Page 36 of The Jasad Crown

“How do you know this?” Namsa regarded me strangely.

“How do younotknow this? Doesn’t half your ridiculous plan hinge on reinstating me to the Omal line of inheritance? You should have tracked down copies of every important document and memorized them front and back.”

Hanim’s specter rose, looming over me. She had known reviving Jasad would require more than just magic, more than effectively swinging a sword. The most lethal acts in a royal court often happened without shedding a single drop of blood. Words were the currency of the powerful.

“Is there any way to stop it?” I forced out.

Namsa shook her head. “I don’t think so.”

I wrapped my hands around two of the vines and yanked with all my might. A plume of petals rained over us, and the vines went slack in my grip as they tore at the root.

“Gather your Aada, Namsa.” I tossed aside the vines, shoving past the pair. “Maybe we can prevent our first strike in this war from being our last.”

While Namsa gathered the council, I hunted down Efra. It took some time, since the architecture of the Gibal was governed by magical logic instead of structural coherency. Each layer of the mountain served a separate function: the top was reserved for bedrooms and the dining hall, the middle three for recreation and strategy rooms, and the bottom for basic functions like bathing.

I tracked Efra to the lowest level. Steam billowed over me as soonas I entered the washroom, soaking into my tunic. The walls curved around the heated spring like a stone raindrop, a hole punched into the side for the steam. The spring took up the space of a modest lake, and I wagered it could hold forty to fifty people at a time. With the lake frozen on the cliffside, Maia had mentioned the children loved to swim here during the winter. I had been taking my baths upstairs, where nobody could see the scars forming a second skin over my back.

Efra leaned over the edge of the spring, shirt discarded and fingers hooked at the waistband of his pants. A giant black-and-blue bruise in the shape of my boot decorated his torso. His lip had stopped bleeding, but the stretched skin around his eye had blackened and sunk.

Maybe Maia had had the right idea, knocking me out.

When I materialized from between the clouds of steam, Efra jumped, dropping his shirt into the spring.

“Damn it,” he growled, fishing out his sodden garment. “Can you wait? I’ll be done in fifteen minutes, and I would much rather not spend those fifteen minutes sharing a bath with you.”

I rolled my eyes. “I would sooner bathe with a corpse.”

“If you finish what you started earlier, you very well might.”

My lips twitched. Were Efra not the equivalent of a walking migraine, I could see myself enjoying his company every now and again.

“Maia said you could have prevented me from killing you, but you chose not to.” I crossed my arms over my chest. “What kind of magic do you have?”

Efra scoffed. “The better question is why I would have rather died than used my magic on you.”

I blinked. “The same reason Namsa refused to fight me when I woke up in the Gibal. I am your Malika.”

“No.”

I waited, but he did not elaborate further. I thought about pushing the matter, but frankly, I was more interested in Efra’s magic than in his philosophy about its use. “It cannot be defensive magic—not with how feebly you fight.”

He wrung his shirt out in the spring. “I can show you, if you’d like.”

I shrugged. “All right. Do your worst.”

Gold leaked into Efra’s eyes. Silver streaked over his irises just as he lifted a hand and said, “I thought you would never ask.”

Rage.

My fingers curled as rage roared to life inside me. I itched to feel Felix struggle beneath my hands as I strangled the life he didn’t deserve to live out of his pampered body. I would carve Fairel’s name into his corpse and leave his decaying remains on her doorstep. I wanted to rip my knife into Supreme Rawain. I’d aim for his face first, open him from cheek to cheek like prize meat at a festival. I would take my time. For his death, I would master patience. Draw out his agony until the walls rang with it. He—

“Wow,” Efra said. “Certainly potent and ready with your rage, aren’t you?”

He flicked his hand.

Grief.

Tears filled my eyes. I missed Marek and Sefa almost more than I could bear. I didn’t know where they were, if they were safe. Their friendship had weakened me. Before them, I hadn’t known what it meant to be lonely. I just was, and life went on. Fairel, Rory, Raya—what did they think happened to me? It felt like Dawoud dying in my arms all over again.

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