Page 157 of The Jasad Crown

“They are yours anyway, you idiot,” I sobbed. Months of fear and loneliness poured out of me, ruptured by the sight of Arin lying still in pools of his own blood. “Why did you come here? I was ready to die. I was ready to be honorable and brave and self-sacrificing for the first time in my miserable life. I had made my peace. I would restore Jasad, burst into flames, and enter history as a savior instead of a coward. Simple.”

“You are not going to die.”

“Of course I am! I was always going to die—my time has been borrowed ever since the Blood Summit. I’ve been trying to be brave about it. To be likeyou. But then you come here, and you make me want to be selfish. You make me want to be a coward.” I wiped my nose on my sleeve. “You make me think I have a choice.”

“Look at me, Suraira.”

I raised my puffy eyes. His gaze seared through me, focused and intent. FinallyArin, and not whatever listless creature Efra had brought in.

“I could spend the rest of my existence apologizing to you, but I will never be sorry that you survive. Not for a single… second.”

As soon as he finished his last labored sentence, his eyes rolled to the back of his head. I caught him as he slumped to the side. With as minimal disruption to his wounds as possible, I pulled him against me. His blood had soaked through my tunic and coated my arms. The puddles of it on the cell floor hadn’t dried.

“What does it take to make the Nizahl Heir finally faint?” I traced the bridge of his nose, following it to a silver brow. “Just losing four times the blood of an average man.”

I inhaled as far as his weight against my chest would allow, then screamed for Namsa.

I crossed my legs on the bed, watching his chest rise and fall. The healer’s magic had passed right through him, so we’d had to include nonmagical remedies. The sight of Arin with his arm strapped to his chest, black-and-blue bruising covering him from temple to chin, a plethora of bandages over his body—it tore at me. I wanted to rewind time and finish what I started with his assailants.

Assailants who were, in a delightful little twist of irony, now in the cells themselves. Efra had begrudgingly agreed to place them down there in punishment. I personally thought it was a generous deal. They stayed in the cells until we left for Jasad, and I would refrain from skinning them with a potato knife.

I also won Jeru in the bargain. The Nizahl guardsman had been relocated to a room next to Marek and Sefa’s. Easier on the sentries, I’d argued.

My hands twisted restlessly in my lap. The bandages the healer had placed on him were suffused with enough magic to heal an army. The hope being that in his current condition, he would drain it slowly enough that the magic would have a chance to heal him before it disappeared.

I wouldn’t do either of us any good by sitting and fretting. I padded across the room, slipping a billowy black abaya over my shoulders. I shut the door behind me and patted Niseeba’s head. They had found her screeching outside the mountain, hopping around the door Arin had entered through, and she hadn’t settled until I brought her to him.

“Keep him safe for me,” I murmured.

The guard at Jeru’s door stepped aside as soon as he saw me, which was an excellent reminder that I needed to find Shawky and have him thrown into the cells with his worthless friends.

I cracked the door open, relieved to find Jeru wide awake. He was sitting in bed, his back braced against the wall with one leg straight and the other drawn to his chest. His dinner tray remained untouched by the door, and I picked it up as I entered.

The rest of the room came into view, and I heaved a giant sigh as I spotted Marek and Sefa watching me sheepishly.

“You two aren’t supposed to leave your room! How did you get past the guard?”

Sefa pointed at Marek immediately. “He told them you sent us to keep an eye on Jeru.”

Ignoring the betrayed frown Marek shot Sefa, I approached a silent Jeru.

“Existential agony is much more effective on a full stomach,” I advised, sliding the tray next to him. I perched on the edge of the bed. “Besides, you have about twenty seconds before Marek tries to steal it.”

“Make it ten,” Marek said.

Jeru didn’t say a word. Goodness, I had had about my limit of morose, moody men.

“He had to listen to the men beating Arin to a pulp,” I told Sefa and Marek. “They’ve been punished, but apparently Jeru isn’t quite finished punishing himself.”

Jeru exhaled, the end of it curling into a defeated laugh. It raised the hair on the back of my neck. “He didn’t fight back.”

My brows furrowed. “I know.”

“You don’t know. You don’t know anything.” Jeru tugged on the ends of his curls, which had already been pestered into a tangled frizz. “He came here planning not to fight back. He came herereadynot to fight back.”

I stared at Jeru, something dangerous shivering in the back of my head. He couldn’t mean what I thought he meant.

“He came here to restore his magic,” I said, and even as I said it, I heard how foolish it sounded.

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