Page 25 of The Jasad Heir

“I disagree,” he said. “There is plenty to be found, if one knows where to look.”

The Commander (Arin, his name was Arin, his mother hadn’t named him Commander or Nizahl Heir) stepped toward me. I prepared myself. I was coming to realize that every exchange with this man was consciously directed, designed to entrap.

He addressed his next words to Rory. “Her services as an apprentice must be unparalleled if she is twice employed.”

Twice? I glanced at Rory. He looked similarly mystified. I took additional work only over the summer, when Yuli paid handsomely for seasonal farmhands.

Wait. My entire body stiffened. He couldn’t mean my route, could he? He had been in the village for less than a day. I hadn’t seen anyone since Zeinab and her mother. What if they told him my cures were like magic? Kapastra’s fanged rochelyas, perhaps I was too good a crook.

“My services are unexceptional, my lord. I have simply been blessed.”

“Sylvia, where is the herb basket I asked for?” Rory spoke up. Sweat had collected in the lines of his forehead. Despite my rising nausea, I suppressed a small smirk. Who knew how poorly Rory reacted under pressure?

“I forgot to fetch it. My mistake. Your Highness, if you’ll excuse me, there are items—”

Arin didn’t bat an eye. “I am happy to escort you. My guards can set up your chairs in the meantime.”

The guards shifted, displeased about parting with their Commander. Arin’s pointed glance brooked no arguments. It would be a lie to say I wasn’t a little smug. Rory made such a performance of my failure to dissuade Arin from escorting me from the woods. Now he could see for himself there was no victory in a battle of wills with the Heir. It rankled, how effortlessly we had been spun into the precise situation we sought to avoid.

“You have made almost no impression on the other villagers,” he said once we passed Nadia’s storefront. I had no idea where I was taking him. “I find it peculiar. An orphan girl without ties to this village until the age of fifteen. No origins, no story.”

I stayed quiet. He was probing. If he knew anything, I would be tied to the back of a wagon.

“I must have a forgettable disposition.”

Three steps. In the distance, the clanking bell of a fruit cart.

“Or you have magic.”

He halted when I did. His brow arched at my expression. “You’re shocked. Did you think I was taken in by your show in the woods?”

“If I’ve mistakenly led Your Highness to believe—”

Arin waved aside my objection. “Don’t embarrass yourself.”

My nails dug into my palms. “You don’t have proof.” As though he needed it. As though anyone would dare question him. A single word on his tongue held more power than a thousand objections on my own.

“True,” he conceded. “Either you are a study in restraint or these villagers are as unaware as they are dull.”

My cuffs burned. I mocked the villagers daily, had probably expressed the sentiment myself, but Icould. I was one of them.

“Ifunawaremeans we do not brutalize defenseless old men in the middle of the street, then yes. I suppose we are.” It took all my effort not to snarl.

The Commander tilted his head. “Not restraint, then.” He moved toward me. I arrested my breath, belatedly remembering the magic building against my cuffs. Would he sense it frothing under my skin? I would not be able to dampen it fast enough.

I calculated my odds of survival. Cornered as I was, he could snap my neck or slit my throat before I could conjure any kind of functional attack. I would be able to scratch him, maybe, before my body crumpled at his feet.

“Now, it would be a simple matter if I had sensed your magic by the river. Magic is often eager to make itself known. The stronger the power, the faster the response. It takes only a single touch.”

A gloved finger hovered under my chin. Though he didn’t move to close the distance, my trepidation spiked. A world of danger lived in that inch of space.

“The trouble is, your magic doesn’t seem to behave as it should.”

A day ago, Marek had shaken his head and saidmild. Ten years of whittling away common vulnerabilities and leashing my violence. Ten years I felt willing to waste for the chance to stab Arin of Nizahl in the eye.

I gritted my teeth hard enough to crack. “Investigate as you wish, sire. I am afraid it will be time poorly spent.”

The Nizahl Heir withdrew his hand. “Perhaps. But a temper that ignites as quickly as yours leaves ashes in its wake. I need only follow the trail.”

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