Page 180 of The Jasad Crown

“I have grandchildren in the lower villages,” Gersiny finally gasped. Frail hands cupped his cane as he implored Rawain. “They are all I have.”

Rawain clasped the old man’s arm. “He won’t allow harm to come to them. I swear to you on my crown, Arin islying.”

But Gersiny was shaking his head. “The Nizahl Heir has never lied to us before.” Faheem helped the counselor free himself from Rawain and take a knee before Arin. “I am—” He swallowed. “I am Gersiny Biyad, once High Counselor to Supreme Munqual, present advisor to Supreme Rawain, and my vote lies with the Commander, Supreme Arin of Nizahl.”

Screams floated through the window as the second gate shrieked beneath the horde of Ruby Hounds.

“Thank you,” Arin said. He settled his gaze on his father. “I accept.”

The rest happened with satisfying speed. The guards were called in, and Arin allowed the counselors to take refuge in the Citadel’s basement. Rauf and Zach were to watch over them, but should his father’s guardsmen attempt to leave the basement, they were to be killed.

When only his father remained, Arin stopped the last guard with a wave. “Wait by the door. When I leave, take him to the Capsule.”

The guard bowed as he retreated, closing the door behind him.

His father’s gaze remained steady as Arin approached. “How strange is love,” Rawain mused. “You betray me, you manipulate my council into stealing my throne, and yet my anger is rivaled by my pride. Within a year, you accomplished what your mother and I failed to do in our entire lifetimes. The Nizahl crown and the Jasad Malika—yours. Both thrones under your name.”

At Arin’s silence, Rawain laughed. “Surprised? Please, Arin. I made the mistake of betting on Hanim, and her love was useless to me. But Essiya of Jasad? Her love is worth a kingdom. When she is your wife, Jasad will be yours.”

“I will never sit on the Jasad throne,” Arin said. “The Jasad crown will belong to my wife, and my wife alone.”

Wisps of smoke curled into the room. Vaida had arrived at the third gate.

Rawain tipped his head, a laconic smile twisting the corners of his mouth. “I see the specter of my wrathful son behind the mask of the merciful new Supreme. Which is true, I wonder?”

“Which is true, indeed,” Arin said. He raised a hand to the side of Rawain’s face. A scratch sliced along Rawain’s cheek, and Arin pressed the edge of his thumb against it. Not enough to draw blood, but enough to show he could. “I imagine you will have much to think about in the Capsule, but allow me to give you one more.”

Leaning in, Arin whispered, “You were right. During the Alcalah, I took a mold of Vaida’s ring. As soon as the Jasad Heir destroyed the Victor’s Ball, I had every blacksmith in Nizahl engrave the sigil into our swords, our shields, our arrows. I barricaded the path around the mountains to our lower villages with the same sigil—a sigil I believe can kill the Ruby Hounds. In the event I was mistaken, I diverted two thousand soldiers to begin evacuations of the lower villages before I left Nizahl. The Ruby Hounds will not penetrate our kingdom past the Citadel.”

A breathless laugh caught on the edges of Rawain’s teeth. His eyesshone, and until the day Arin died, he would never know whether it was with hate or pride.

When Arin left, the guard swiftly entering behind him to whisk Rawain to the Capsule, he spared a glance toward Fareed’s statue above the war room. The first Supreme; the first conduit.

Beneath the archway of Nizahl’s founder, Arin made one last promise.

“I will do better than him.”

CHAPTER SIXTY-FIVE

ESSIYA

The Sareekh loosened its hold around my middle, and my feet touched Jasad for the first time in eleven years.

Some of the Jasadis were crying. Others had dropped to the ground to vomit—a mixture of traveling with the Sareekh and relief, I guessed. The sea chopped against the shores of Janub Aya as the Sareekh’s red scales curled inward. Waves flared over one another in their rush to shore, crashing against my ankles.

“Thank you,” I murmured. The debt I owed the Sareekh wasn’t one I could ever repay.

When you remember what you lost, come back for me.The vibrations of the Sareekh’s voice were wistful.The sea is emptier than it used to be.

The churning water closed over the Sareekh. With one last ripple, the surface once again lay smooth.

The steep climb up the sandy hills sloping from Suhna Sea to Janub Aya had tested the mettle of the arriving Urabi. Hundreds of footprints lined the hills on every side. Heaving a sigh, I traipsed to the top of the hill, ignoring the breeze and its sand-swept kisses.

Wiping the grains from the corner of my eyes, I trailed my watering gaze over the ruins of Jasad’s southernmost wilayah.

Unlike the upper wilayahs, where the wealthy had bought acresof land to build multistoried family estates, the homes in Janub Aya weren’t much different than Mahair’s. Many of them looked to have fallen into shambles long before the war. Squat buildings with swathes of gray cement streaked across their mudbrick sides, attempts at paint long worn away. The dirt roads had caved toward the center from the number of horses that must have thundered along these paths, forming shallow gulleys. A clothesline fluttered from a half-destroyed balcony, as though waving hello.

I spotted Maia peering into a woven basket, the handle roped to the third-story balcony of another abandoned building. I had seen those baskets in Mahair, too—the patrons on my route would let down the basket with money inside and pull it up with whatever they had ordered from Rory.

---