Page 149 of The Jasad Crown

I was too furious to be grateful. Maia moved out of my way as I stormed out of the room, and I raced through the corridors.

He was here. He was here, he was here,he was here.

My blue abaya fluttered behind me, falling open around my black pants. A bottleneck of bodies choked off the entrance to the enclave, shoulders bumping against one another as people craned for a glimpse of the door.

Unbelievable. Disobeying my most important order wasn’t enough; they needed to be here for the evidence.

“All of you—out!” I roared. Heads spun, finding me at the rear of the crowd. My fists shook at my sides, nails biting into my palms to restrain my magic. “Go to your rooms and close the doors. Nobody leaves until I have given my permission.”

For a long minute, nothing happened. I wasn’t backed by Lateef or ringed by Namsa and Maia. This time, it was my word—my authority—on its own.

You could force them to listen.The whisper curled like steam from a kettle around my anger, cooling it into sharp crystals and shredding me from the inside.We could make them regret the day they made a mockery of you.

Nausea swelled through me as my magic showed me precisely what could be done to the Urabi gathered in the enclave. How I could bring the roof crashing down above them with a single flick of my hand. How I could press my palms to the wall and encircle them in flames, watching as they screamed and rammed into one another like ants in a hole.

I pressed my back to the wall. The cool stone seeped into my overheated skin, and with great effort, I shoved the images to the back of my head.

“By your leave, Mawlati,” the head Visionist said, offering me a short bow. She moved past me, the rest of her cohort slinking close behind.

One by one, the corridor emptied, until only Maia, Sefa, Marek, and Lateef remained.

Two large hands captured my shoulders. Marek held me at arm’s length, expression unreadable. “This is your dominion, Malika Essiya. Whatever you wish to happen will happen.”

“I—” I was going to be sick. I didn’t know what to do. Why,whyhad Arin come here?

The door rattled, silencing us. The knock came: three hard raps, followed by two quick ones.

“Essiya?” Maia prompted. “Do you want to get it?”

I couldn’t move. My heart accelerated to a feverish pace, battering itself against my ribs.

When my petrified stillness continued, Lateef wrenched the door open, shielding his face as a vicious cold front swept in.

Namsa came in first, rubbing her hands together. The wind had slapped a red flush on her cheeks, and I wished I could slap another one. I would, if I could just regain control over my limbs.

Guilt-ridden eyes immediately slid to me, and Namsa spoke fast. “Mawlati, I understand you wanted to keep the Commander away from the Gibal. We intended to honor your wishes, but… he had compelling evidence for why we should bring him to you alive. He wasn’t followed. We checked. We left Asim and George in Essam to ensure nobody tries to track him to us.”

She flinched at my bitter laugh. “Yes, because the Nizahl Heir, a man who knows every tree, squirrel, and puddle in Essam, suddenly wandered right in front of our perimeter without any reinforcements. What evidence could be compelling enough for you to bring him here against my orders?” I pried my teeth apart with difficulty. “You call him the Silver Serpent, for Sirauk’s sake. How frequently does a serpent sidle right into a hunter’s net?”

Namsa’s mouth opened and closed. My neck prickled. The air in the room shifted, and I sensed him before I heard him. The world narrowed down to the tall shadow shifting into the enclave.

“I don’t believe serpents are much for sidling,” a smooth, achingly familiar voice said from behind Namsa. “We much prefer to slither.”

CHAPTER FIFTY-TWO

ESSIYA

Rain darkened his hair. Water dripped onto the broad line of his shoulders, soaking into his cloak. A black blindfold covered Arin’s eyes, another testament to how little his captors knew him. Arin’s mouth was the real danger. He could persuade a balding bird to give up its last feather, and they had left him without a gag.

His scar looked harsher, cutting his throat and jaw and disappearing into the faint bruises coloring the side of his face. The bruises I had given him in Rory’s shop.

Arin wove his fingers together, entirely unbothered by the ropes encircling his wrists. The corridor, so spacious mere seconds ago, barely seemed able to contain him.

The mighty Nizahl Heir, caught at last.

Efra stamped the rain from his boots behind Arin, squeezing around Lateef to peer at me warily. “How angry is she?” he asked out of the corner of his mouth.

Namsa shook her head. Another blindfolded figure appeared behind Arin. I had seen such a robust mop of curls on one man, and one man only.

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