Marek scowled. Even minutes away from bidding goodbye to the union between his head and neck, Jeru wanted to try his hand at honor.

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