Page 32 of The Jasad Crown

When Arin gave a short nod, Faheem melted into his chair.

“Sunset, then,” the new High Counselor said.

CHAPTER TEN

ARIN

At the door, Layla stepped into Arin’s path. “Your Highness, might I have a word?”

No, Arin wanted to bite out. He had had enough of other people’s words today.

Layla wound and unwound her hands together—a nervous tic or a clever impression of one.

He exhaled through his nose, casting a glance upward at the statue of Nizahl’s founder.

Molded to appear as if he were bursting through the wall and growing over the ceiling was Nizahl’s first Commander and Supreme. Sculpted in mid-motion, Fareed loomed over the top of the door to the council room. The two swords he had carried in countless battles were crossed above his head. Flying from between the clashing swords, a raven spread its wings wide, the feathers fanning across the ceiling.

Under the watchful gaze of Nizahl’s founder, Arin thrust aside his impatience and gestured for Layla to walk with him. He moved at a steady clip, more than ready to put distance between himself and the council. In a typical month, he saw the council once a week to review petitions and hear updates on the provinces they controlled. Since the Victor’s Ball, Arin had been subjected to their presence almost twice a day. A rusted sword through his extremities would be a more welcome experience.

Servants stopped to bow as they passed Arin, but he dismissed them back to their duties with a wave. At the corner, Arin slowed, allowing Layla to catch her breath. Two guards pushed the front doors open at Arin’s approach.

As soon as Arin stepped out of the war wing, his chest expanded with its first full breath of the day. He pressed two fingers to the ache in his jaw, borne from hours of clenching his teeth. By nightfall, it would travel upward and pound between his temples while he tried to sleep.

Temporarily ignoring Layla’s jittery presence, Arin tipped his chin toward the sky, searching idly for the sun. It would be nice to feel it on his skin, if just for a minute. He felt, strangely, as though he had forgotten what it was to be warm.

“Sire?”

Arin cast one last sweep over the unyielding slates of gray. “What is it, Layla?”

Perhaps sensing Arin’s dissipating interest in their conversation, Layla jumped straight to the point. “The Omal Heir is conducting raids on the lower villages, Your Highness. His soldiers have slain fourteen Nizahl soldiers at their outposts in Essam, but the palace claims it was the lower villagers’ doing.”

“I see.” Arin tucked his hands into the pockets of his coat. “Send a troop of fourth-year soldiers to the Omalian nobles’ quarters. Station them outside their homes and say it is for their protection.”

Layla blinked. “We are sending soldiers to protect the Omalian nobles?”

Arin carefully pinched the spark of irritation between thumb and forefinger. Should it be allowed to land, Arin had a sense he would ignite.

“Seeing Nizahl soldiers strewn around their property will anger the nobles. Angry nobles keep their purse strings clasped tight. Felix will either cease his raids on the lower villages or find his capital city at odds with its richest inhabitants.”

“You’ve already thought about this.” She laughed a little. “Of course you have.”

What else would Arin think about? Capturing the Jasad Heir and preventing magic from tossing them into another war? No, no, his time was much better spent strategizing ways to keep the kingdoms from cannibalizing themselves.

Layla clasped her hands in front of her, the six delicate gold bracelets around her wrist clinking with the movement. Last time he saw her, she had been wearing five.

“Are congratulations in order?” he asked, offering a ghost of a smile. Normally, he wouldn’t have asked. He wasn’t sure why he did now. Lingering solidarity from their shared misery at the council meeting, perhaps.

After a bewildered beat, Layla glanced down at her wrist and sighed. “Not this time, I’m afraid. Our courtship only lasted a month. My parents weren’t fond of him; they said a structuralist from Ukaz would eventually want a wife more interested in homemaking than negotiating with ‘lecherous nobles in smoky dens of iniquity.’ Poor man denied it, but their suspicions got into my head.” She rubbed a thumb over the sixth bracelet. “Just more bad luck for me, I suppose.”

“I’m sorry to hear it,” Arin said, and he meant it. Nizahl’s southwest provinces had a history of despising their northern counterparts. They found the pettiest ways to spite each other. Firras, Layla’s hometown, took part in the old Nizahlan tradition of collecting a gold bracelet from each suitor who came knocking. In Ukaz, they collected silver rings. If Firras hosted a festival, Ukaz flooded the roads. Ukaz ate sardines to celebrate spring, so Firras broke multiple laws to dam a section of Hirun and collect as many sardines as they could.

“I am not worried for you, Layla.” Arin did not make a habit of commenting on the personal lives of those in his employ, nor washe regularly offered anything to comment on. “The man worthy of calling himself your match will find you when the time is right.”

“I wish he would find me faster.” Layla smoothed the front of her blouse, shaking herself off. They resumed walking across the Citadel’s lawn. “I’ll send the fourth-years riding to Omal by nightfall. With any luck, Felix will reconsider the wisdom of his actions.”

Arin’s shoulders relaxed a fraction now that they were back on familiar footing. He didn’t share that he very much doubted Felix had any wisdom to reconsider.

A brisk wind lifted his hair from his neck. Arin tilted his head, indulging the breeze, and made the mistake of glancing at Layla.

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