Page 175 of The Jasad Crown

The scream of a scorched land rising from the ashes.

My smaller kitmers rose to join it, a flurry of silver and gold wings blotting out the sun. I shielded my face as the wind scattered around them.

Efra stepped toward the cliffside, mesmerized. The kitmer I’d conjured at the Victor’s Ball, returned at last.

I inclined my head, and it wheeled over the surface of the sea, its wings spreading as it flew toward Essam. It would sear the sky gold and silver over the trade routes—protect them, remind the Jasadis enduring the journeys to our kingdom of what waited for them on the other side.

Home.

Pandemonium shook the mountain. Jubilation spread like wildfire. Groups of children escaped their parents to chase the cliffside, seeking another glance of the kitmer.

My fault, waiting so long to prove the potency of my magic to them. They should know who led them. They should know what kind of magic supported them.

“Essiya, are you all right?” Namsa crouched next to me, worry emanating from her.

“Certainly.” I lifted my head. Glowing and dry eyes met Namsa’s stunned ones.

“And you should refer to me as Malika.”

CHAPTER SIXTY-ONE

ARIN

They arrested him and Jeru ten miles from the Citadel.

Arin’s cooperation as they tied him and Jeru to the back of the wagon only furthered the soldiers’ unease, and by the time they arrived on the Citadel’s grounds, the soldiers had been engaged in three hours of furtive whispers.

From them, Arin learned his father had not disappointed Arin’s predictions. Experienced soldiers had been sent to secure the territory between Nizahl and Lukub as well as hold the Ivory Palace. Layers upon layers of protection stood between the Citadel and Lukub, whereas every recruit in every compound had been pulled out of training and ordered to march south.

Toward Jasad.

Jeru had looked faintly ill at the news, but Arin was unmoved. Two days had passed since he escaped the Gibal, and Arin had no illusions of the kind of chaos he had left behind him. The Jasadis would not have wanted to heed the advice he had written to Essiya. They would have fought her on it.

She probably wanted him dead more than everyone in that mountain. She would be incandescent with fury, or worse—she would cut off her pain with the sharp end of her magic.

In either case, she would have taken Arin’s advice. It was good advice, and Sylvia of Mahair had never turned her back on a toolthat might keep her alive, no matter whose hand offered it. The recruits would need to march to the lowest of the southern wilayahs for the war.

All Arin needed to do was reach Janub Aya before his soldiers.

The first gate parted for their wagon. Rows of recruits watched Arin and Jeru pass with varying degrees of shock. The news of Arin’s arrival would reach the Citadel long before he did, and sure enough, Bayoum was waiting on the Citadel’s grounds when the wagon stopped.

The soldiers helped Arin and Jeru out of the cart. Bayoum’s face soured at their overly solicitous behavior.

“You came back,” Bayoum sneered. “Why? Do you think you have a chance at a trial after you brutalized the Supreme? Plead your case in our courts? The fate of traitors lies in the hands of the betrayed.”

“Hand,” Arin said.

“What?”

“He only has one hand. I took the other.”

Bayoum turned the color of a beet. He spun to the soldiers. “Take the traitor to the Capsule and throw his guardsman in one of the cells beneath the tower. If the traitor escapes—if you allow him to talk his way out of his restraints—I will execute you and everyone you have ever met.”

Jeru glanced at Arin as he was led away and nodded, a resolute set to his hard features.

In that moment, Arin forgave him every lie, every duplicity. Of course, Jeru had tried to save Marek. Of course, Jeru had used Marek to bring a corrupt compound leader abusing his power in the lower villages to justice. Unlike Vaun, who had followed Arin’s orders to the very last syllable, Jeru obeyed the principles of the Commander Arin aimed to be. And when Arin deviated, Jeru stayed the line. He held firm.

Even if it meant following Arin to his death.

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