Page 190 of The Jasad Crown

CHAPTER SIXTY-EIGHT

ESSIYA

Bodies littered Janub Aya, and smoke choked the air.

I picked my way around the charred corpses of the Nizahl soldiers. The imprint of my kitmer was burned into the ground around them. The surviving forces had retreated to the border of Ahr il Uboor once the sun set, and I had sent three kitmers to stand sentry over their camp. If they moved, I would know. More likely than not, they were waiting until morning to resume the siege.

The morning, when the mist over Sirauk would fall for Nuzret Kamel’s anniversary.

I scanned the dead for familiar faces. I had already checked in on Sefa and Marek. Marek was shaken; apparently, one of the regiments Rawain had sent to their doom was the Ravening compound, where Marek had been hiding. He had yet to encounter anyone he recognized, but I had spotted Sefa with her arms around his rigid frame, stroking his hair.

I froze at the sight of Maia’s husband, head twisted at an unnatural angle on the ground.

“She doesn’t know yet,” Lateef murmured, appearing beside me. His eyes were red-rimmed, and patches of blood had soaked through his clothes. “She’s still looking for him.”

I gazed at Maia’s husband. He had died here, and with himhe would take half of Maia’s heart. He would take her bouncing feet, her ever-present smile. The dead rarely left this world empty-handed.

“Have him carried to the river with the others. She can perform his death rites. Do not let her wander through the night, calling his name.”

I returned to Sefa and Marek. Sefa was huddled against the side of an overturned wagon, hiding behind the giant wheel while Marek paced in front of her.

“Well?” Marek asked as soon as I approached. “How many?”

“I don’t know,” I said. “They will count the dead after Nuzret Kamel. There is more dying to do tomorrow.”

Sefa drew her face from the inside of her arm. Her lower lip trembled.

“Is this your magic speaking, or you?”

I grazed the rough surface of the wagon’s wheel and stayed silent. It was a good question, and I did not have a good answer. My magic’s voice had stitched itself across my thoughts with the finest needle, its presence twined through the very fabric of my mind. I couldn’t see the seams anymore.

“You don’t have to raise the fortress tomorrow,” Marek said. I twisted away from his reaching arms, ignoring his pleading face. “Arin is coming back. If you have Nizahl, the other kingdoms will stand down. You will not need the fortress.”

I stiffened. Since when did Marek call himArin?

“You are a fool if you believe he is coming back,” I said. “Just as I was a fool to think he would stay.”

“He only left to prevent this from escalating into war, he told us—”

“Where is the scepter?” I interrupted.

“Sylvia…” Tears spilled onto Marek’s cheeks. “Please. We need you.”

Efra’s quiet warning mingled with Marek’s plaintive whisper, shuddering down my spine. Instead of sinking through me, it encountered the solid barrier of my magic. The margins where I began and my magic ended had narrowed, making it so I could only catch glimpses of the emotions I was meant to feel.

We both know I can feel what happens when your magic consumes you. You… you disappear.

Once again, I realized I could not remember the last time I had breathed.

“I—” Moving through my magic was impossible. We were intertwined across every fiber, every stitch of my being.

Marek pulled my rigid frame into his arms, holding me tight. “I lost my family on the battlefield. Everyone I ever loved died to protect someone else’s throne. You and Sefa are all I have.”

My arms hung loose at my sides. I tried to bring them around Marek, but they wouldn’t obey.

“I might not die.”

Sefa spoke up, using the wagon to pull herself to her feet. “You will die in every way that counts.”

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