Page 54 of The Jasad Crown

A drop of red fell from his temple, seeping into the rug.

Arin closed his eyes. Some wounds were best left to bleed.

CHAPTER EIGHTEEN

SYLVIA

An hour ago, I would have gladly maimed everyone at the Aada for the chance to go to sleep. After Lateef dismissed us, my singular concern had been walking to my chambers without fainting in the hall.

That is, until I had started undressing for bed.

Blanket drawn to my chin, I stared at the ceiling, more awake than I’d been in years.

There was a new vein. Silver this time, traveling from the back of my knee to the top of my ankle. I spotted it by accident, twisting to adjust the back of my sleep pants, and it had led to frantically stripping and searching my body for more hidden veins. Just the two, fortunately—gold on my palm, silver on my leg. If it hadn’t been for the late hour, I would have hunted down Namsa and asked her to explain why my body appeared to be cracking like a statue under a clumsy chisel.

Tomorrow. Tomorrow I would show Namsa the veins.

I turned, pulling one of the pillows to my chest. Half the times I closed my eyes, I saw Soraya and the Mufsids attacking Usr Jasad, their victory cut short by the collapsing fortress. The other half, I saw Supreme Rawain winking at me from across the table at the Blood Summit, seconds before the screaming began.

It was almost a relief to think about strategy instead.

The Urabi had collected a truly impressive fleet of Jasadis with specialized magic. Twenty Jasadis with Hayagan magic, a specialty my grandparents had disdained unless someone needed to urgently throw a loud party. Apparently, the Hayagan could use their powers to unsettle animals from miles away. If we needed horses, the Hayagan were our best bet for stealing them from any patrols in Essam. Their ability to release pulses of chaotic energy into the air had the dual effect of fueling an excited crowd as well as summoning animals, oddly enough.

Stranger still was the number of Sahirs in their midst. Sahirs were notoriously reclusive; many of them hated the hierarchical structure of Jasad’s wilayahs and left for other kingdoms long before the war. The Urabi must have expended every resource at their disposal to find and recruit fifteen of them. Sahirs could transfer their magic between elements: mold steel from dirt, fashion a blade from mere branches. With them alongside the Hayagan, we would have however many weapons they could create before their magic ran dry. They did, however, require three times the recovery period of other specialties.

Eventually, even war strategy lost its appeal. I yanked a pillow over my face and drew my arms over it, stifling my groan. The furnishings in my room were meager, but they were still double what the others here had. They were treating me well, bestowing me with comfort they themselves lacked, and I didn’t even have the decency to enjoy it.

The pressure in my chest built. I pressed my hand to my heart like a child listening to a once-beloved story.

One, two.I’m alive.

Three, four.I’m safe.

Five, six.I won’t let him catch me.

When the roil of dread in my stomach only increased, I tried again.

One, two.I’m alive.

Three, four… Where was I?

My room vanished, its outlines blurring and liquefying before me. Panic instantly turned to cold comprehension. Not this. Not again. Notnow.

When the walls solidified, they were nothing like mine. My bare feet landed on soft carpet.

An enormous and startlingly austere room surrounded me. A candle flickered above a table strewn with empty vials and bloody cloths. Sickly trickles of moonlight traveled through the rain-streaked window and caught on a magnificent four-poster bed at the head of the room. I paused, a bit idiotically, to admire the lush covers. Not even I could stay awake on a bed like that.

The shadows in the room shifted as the oil in the lantern popped, and I started at the sight of a bare back hunched on the edge of the bed. Its owner faced the wall, hands braced on either side of him, broad shoulders drawn.

I knew that spine better than I knew my own. How many times had I marveled at the grace in his body, the fluidity in his movements? Arin moved like an unfinished song, answering to a rhythm the rest of us couldn’t hear. Even the blood matting the side of his head, darkening the silver strands to a dark maroon, couldn’t diminish him.

I wished I could look away, but in a room of beautiful things, Arin of Nizahl outshined them all.

He hadn’t seen or heard me yet, which meant I still had a chance to disappear. Of all the times and all the people. What was my magic thinking, bringing me here? In fact, why was my magic thinking at all? Maybe it would please Efra to know Ihadbeen using my magic over the last few days. Excluding, of course, how it had been used and how little I’d been involved in the process.

He still hadn’t sensed my presence. He hadn’t sensed it in thegarden, either. Arin’s attunement to magic should have given me away as soon as I came near.

Were you truly here, I would have felt your magic the instant you entered the Citadel’s grounds.

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