Page 34 of The Jasad Crown

His first instinct when he sawherwasn’t to reach for his blade or summon the guards.

It was to shoutrun.

Red sparks arched over the blacksmith’s worktable as the chisel slammed against the base of the steel sword. The same sound rang from every smithery in Nizahl, echoing from the upper towns to the lowest street in Galim’s Bend.

Vaun shifted restlessly beside Arin, watching the blacksmith work with no small amount of disdain. The guardsman had never been keen on lowering himself to learn the mechanics upon which the working society made its living. He never wondered where thefood on his plate came from, never dwelled on why the hilt of his sword was rounded instead of squared. When Arin felt generous, he interpreted Vaun’s disinterest as a narrow focus, which left little quarter for curiosity.

Another clear example—Vaun had insisted on joining Arin for each visit he paid to dozens of blacksmiths across Nizahl. Vaun was in plainclothes, his guardsman’s pin—the symbol of his role in Arin’s service and rank in the Citadel—tucked in his pocket.

Arin’s mission was Vaun’s. Arin’s safety, Vaun’s sole interest.

“Do you think they will be necessary?” Vaun watched the blacksmith rush to the orange maw of the furnace.

The blacksmith’s assistant offered Arin a petrified bow before hurrying past. He whispered in the blacksmith’s ear, pointing to the drawing Arin had provided every blacksmith and welder in the kingdom. They traced the carving Arin had paid handsomely to have forged into hundreds of swords across Nizahl.

“I hope not,” Arin said.

If these particular swords were ever placed in the hands of Nizahl’s armies, it would mean the Zinish Accords had been broken.

It would mean for the first time in over a century, Lukub and Nizahl were at war.

“The Sultana wouldn’t risk war with Nizahl now. Not with the threat of magic hanging over our heads.” Vaun’s lip curled, and Arin watched him swallow back another remark. In an unspoken agreement, neither of them discussed the Jasad Heir or their time in the tunnels. By the same token, they avoided invoking the memory of Vaun betraying Arin to his father shortly after Arin terminated him from his employ.

“It is a waste of time to try to predict which impulse Vaida might indulge on any given day,” Arin said. “All we can do is plan for every outcome.”

The blacksmith and his assistant bowed once more as Arin andVaun left the shop. With regret, Arin noticed the blacksmith’s shaking hands finally still as soon as Arin’s eyes were no longer on him. Perhaps these visits were not as productive to the task as Arin hoped. If their Heir’s presence unnerved the blacksmiths, then he would send Wes in his stead.

A cart rumbled past them, two women and six children seated in the open wagon. Piles of barley surrounded them. The smallest child had his arms wrapped tight around a chicken as the wagon rocked over the uneven road.

Arin took one last look at the sigil engraved in the newly forged swords piled at the corner of the blacksmith’s bench.

For now, they were just a precaution. An untested theory.

Arin did not hold much faith it would stay that way.

CHAPTER ELEVEN

SYLVIA

Iwoke up on the ground, Maia and Namsa sitting cross-legged on either side of me. They sipped from steaming reddish glasses, casual as a sunny day.

Battling the dizziness in my head, I pushed myself onto an elbow and tried to convince the muscles in my stomach to contract and pull me the rest of the way up. “Where…” My throat tightened, rippling with pain. “Where am I?”

“The Geneina,” Maia answered. “We like to bring the children here to celebrate the holidays. Youm il Fark, Zeenat Hend, you know. We thought it might be less jarring for you.”

Gold and silver light whirled around the domed ceiling, creating an imitation of the sun that hurt to look at for longer than a second. Though the sun might have been false, the rows of green crops rustling around us were very real. So were the flowers—more colors and kinds than I could count, wrapping around the walls, dangling in vines from the ceiling, blossoming over the ground.

I stared at the gently rotating sun. The hall I had trained in for the Alcalah had had a moving sky just like this. Instead of flowers, the opposite wall had showcased a looping scene with Usr Jasad and my grandparents.

“What happened? The last thing I remember is trying to kill Efra.” I perked up. “Is he dead?”

“No,” Namsa said.

“He is in quite a bit of pain, though,” Maia reassured me, earning herself a quick frown from Namsa.

“Maia put you down before you could do serious damage. It took every drop of her magic,” Namsa scolded.

“Put me down,” I repeated slowly.

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