Page 92 of The Jasad Crown

I cracked a smile. I wondered how Lateef would feel if he knew he shared metaphors with the Nizahl Heir.

The leader of the Urabi gestured animatedly as he spoke. “We, the individual, contain a lifetime’s supply of magic in our blood, but the well produces a limited amount of it at a time. How fast the well replenishes depends entirely on the individual. For example, Namsa’s magic is unique; right now, she could emit a sound capable of bleeding the ears of everyone within a mile of us. The amount of power it takes for her to do so would likely drain about half the well, and it might take her a day to recover. If she pushed her radius out to two miles, she would drain the well entirely and need two days to recover. I have generalized magic, and given my age, my magic takes twice as long to recover when my well runs low. Every single one of us possesses this well—this space where magic could be carried inside you—including the kingdoms whose wells have run dry over the centuries.”

I crossed my arms over my chest. “I am aware of the basic anatomy of our magic. My question is how magicmoves. If it can be drained, can it be transferred?”

“Transferring magic from person to person is impossible,” Namsa said.

“Engage in some intellectual exercise, Namsa,” Lateef chided. “Transferring magic is distinct from draining or magic mining, you see. Magic came to this land through transference. When the Awaleen tried to give their progeny magic directly, it killed many—brutally. Their magic was too powerful for our bodies to contain on its own, so they carved a separate space for it.”

“The wells,” Namsa said.

“Precisely. The wells store our magic, and they have limits. Caps to how much magic we can expend and wield at any given time. Once the Awaleen gave us this function, their next step was to sow magic into their population’s blood.”

I dropped to the edge of the bed, tugging on the ends of my fingers in an old habit Soraya had tried to break. “Magic is carried inthe blood, which is why it can be passed down from generation to generation. The well acts as a cap to prevent anyone from drawing too much magic from their blood at once. Transferring magic requires magic in the bloodandthe well to siphon the magic safely?”

Lateef grinned. “Yes. All of us have the well, but only Jasadis still have magic in their blood. As you can imagine, nobody is capable of infusing magic into someone’s blood. If someone tried to transfer their magic into a dry well, they would risk killing themselves as well as their target.”

Interesting, but not entirely related to my original question. “Why does magic mining kill its victims while Arin can drain them without any physical harm?”

“When you mine someone’s magic, you don’t just drain the well—you strip it out completely. Imagine this: You stand waist-deep in Hirun on the other side of a dam. Once the dam is torn away and the water bursts toward you, you must collect as much water as you can before you’re swept away in the current. It’s a craft, magic mining. The instant they strip out the wells—the spaces in our bodies meant to safeguard against magic ripping us apart—they have to drain as much of the magic as possible before the gush of magic annihilates the victim’s body and kills them.”

I remembered the glass bones of Soraya’s father, the hollow cavern of his face and his mangled limbs. To think he had lived through even amomentof that process—had experienced the agony of his magic tearing free inside him just so someone could scoop handfuls before it completely killed him—

I ground my teeth together. My grandparents were dead. I couldn’t do anything about their past actions except mitigate the harm they left behind.

“I think what the Heir does is different.” Namsa spoke up. “What he drains is the reserve of magic. So when he touches someone, he is only draining what we have in our well at any given time. Rightnow, I am at full power—he could drain me down to nothing, and I would need two days to completely recover. When I recovered, he could drain it again. In a sense, magic mining tears out the base of our powers, whereas the Heir only siphons the output.”

“You don’t think a musrira could have given him this ability?” I checked.

The Urabi shook their heads in unison.

Unhelpful. If it wasn’t a musrira or the Awaleen, what had brought about Arin’s ability? In the vision I saw after Soraya stabbed me, Isra had clutched a black-haired baby while she begged Rawain to wait until he was older. Wait until he was older to do what? Rawain didn’t have magic. Arin’s talents were perfectly suited to Rawain’s scheme against Jasad, but how could Rawain have caused it?

“I do think we are forgetting the most important question,” Lateef said. He reached for the bridge of his nose, pushing up invisible spectacles. “Once the magic is drained, whether by mining or otherwise, where does it go?”

The question bloomed like a toxic cloud between us, staining our fingers when we reached out to touch it.

Where does the magic go?

“I don’t know,” I said honestly. Right now, Wes was following the Supreme to determine the answer to that question. “But it won’t be long until we find out.”

I sat on the floor watching the flames flicker in the hearth, my palm heavy over my heart, and wondered which kind of madness was worse.

Was it the erosion? The slow and steady pressure of a wave breaking against a boulder, both bound to the other by forces beyond their control. Feeling every scrape, every piece of you the tide carried away.

Perhaps it was the instant death. A mind lost with a single stroke, tearing it from its tether to reality. You wouldn’t know you had gone mad, because you did not remember an existence before it.

I rubbed the vein on my palm. A tiny silver web snaked out from its center. It had appeared after I stopped the arrow aimed for Medhat, feathering out to the tip of my thumb.

“You frown any harder and you’ll carve your chin right off,” Raya said. I didn’t turn as she settled on the carpet beside me, our backs propped against the armchair. “Odd, seeing you without Marek or Sefa. When the Nizahl Heir declared you Champion and took you from Mahair, I knew it was only a matter of time until those two followed. I swear on the mists of Sirauk itself, they were gone by supper.”

I squeezed my eyes shut. They stung, reminding me of how long it had been since I last rested them in sleep. The darkness blanketed me, and in its confines I found my voice.

“You should go to sleep,” I murmured. “The battle could be upon us at any minute.”

“The same could be said for you.”

“I don’t need rest to fight capably, especially against some pathetic Omalian soldiers. I will do what needs to be done, no matter how fit I feel for it.”

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