Page 181 of The Jasad Crown

It was bizarre, seeing how this corner of Jasad matched the village I had called home for years. I had never been south of Har Adiween. Janub Aya and its tiny population might as well have been the other side of the world.

A horse clomped from around the remains of what might have been a butcher’s shop, led by a smiling Namsa. I dusted the front of my tunic to avoid her searching gaze. After summoning the final kitmer, my magic had overwhelmed me. I did not remember anything between raising the kitmer and gasping as I burst through the surface of the lake.

Namsa jerked her chin at the clouds draped low over the wilayah, a fine white mist trailing beneath them. “In case you’re wondering, no. The clouds never go away. Between the sea and Sirauk Bridge, we were lucky to get twenty days of sun a year down here,” Namsa said. She patted the neck of a white-and-brown mare. “Amu Dawoud would always joke that growing up in Janub Aya meant I’d never wrinkle. The moisture keeps you young.”

I threw my leg over the mare and hauled myself up, tightening my knees against its quivering torso. Thinking of Dawoud here hurtin an unfamiliar way, raking at a wound I’d forgotten to properly cauterize.

“He is buried at the top of the hill in Silsilit Abeer,” I said without looking at Namsa. “You can visit him.”

Namsa’s head whipped toward me. Disbelief spilled over her features, pooling into a pained whisper. “Amu Dawoud died in Omal. Silsilit Abeer is in Alb Safi.”

He will be buried in a spot where the grass still grows.

“The hill is the highest spot where the grass in Jasad still grows.”

I spurred my horse forward, leaving Namsa to scramble onto her own mount. I wouldn’t allow her or Dawoud or anything else to carve away at the calm I had finally achieved.

In two days’ time, Nuzret Kamel would clear the mist from Sirauk and I would raise the fortress. For once, I didn’t need to worry about the consequences—I wouldn’t be around to bear them.

Cornered by Sirauk and the sea, Janub Aya’s only points of entry were from Eyn el Haswa to its right or Ahr il Uboor to the north. The tiny wilayah had been the last to fall in the war solely due to the sheer inconvenience of accessing it.

“The scorch marks have strange patterns,” Namsa murmured.

I glanced up, scanning the dilapidated buildings looming above us. Scorch marks devoured the frame of every door, licking to the outer walls in black stripes. For most, the roofs had collapsed in, but the structural integrity of the rest of the house remained intact.

“The glass. It exploded outward.” I nodded to the warped hinges of a window, shards of glass buried in the dirt beneath it. “The residents set the fires from inside.”

It took nerve to leave your life blazing behind you and ride into the unknown. Despite their less-than-flattering reputation in the northern wilayahs, Janub Aya had had the bravery to do what no other wilayah would once they realized defeat was imminent. Theyburned their crops, destroyed their homes, and dammed their waters as their final message to the other kingdoms.

They had left in a blaze, and they would return in one.

By mutual agreement, those of us from the Gibal had decided to sleep on the ground. Someone suggested seeking shelter inside one of the empty barns and received grumbles in response.

“It doesn’t feel right to disturb anything,” Mona, a girl with permanently sad eyes and hair the brown of granulated honey, murmured. “Not yet. Not until we’ve won.”

Shining mist washed over the valley, spools of white curling over the dry plains. The hairs on the back of my neck stood on end, and I didn’t have to glance around to know the rest felt it, too.

Magic.

Like dew glistening on a blade of grass at dawn, the magic-charged mist settled over the slumbering Jasadis.

“If the mist is so strong from miles away, imagine how it must feel on the bridge,” Mona reflected, curling into herself around the fire. “I always thought the stories about people who tried to make the crossing were exaggerated. Who would be so stupid?” Her eyes slid shut. She inhaled deeply. “I should’ve held my tongue.”

I offered to keep watch.

“You need your rest,” Namsa protested.

“I slept plenty before we left the Gibal,” I lied. “Let’s not waste more energy debating it.”

Namsa didn’t need to know I hadn’t slept in days. It would worry her, and her worry annoyed me.

Besides, I wasn’t alone.

The mist isn’t safe, my magic whispered.It hides other dangers.

I smiled, leaning back against the prickly bark of a decaying tree.I counted each sleeping Jasadi, my vision perfectly clear despite the dark.

The most dangerous thing hiding in these mists was me.

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