Page 88 of The Jasad Crown

Before I could respond, a hostile voice sliced through the din.

“Why are you here?”

With a cane tucked under her right arm and a bow hanging from the left, Fairel glowered at me.

In the four or so months since I had last seen my favorite of Raya’s wards, she had shot up to Maia’s height. Her twin braids lay docilely over her shoulders, the long strands much more amenable to braids than her short hair had been.

I remembered a pout, a petulant kick to the ground.Twelve is big, you know.

“Fay. You’ve grown.” The admission stung. I had never particularlycared when one of the wards left the keep or marveled at their transition into womanhood like Raya and Sefa had. Youth held nominal value to me. What was there to celebrate about entering a new era of pain, of starting to learn yourself and hating what you found? Seeing the choices before you clearer than ever and realizing you had no real choice at all?

But then, it had been at fifteen that I chose to survive and slit Hanim’s throat. Twenty that I broke a Nizahl soldier’s neck and snapped his spine.

Twenty-one that I came to Mahair knowing what it might cost.

I looked at Fairel’s flat braids, the new length in her limbs, and in each change, I saw a universe of different futures.

“You haven’t grown at all,” Fairel said. She held herself with an uncharacteristic aloofness, staring at a point somewhere behind my shoulder. Had it not been for the tiny quiver in her bottom lip, I might have believed she wanted to notch a new arrow at my head.

“It looks like I might need to start,” I remarked lightly. “Especially if you plan to be taller than me. It would be terrible for my reputation.”

Her mouth twitched. “Sylvia, your reputation couldn’t be worse if you tried.”

“Is that a challenge?”

She swung her cane at me, hitting my knee. Kenzie gasped, but I only had eyes for Fairel.

She sniffed, and her voice turned heartbreakingly small. “Are you leaving again?”

I bent down, waiting until Fairel met my gaze and registered the truth in it. “I’m not going anywhere until you’re safe.”

The stubborn set of Fairel’s chin finally eased, and I grabbed the back of her neck and pulled her into my arms when she began to cry. She shuddered and clung to my waist, the cane and bow droppingto the ground. I didn’t pay attention to Lateef quietly collecting them.

When she had calmed, Fairel drew away, dragging her sleeve across her nose. “I replanted your fig seeds. I knew you would come back.”

Despite a new assortment of arrows and murderous intentions, Fairel still shined with an optimism I almost envied. I had thought she would outgrow it. With someone like Fairel, maybe hope would need to be taken from her by force.

I would break every bone in the hand that tried.

I glanced at the seemingly abandoned village and understood the last-ditch effort a desperate Mahair had concocted to protect itself from the wrath of its own ruler.

Play dead, let the predator prod at the corpse to its satisfaction. Pray it doesn’t see you breathe.

“Save your tears for tomorrow, Fairel.” I took her bow and cane from Lateef and passed them back to her. “Today, let me teach you how to make your enemies weep.”

The main road teemed with activity. They had accepted my orders with a surprising lack of protest. I supposed the plan to hide hadn’t sat too well with Mahair, especially after everything Felix had inflicted on them over the years.

The Jasadis worked side by side with the Omalians; Namsa beside Raya, Kenzie next to Zeinab, a rambling Medhat by a laughing Fairel. Efra hadn’t stopped rubbing his temples and wincing since the rest of the village had emerged. The onslaught of new people and their accompanying emotions must be wreaking havoc on him. I celebrated each time he flinched.

My plan was simple. Mahair might lack the advantages of a morewar-ready village, but we were not without our strengths. Thanks to the wall surrounding Mahair, the village was already fortified against entry from Essam.

If the soldiers came from the west, we would be in more trouble.

I was observing Maia struggle to empty a sack of sand and wondering if she had used her magic for anything other than knocking me unconscious on the cliffside when the end of Rory’s cane prodded my hip. “Stop dawdling and come with me,” he ordered. “I told you we needed to speak.”

I rolled my eyes and followed Rory to his apothecary. He stepped under the awning and surveyed our surroundings. When he was assured we were alone, he slammed his cane into the pane of his shop’s window.

The wood cracked, and Rory hit it again. “What are youdoing?” I exclaimed. The chemicals must have finally cooked his head.

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