Page 94 of The Jasad Crown

I huffed a laugh. Leave it to Raya to imply a possible descent into madness and a war capable of ripping apart the four remaining kingdoms wereboring.

Eventually, as I absorbed the warmth from the hearth and Raya’s steady presence, my breathing evened out. I slumped into her lap.

She stroked my curls, gathering them away from my face. When sleep finally caught me, I surrendered with ease.

CHAPTER THIRTY-ONE

SEFA

The staff had finally warmed to Sefa, and it was for one reason and one reason only: nobody else was willing to approach the Sultana during one of her moods.

Sometimes, it was a volley of insults and threats. Other days, she would hover over Sefa while she cleaned or mended a piece of clothing, as though Sefa was a fascinating spider she was wary of releasing from her sight.

But Sefa’s favorite of Vaida’s spontaneous moods was the adventurous one. “Get your coat and meet me by the carriage,” she would snap to Sefa on more than one occasion. “I have business to attend to in the city.”

Sefa had not forgotten about the Jasadi in Vaida’s employ or the troublingly tall man in the hat. Every time they left the Ivory Palace, Sefa wondered if it would be the day Bausit reported that Kera had found the Mirayah. From what Sefa understood, the Jasadi was able to follow trails of magic—see its imprints in the air as Sefa might see footprints in the mud. The goal, Vaida had explained, was to follow the trails of magic to the Mirayah.

“The Mirayah is constantly moving,” she’d sighed, lounging in bed with a bowl of cherries balanced on top of her breasts, studying a painting of her scheduled for a ceremonial framing later in the week. “Magic does not function normally in the Mirayah. Whensomeone disappears into it, their magic’s trail cuts off. Kera follows those lines to see where they disappear, but they have usually gone stale by the time he reaches the other end.”

The conversation had ended when Vaida abruptly threw the bowl of cherries at the painting, splattering her image in crimson.

Sefa still didn’t understandwhyVaida wanted to find the Mirayah. What could a realm of lawless magic offer the Sultana of Lukub? What was in the Mirayah that could convince Vaida she would win a war against Nizahl?

Whatever the answer, Sefa was almost positive it involved the ring. However many secrets Sefa had uncovered, Vaida still had a vault of them locked away.

It wasn’t all bad. Sefa rather liked exploring Lukub in the carriage of its ruler.

Not the bowing everywhere she and Vaida went—she never knew where to look when people prostrated themselves to the woman walking ahead of her. But the buildings they visited, resplendent with painted mirrors cloaked in gold veils, walls covered in elaborate and colorful tapestries, tables bursting with delicacies and food Sefa would have sworn had passed harvest seasons ago. Even the people they met—eccentric, fabulously dressed, and polished to a lethal point—left an impression on Sefa.

Each time, Vaida introduced Sefa as her personal attendant. Sefa thought it was strange, forcing so many of her council members and nobility to acknowledge someone leagues beneath their station.

Not a day had gone by without longing stirring at the base of every new experience Sefa collected. Sefa missed evenings in Sylvia’s room, sighing as Marek singed his fingers picking around the coals for the seeds he’d tried to roast. She missed the smell of the keep—a swirl of tea and bergamot that had become more familiar than her own scent. Sefa missed knowing that if she was struck dead,someone would care. Vaida would probably step over her body and then run it down with her carriage.

The carriage jerked, bumping Sefa into the window. Retaliation for her uncharitable thought, probably. Vaida had her moments of bizarre kindness. They were vastly outnumbered by her capricious and thoughtless ones, but still—Vaida could be sweet. During their last trip, she had stopped the carriage suddenly and ordered the driver to run into town and procure a pair of wool slippers. Slippers she had abruptly handed to Sefa without looking at her, remarking that she had tired of the sight of Sefa’s feet poking through her cheap shoes.

The other most notable instance had taken place at the manor of Ashraf Abira, the former head of Lukub’s council and a close friend of Vaida’s mother. His giant mustache should have been a jarring contradiction to his sparklingly bald head, but he carried an air of wisdom Sefa implicitly trusted. Perhaps more men should be bald and mustached.

They had been in his gardens, and Vaida had momentarily stepped away with Ashraf to speak in low tones, leaving Sefa awkwardly standing by the fountain beside Ashraf’s own attendant. A statue of Baira loomed behind them, rose-scented water pouring from her hands and splashing into the wide pool beneath her.

The attendant had inched closer to Sefa, either oblivious to her discomfort or choosing to ignore it, and leaned in to proposition her for a romp in the garden while they waited. She had been rigid with mortification as the attendant described in graphic detail what he would like to do to Sefa there, reluctant to move away and encourage him to follow, unable to remember how to lift her tongue to hiss vitriol at him.

Sefa still wasn’t sure how Vaida had rounded the fountain and come up in the rear without either of them noticing. All Sefa recalled was wanting to sink into the earth, and then gasping asVaida grabbed a handful of the attendant’s hair and shoved his face into the fountain. Despite her willowy frame, Vaida maintained an easy hold on the thrashing man, humming under her breath as he struggled. Water splashed, soaking Vaida’s sleeves and the front of her dress.

Ashraf had returned and cast a curious glance at his drowning attendant. “Would you mind terribly if I relieved you of an attendant?” Vaida had asked.

After some thoughtful stroking of his mustache, Ashraf had nodded. “I’m afraid so. My mother is coming to visit next week.”

Vaida had pouted and released the attendant. Coughing and spluttering, the soggy idiot dropped to the grass, crawling away from Vaida on his elbows.

Sefa and Vaida hadn’t remarked on the incident until they were safely ensconced in the carriage. Sefa had tried to offer her thanks for the rescue only for Vaida to snap, “If anyone speaks to you like that again, you have my full permission to saw off their tongue with your dullest blade. Don’t wait for me or someone else to step in on your behalf. Much as you seem to despise it, sometimes violenceisthe answer. Sometimes, it is the only way you can save yourself.”

No one could call Vaida warm.

But Sefa would insist with her last breath that yes—the Sultana of Lukub could be kind.

CHAPTER THIRTY-TWO

SYLVIA

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