Page 87 of The Jasad Crown

Dust floated over Medhat. He sneezed, the sound jarring in the stillness. “Omal is much dustier than I expected,” he grumbled. “It can’t be good for my skin.”

I wasn’t listening. My gaze had flown up, following the source of the unsettled dust, and landed on a hooded figure crouching awkwardly on the edge of a rooftop.

Notched into a bow and trained directly on us, an arrow quivered, recentered, and flew.

Directly at Medhat.

As haphazard and fractious as my magic could be, it had yet to fail me when I needed it on someone else’s behalf. Magic rolled through me, and the arrow buried itself in the ground by my feet instead of Medhat’s chest.

The figure turned, as if to run, and their hood shifted. I caught a glimpse of upturned braids and a familiar chin.

I stopped breathing.

“Fairel?”

She paused. Pulled her hood from her face and squinted down. “Sylvia?” she shrieked.

Fairel whirled around on the edge of the roof, sending alarm shooting straight to my head.

“It’s Sylvia!” she hollered.

Efra groaned, tips of his fingers pinching into his head. “People are coming. Many. They are… excited.”

The shutters over the halawany’s shop trembled as they were rolled up and the rope knotted around a catch. Faces pressed against the glass.

They came in sweeps. Raya, Yuli, Odette, Rory, Daleel, Zeinab, even Zeinab’s contrary mother. Floods of Mahair’s citizens. I glanced behind them, but no one else appeared. Where were Sefa and Marek?

“It takes Fairel a little longer to move,” Raya said, misinterpreting my frown. Heavy hands landed on my shoulders. Streaks of white shot through her light brown hair, loose around her stooped shoulders. Lines pressed indents around her tired brown eyes, adding years beyond her fifty.

It occurred to me that they must have heard the news about the Victor’s Ball. I had just used magic right in front of them. These people had been the closest approximation to family I had had for five years, and I had lied to them for every one of those years.

Yet Raya assessed me with the same keen maternal concern that had chafed my nerves so much when I lived under her roof. To see it now brought a lump to my throat.

She flicked my temple. “You had magic at your disposal and still couldn’t manage to wash your own dishes?”

A startled laugh spilled past my lips. “I wash my dishes!”

“She hasn’t touched a single one,” Namsa said from behind me. I scowled.

Fondness softened the lines in Raya’s forehead. She pinched my cheek. “Always such a shameless little liar.”

A cane appeared out of nowhere, prodding Raya in the side. Shesmacked it away with a glare. “Stop shepherding us, chemist. We aren’t goats.”

“Goats would have better survival sense,” Rory growled. “Why are we standing here in the open? Should we lie down and make ourselves easier targets for the soldiers? Get inside!”

The sun might fall, the earth could sink, and the moon might dim, but never would Rory know a good mood a day in his life.

Laughter bubbled in my chest. “Stop ordering everyone around, old man. They aren’t your apprentices.”

“As if I had an apprentice capable of following my orders.” He raked a critical gaze over me. “Life as the most wanted fugitive in four kingdoms suits you.”

Awaleen below, but I had missed the cantankerous mule. I took his hand, surprising us both. He recovered quickly, squeezing my fingers with a small smile. “I have missed you, Essiya.”

“Essiya?” Raya repeated. Her brows furrowed, likely struggling to place the name. It rippled through the crowd, growing louder. “Baira’s blessed hair, the rumors are true.”

The second Heir of Jasad. Niphran’s daughter.

Rory drew me close, out of earshot of the others. “I need to speak to you.” Urgent, tinged with worry.

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