Page 132 of The Jasad Crown

“Sire, what is it?” Vaun demanded.

Layla screamed as the sky broke apart above them. Bayoum hit the ground and covered his head.

Hundreds of kitmers sailed over Essam, the crescent curve of their golden beaks shining brighter than the moon itself. When those beaks parted and Sylvia’s voice spilled out, Marek nearly joined Banana Man on the ground.

“People of Jasad, hear me now. I am Malika Essiya, daughter of Niphran. This is a call to the children of Rovial, to those of us from the last kingdom of magic—come home. The enemy cannot defeat us if we stand as one. Together, we are a fortress they cannot break.”

Open-mouthed, Marek could only stare in wonder. He was an ant, a forgettable speck in the presence of an all-consuming might.

The call repeated as the kitmers flew past them, and Marek couldn’t help glancing at the Nizahl Heir. Surely, evenhecouldn’t be cold and removed at such a sight.

The wind had blown the Heir’s silver hair out of its tie, leaving it floating around his upturned face. His eyes had gone distant again, but Marek had seen this particular distance before—this was the Heir’s mind at work. Spinning webs like a spider crouched in a corner, working in the shadows until its net was ready for its prey.

When the last of the kitmers disappeared, taking Sylvia’s voice with them, the Heir looked… exhilarated. The kind of exhilaration Marek experienced when a pretty girl curled a strand of his hair around her finger or he won a risky wager at the tavern. The last time Marek had seen that look, he’d been faking a smile in Omal while Sylvia went on and on about the way Arin sent Vaida to sleep and stole a mold of her ring without alerting the guards.

Marek went dead still.

“You have a mold of the ring Sefa tried to steal!” Marek couldn’t believe he had forgotten. “You took it during the second trial!”

He may as well have shouted into his armpit for all the attention Arin paid him. The Heir pivoted in the direction of the Ivory Palace. The top of the ruby obelisk pierced the sky, barely visible beyond the trees. Arin stared at it for a long moment, a spark in his eye that reminded Marek unsettlingly of a flickering match in a pitch-black room.

When Arin turned around, his eyes were clear for the first time since Marek arrived at the cabin. “Vaun, go untie Jeru and tell him to get Sefa out of the wells,” Arin ordered. “The boy can go with him. Take as many recruits as you need and restrain the guards who stand in your way. Bayoum, send the signal to the third and fifth quarter regiments to move on the Ivory Palace. Layla, fetch a horse and ride to Orban as fast as you can.”

“Sire, what—” Layla moved haltingly, eyes wide. “This would break the Zinish Accords. It would be war!”

“It is already war.” Arin strode past them. “Take the Ivory Palace.”

CHAPTER FORTY-SIX

ESSIYA

By the time the first khawaga spotted me, it was too late.

My flying dagger found its home in the throat of the khawaga who had given the warning shout. The second, his feral dog.

“The dog!” Maia gasped, clutching her dagger with both hands.

“Did you want to try petting it before it ate your face?” Efra snapped.

A flood of khawaga erupted from the Orban castle. Curved swords glinted in the khawaga’s eager hands, and bloodshed ripened in the air like a rotted fruit on the vine.

“Step back!” I ordered the Jasadis.

I touched my palms together and slowly spread them apart, a net of gold and silver building between my hands with gossamer threads. My magic pulsed through me, enthusiastic, desperate to obey. I barely had to think about what I wanted before it acted.

“You killed my wife!” he screamed, tears dripping from his mud-streaked chin.

I sighed. “Which one was your wife?”

I didn’t need to glance at Efra to see he had gone still. Every time the images returned, Efra sensed it. What did he feel emanating from me? What was his magic reacting to in mine?

Not that it mattered. I had stopped trying to understand the visions.

If this was magic-madness, I would rather not look it in the eye when it came for me.

I pulled my arms back and hurled the giant net. In midair, it splintered into dozens of tiny nets sailing toward the khawaga. Howls hit my ears, the sweet music of bladed nets swaddling the khawaga and their dogs. I kept walking, laughing past each swearing, stuck khawaga. Honey coated my tongue, the sweet aftertaste of my magic making me lightheaded with giddiness. I didn’t notice if the others followed.

An enormous bull glowered at me from the doors to the castle.

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