Page 155 of The Jasad Crown

Several heads swung in my direction, not all of them friendly.

“For the last ten years, Arin of Nizahl has been our enemy,” I said. “Since the moment he took his title at sixteen years old, he has fought against magic. With every fiber of his being, he believed magic led to destruction and death.Magic-madness, they told us. Magic came at the price of sanity. We were destined to repeat the carnage Rovial inflicted on the earth. Our Awal’s curse was our curse.” I raised a hand to ward off the protest I could already see forming on Efra’s face. “I do not say this to defend the Nizahl Heir. What he has done, he will carry for the rest of his life. We have lived in terror of his power, of his mind. But here, we have the opportunity to utilize those same terrors against our enemies. The Commander brought us the Supreme’s scepter. His own father’s hand. Efra just said it himself—if he is caught by Nizahl, he will be found guilty of treason and executed. He had nothing to gain and everything to lose by coming here, and yet he came. What if he has come to reclaim his magic? To join us? Nobody knows the geography of these kingdoms better than him. The points of weakness in the trade routes we’ve been arguing about for days? He could probably find them in his sleep.”

I believed what I was saying, but even as I spoke, a part of me held itself stiff in doubt. By the time Arin made one move, it meant he had already mapped twelve moves ahead. What was his plan for coming here?

“And if we decide he is too great of a threat to be kept alive?” Efra leaned back in his seat, arms crossed. “Would you abide by our decision to execute him?”

You err by giving them a decision to begin with, my magic whispered.This is your kingdom. Your throne.

It showed me a vision of Efra flying back into the wall. His bones breaking in the collision, the unnatural way his arms and legs would fold beneath him as he fell.

Efra pressed two fingers to his temple, derision fading into unease. He’d felt it—the voice’s presence. If only he could hear what it said, what it wanted. He might think twice before suggesting the execution of Arin of Nizahl.

“Of course,” I said.

If they killed him, I would bury this mountain in the sea.

“What if he tricks you?” Maia asked, peering up at me with earnest brown eyes. “What if this is all part of a larger ploy?”

This time, I answered honestly. “Then I will kill him myself.”

When the meeting finally ended, I didn’t head toward the dining hall with the rest of them.

Much as I wanted to change out of these clothes, I couldn’t risk stopping by my room. Marek and Sefa had undoubtably taken vigil there, waiting to pounce on me with questions I had just spent the last four hours answering.

In the empty hall, I stripped off my gloves and wiped my palms on my thighs before sliding them back on. How did Arin tolerate wearing gloves every minute of the day?

I nodded at Shawky, the guard they’d assigned to the cells.

“Mawlati?” Shawky shuffled awkwardly, not moving from the front of the door. “Aren’t you headed to supper?”

I raised a brow. Shawky hadn’t spoken to me once since my arrival. A close friend of Efra, I’d gathered.

“Not yet. I’m checking on the prisoners.”

Shawky stayed in place, scratching his collar with studied nonchalance. “Perhaps it would be best to eat first.”

I narrowed my eyes. “Step aside.”

The guard took too long to move, so I shoved him aside and forced my way into the dimly lit stairwell, descending two steps at atime. No amount of blinking dispelled the blanket of darkness over the hall, and I kicked myself for forgetting to snag a lantern. With an impatient flip of my wrist, a flame appeared in my palm.

My chest twinged; Medhat had shown me how to do it.

I reached Jeru’s cell first. The guardsman had his head in his hands, shoulders drawn. I dropped the flame into one of the torches lining the grim corridor, but he didn’t react at the burst of new light.

“Jeru. Are you hurt?” Soft, so as not to startle him.

He raised his head. Tears had carved clean tracks across his dust-covered cheeks. “They didn’t come into my cell. I think they wanted me to listen.”

I lurched back. They?

I bolted down the rest of the empty cells and turned right. At the end of the corridor, I heard, “Someone check for a pulse.”

I couldn’t remember the last time I had run so fast. Maybe the night I killed the Nizahl soldier, when I had run back to Mahair and brought Sefa and Marek to help me bury the body. Possibly not even then.

I skidded to a stop in front of Arin’s cell. Seven men crowded the tiny space, looming over the still figure on the ground. Blood spattered their shoes, their clothes. None of it theirs—not a single man had a scratch on him.

On the ground, Arin lay unmoving.

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