Page 76 of The Jasad Crown

The lines on Rawain’s forehead smoothed, his shoulders easing into a casual slump. The feigned relaxation of a performer stretching before the stage. Were I less repulsed, I would be inclined to take notes.Thiswas how you told a lie.

“No, we didn’t. How could we? None of us knew the Malik and Malika were mining magic until shortly before the Blood Summit. They had been conducting the practice with the utmost secrecy, concealing it as workplace accidents in the southern wilayahs. As soon as the rest of us learned of their heinous deeds, we convened the Summit.”

“Of course.”

“As for the mined magic, it is anyone’s guess where they hid it. It may still remain somewhere in Jasad. Mined magic—indeed, any magic removed from its source—does not last very long without an external force to anchor it. The profanity of the practice is one our ancestors fought hard to contain, Arin. I did not seek to uncover the mined magic lest the other rulers succumb to avarice.”

“I see.”

Rawain took a step toward Arin, the bottom of the scepter leaving a perfectly round imprint in the dirt. “I hope the Mufsid did not unsettle you.”

“I am not easily unsettled,” Arin said.

“No, you aren’t,” Rawain agreed, still studying his son. “That is what worries me.”

The moment stretched, thinning until I wanted to quake beneath the tension. I felt as though I could reach out and touch Hanim, so forcefully did Rawain’s quiet menace invoke her.

A third voice spliced through the clearing. “I am sorry to interrupt.”

Wes! I grinned, giddy at the sight of the somber older guardsman. Who knew I would miss that frown and glaringly bald head?

“The supplies have been loaded, and the horses are ready. The soldiers await your instruction, my liege.”

Rawain clapped Arin on the arm, the menace disappearing like mist on a warm summer day. “Off you are, then. Come back with open trade routes or Murib’s head in a sack, I care not which.” Rawain laughed. “I want you returned whole and unharmed, Arin. Your notions of honor have no place in a time like this. If your soldiers return to Nizahl without you, if you commit some asinine act of bravery at your own expense, I will hang every man, child, and horse who allowed you to do it.”

Wes stared at Rawain, nonplussed, but Arin’s expression didn’t change. A speech he had heard before, I gathered.

The Supreme bid his son another farewell before striding through the trees. I hoped whatever carriage awaited him on the other side broke down and launched him face-first into a stony riverbed. Wrath pounded against the walls of my heart, and I pleaded with my body to relax before the rest of my equilibrium crumbled. The panic had finally eased, and I would rather not give my mind any reason to restart.

“Sire, shall I—”

“Wait.”

I counted three long minutes before Arin exhaled, turning away from the juncture where his father had vanished. “I have a favor to ask of you, Wes.”

“My lord, there are no favors between us. Your will is my command.”

Arin held up a hand, cutting off the guardsman. Wes’s eagerness seemed to pain him.

Obedience should be conscious, not instinctual.But why would Arin worry that Wes’s obedience might be instinctual? He had been Arin’s guardsman for half the Heir’s life. If anyone knew Arin, if anyone would follow him for the strength of his leadership over the strength of his blood, it was Wes.

“No—no. What I ask of you trespasses the bounds of your duty to me. It imperils your life and liberty. If you do not wish to grant this request, I will hold you in no less esteem.”

I probably looked as bewildered as Wes. The guardsman shifted, his knuckles ghosting over his collar. In the training tunnels, I had noticed how the Nizahl guardsmen wore their unique insignia on different parts of their uniform. Jeru kept his hidden under the flap of his chest pocket. Wes, the collar of his shirt. Ren had worn his on the inside of his sleeve. Vaun wore his pin on his chest; I remembered tearing it off his uniform when we fought.

“Ask, my liege. My answer will be my own.”

Dread lined my stomach at the rigidity of Arin’s profile. Whatever this task, he vehemently did not want to ask it of Wes.

“I cannot figure out where they are,” Arin said in a rush, half defeat, half aggravation. “I have spent days scouring my maps, but I would have felt them. I should have felt them.”

I shifted forward, straining to hear.

“I suspect that after our conversation, my father might detour to the mines before returning to the Citadel. I hope I’m wrong. I truly do.” Arin fell quiet, his struggle palpable.

“I don’t have the time to explain magic mining to you, nor do I believe it in your best interest to know the details. It will suffice for you to understand these mines were used by Malika Palia and Malik Niyar to store the magic they drained from the Jasadi people—the magic my father and the rest of the kingdoms secretly divvied between them in a practice nearly as old as the woods we stand in.”

If I had doubted the absence of my magic during these appearances to Arin, this moment would have confirmed it. If I had my magic, the tree bearing my weight would be in flames. In fact, every tree in my proximity would be in flames, and I would spread the inferno until it reached Supreme Rawain and charred him alive.

---