Page 145 of The Jasad Heir

From nowhere, Sorn produced a bottle, upending its remains into his glass. My nose wrinkled at the cloying scent. Talwith. How much had he consumed? “You’re confident? My, the village orphan is confident Diya will wake. Quick, summon the heralds! We must share this marvelous news!”

What else had I expected? I turned on my heel, leaving Sorn to make a further spectacle of himself. I wished Diya was here, if only so I could ask her what on earth endeared the boorish Heir to the caustic, quick-witted warrior.

Traditionally, the Victor took a coveted seat at the royal platform. Supreme Rawain lounged in his chair, his scepter tucked under his arm as he rolled a grape between his fingers. He wore Nizahl’s traditional black robes and a violet cape pinned at his collar. Sitting in a bucket of broken glass was preferable to sitting anywhere near Rawain.

Arin offered his hand. “I believe we have an agreement.”

“Have you learned your steps?”

Arin swept me in a turn, hooking me under his arm and spinning me out. A few people around us clapped. He reeled me in with a grin that I wanted to pocket. “At the age of nine.”

“Liar.” I shook my head with mock outrage. Arin was pulling significantly more attention than I was. “Everyone and their uncle is staring at you.”

He hummed. “I don’t typically participate in these affairs. They’re surprised.”

I scanned the gathered royals. “Which one is the High Counselor?”

“He went after a servant a few moments ago,” Arin said. “Why?”

“Sharing a room with the abusive milksop is grating on my nerves.” I leaned in, sliding my hand higher up his shoulder.

Arin’s eyes narrowed. “Abusive?”

I debated whether or not to share Sefa’s story. I had withheld it this long because it wasn’t mine to tell, and knowing the real reason Sefa and Marek were wanted by the High Counselor was unlikely to have altered Arin’s original threat against them. Sefa had shared the truth with me the day after Marek did, but she hadn’t spoken of it since then.

But if Arin could possibly rid Nizahl of the High Counselor’s influence, it was worth telling him. I relayed the tale as succinctly as possible, including Marek’s involvement in their escape. When I finished, the shoulders beneath my palms were strung tighter than a bow.

“Cease your self-flagellation,” I murmured. “You couldn’t have known.” Disbelief twinged at how easily he had believed me. Since when did Arin take anyone’s word at face value?

“I would have offered Sefa to a tribunal of the High Counselor’s allies. Brought her tojustice,” Arin snapped. “He’s lingering near the banquet table to harass the servants.”

A cursory glance found an average-size man drifting purposely into the young serving girl’s space. He had a small mouth and a long forehead. Utterly ordinary. Nothing to indicate he nurtured an appetite for helpless young girls.

Arin’s gaze skidded past me. He swore, missing a step and bumping against the couple behind us.

Nothing alarmed me faster than a visibly alarmed Arin.

“The guards are dragging in a man and a woman wearing a glamor.”

I whirled around. Sure enough, Sefa in the glamor of an old woman and Marek glamored to resemble a black-haired laborer struggled between two Nizahl soldiers. One of them broke off to whisper in Supreme Rawain’s ear.

I tried to rush forward, but Arin’s grip on my elbow was crushing. “Wait.”

On the platform, Supreme Rawain heaved a sigh. “Arin?” He inclined his head toward Sefa and Marek. Arin nodded, cutting through the crowd. He did not release his hold on my arm.

Relief flooded Sefa’s face at the sight of me. “You’re all right,” she exhaled. “Sylvia, someone raided the Victor’s carriages. The soldiers think it was us. We told them we were waiting to travel back to Omal with you, that the carriages had been ransacked before our arrival.”

“They do not believe us,” Marek growled, resistant in the soldier’s grasp.

I winced as pain bloomed where Arin still held me. Urgency underscored the Heir’s brusque voice. “Release them. Alert the soldiers to close the gates. I want my personal guardsmen at the carriages. Every soldier on the Citadel’s grounds needs to comb for the raiders, so wake the recruits.”

Marek and Sefa were freed as the soldiers scattered to obey. I covered Arin’s hand on my elbow with my own, and he finally glanced at me.

“The Urabi,” he explained, stony. “We didn’t catch any of them leaving the trial, and I assumed they had not taken the bait. They must have snuck onto the Citadel’s grounds while the soldiers were detaining the crowd. The third trial is not the end of the Alcalah: the Victor’s Ball is.”

I didn’t have a chance to react. The High Counselor, who had forgotten the serving girl in favor of squinting at Sefa while she spoke, suddenly reared back. “Sayali,” he gasped. “It’s you.”

Sefa spat at his feet.

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