Page 75 of The Jasad Crown

They ventured close, and the bottom dropped from my stomach.

Oh, but my magic had asicksense of humor.

“Are you certain you won’t take an additional regiment?” Rawain asked, and my nausea from earlier surged back to life. “I worry you are leaving yourself exposed.”

“I am already bringing more men than I would prefer,” said an even, melodious voice. I dropped my forehead against the bark, the rough fibers digging into my skin. Of course. “We risk sending the wrong message if we arrive in great numbers. King Murib is precariously on edge.”

“They all are. Their tantrums are becoming untenable.” Rawain sighed. The voices stopped nearby, and I held myself perfectly still. I had not forgotten the Heir’s keen hearing.

“Untenable was two weeks ago, when closing the trade routes was an idle threat. Since Galim’s Bend, they have been rounding up and executing anyone suspected of using magic, and it is only escalating,” Arin said. “We may not have set an ideal precedent by executing the Mufsids.”

The slight note of censure in Arin’s tone would go unnoticed by most, but my brows lifted in surprise. The decision to execute the Mufsids clearly hadn’t been unanimous.

A frosty pause, then, “What further information had you hoped to draw from the Mufsids, Arin? If they knew where the Jasad Heir was, they would have found her first. When a tool no longer serves its intended purpose, you either discard it or put it to a different use. In one stroke, we rid ourselves of the Mufsids and soothed the hurt of those crying out to see someone punished for Galim’s Bend.”

I shifted my weight just enough to angle my view around the tree.

I saw the scepter first. The glass raven’s beady eyes caught mine, the hideous head partially obscured under the cover of Rawain’s ringed fingers. The Supreme looked unchanged from the last time I had the misfortune of laying eyes on him. A broad and physically powerful man, only the streak of gray in his wavy black hair marked his age. He oozed charm like pus from a wound, catching the unwary in its slimy trail.

The other speaker had his back to me, but even if I had not heard his voice, if I couldn’t see the waves of thick silver hair, I wouldhave known him by his back alone. I had spent hours studying the breadth of those shoulders; counted the notches of that spine as it bent over a map. Envied the way it maneuvered with grace, unburdened by the creaks and cracks of my own.

With a touch of amusement, I realized I’d grown more accustomed to meeting Arin’s back than his front.

“Besides,” Rawain continued, “I would have thought your final visit to the cells would have answered any lingering questions.”

Had I not already been staring at Arin’s back, I would have missed the tension feathering across his muscles. Rawain tilted his head at Arin, and I restrained a shudder. Every action I admired in the son reflected so monstrously in the father.

“I thought it strange that the Mufsids retained enough magic to break free of their restraints before reaching the gallows. Imagine my surprise when a guard mentioned your visit to the prison mere hours before the execution. Impossible, I thought. Why would you visit the cells without draining their magic? It isn’t like you to allow such a detail to slip your mind.”

“Details are difficult to track with a head injury,” Arin said flatly. It hung in the air, oddly loaded, and I remembered the streak of blood running from Arin’s temple the night of the Galim’s Bend attack.

“So they are,” Rawain mused. “I gather you were hoping the prisoners would be more forthcoming with their secrets on the eve of their deaths. As always, you afford them more honor than they deserve. Did you learn anything useful?”

The beat that followed reverberated in my own chest, Arin’s second of hesitation unspooling a glow of disbelief around me.

It could just be Arin’s measured way of speaking, I reasoned. It didn’t necessarily mean he was hiding anything from his father.

“One of them told me a story,” Arin said. “You were correct, of course, in that there was nothing of value to gain.”

I went absolutely still, rivaling the tree upon which I leaned. Again, Arin sounded perfectly normal, but the cadence of his voice… the lack of a thoughtful pause between his sentences. As though he had memorized the words, practiced them for this performance. I may not have been born a liar, but I had certainly grown into an excellent one. I knew the right way to shape a good lie, the best moment to offer it. I had never heard its likeness from the Commander.

I pinched my arm. Nothing happened.

Rovial’s tainted tomb.

Arin waslying.

“I suppose I should have considered your concerns more,” Rawain sighed. “I know you were only trying to find answers about that Jasadi rat.”

Ha! Rat, was I? I hoped I scurried around the attic of his nightmares.

“The Mufsid did raise an interesting question,” Arin said, level and dispassionate.

“Oh?”

“We never recovered the stores of magic Palia and Niyar mined from their people, did we?”

Both Rawain and I paused.

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