Page 147 of The Jasad Crown

Jeru paled. The boat slowed as the guardsman’s grip on the oars went slack. “But—but your father will send your armies to Jasad. It will be a slaughter.”

“No,” Arin said. “He needs magic to sustain his own hold on power, and the Jasadis have the last of it. But even if he wants to, hisattentions will be soon diverted toward the attack from Lukub. It will buy us time.”

“Attack from Lukub?” Jeru looked bewildered and embarrassed, as though Arin had caught him in the middle of failing a test he should have studied for.

“The Mirayah never stays in the same place for very long. Every report of it our soldiers have brought back indicates it rotates between five places in Essam. Depending on the latest location, it would take Vaida twelve to twenty days to reach it. She has been gone for seven.”

Jeru’s eyes were the size of saucers. “I thought the rumors about the Mirayah were just superstition. How long have you known it was real?”

“Long enough,” Arin said tersely. “Vaida would never have surrendered the Ivory Palace unless she knew it was temporary. Unless she had a greater plan in motion.”

Between the war with Lukub, the rebellions raging across Omal, and Orban’s khawaga protecting Jasadis on the trade routes, his father’s armies would have no choice but to separate. Even if he did send regiments south, he would not be able to spare enough to battle the volume of Jasadis Essiya’s kitmers had likely galvanized toward their kingdom.

Arin picked up the oars and pushed, the soreness in his arms barely registering. He was dimly aware he hadn’t eaten or slept in days.

Numb wasn’t the right word for it. Arin just felt… distant. As though most of him had stepped into another room, and the sounds coming from behind the door were too muffled to make out.

“Your Highness—” Jeru murmured.

“I am not your Heir.” Arin turned the oar. His last task would only take three days, if the winds favored. Three days until he reached the mountains. Three days until he reached her.

“I am nothing.”

CHAPTER FIFTY-ONE

ESSIYA

Dreams passed over me in gentle waves.

I stand on Sirauk, my old cloak billowing around me.

“You came back,” the mist says.

I swing my legs over the side of the bridge, observing the great nothing below. Deep in the darkness, they watch me. Waiting.

“I shouldn’t have.”

I pluck a red burss from the ground and stroke my thumb over its curling tail. It will be nice to have company again.

Niphran pats my curls with a contented sigh. I sit in her lap, playing with the dolls Dawoud had attempted to confiscate.

“How was your day, ya umri?”

“Soraya wouldn’t take me into town. I tried to sneak into her carriage, but she caught me,” I whine. I twist the doll’s twine hair into aseries of miniature braids. “She always catches me.”

“You should listen to Soraya.”

I pause, digging my nails into the doll’s tummy.

This wasn’t right. It hadn’t happened like this.

I turn my head to stare up at Niphran. “Soraya came after the poison made you mad. You should be in Bakir Tower.”

Niphran smiles, but it isn’t Niphran anymore. Her skin churns, eyes liquefying into ruby pools; she whispers, “It’s time to come home, darling.”

Two shadows rise behind her, their arms outstretched.

I scream.

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