Page 56 of The Jasad Heir

Dread pooled in the pit of my stomach at the mention of that accursed celebration. A name knocked against my skull, politely asking to be let out.

“Fairel. Is—did she—how is she?” I didn’t notice my hand had found my heart. I counted the beats in my head, my body strung tight like it was anticipating a blow.

“She is still recovering,” Sefa said, and I almost keeled over in relief before she finished her sentence.She is.Fairel still existed, still lived, and the rest were details.

“She and Rory are going to have matching canes,” Marek said. “She misses you, but she is excited to know a Champion.”

I shook my head, a fond smile on my lips. Maybe she would finally stop revering the Champions when she remembered she’d seen one of them shove burned bread into her dress to hide it from Raya.

Murky liquid dribbled down the nape of my neck. I squeezed mud from my hair and paused. “Wait, did you throw those damned dirt balls?”

“The dirt was necessary to get your attention, since those two guards never left your side. I didn’t expect my aim to be so excellent.” Sefa prodded me with the end of her walking stick. “Walk and complain, come on.”

I slapped the stick aside. “I can’t leave.”

“They won’t find you, Sylvia,” Marek said, and the ferocity of his conviction startled me. “We’re going to protect you.”

I studied Marek’s combative stance, Sefa’s wary surveillance of the other bank. Oh dear. A fundamental misunderstanding had occurred somewhere between the waleema and now. Had they really spent the last few weeks searching for me?

“The Commander did not abduct me.” At their disbelieving glances, I continued, “I am training to be his Champion.”

Sefa’s mouth hung open. “Tell me you don’tactuallymean to compete in the Alcalah. We thought—we thought you were stalling for time. Waiting for an opportunity to escape.”

I stomped north, toward the spot in the river where I’d fallen. I kept a scattering of trees as a cover between us and Hirun in case the guards happened by. It wouldn’t help anyone if these buffoons were accused of attacking the Nizahl Champion.

“Is he threatening you?” Marek asked. “He can’t hurt you if you refuse the role. Turning down an honor isn’t a punishable offense.”

I tipped my head back and laughed. “There is no shortage of crimes to choose from, should the Heir wish to harm me.” I was positive he maintained a running tally. Whatever expression I wore must have alarmed Sefa, because she thrust a bundle into my arms before I could speak.

“I washed it.” It was my cloak, cleaned and repaired. My throat tightened. Sefa babbled, “It took three scrubbings to get the bucket clean after the grime and mud drained from your infernal cloak. There hasn’t been much sun, so the wretch took a few days to dry. Does it smell all right?”

I did not trust myself to speak for a long moment. The image of Sefa on her knees in front of the water basin, scrubbing her hands raw against my cloak…“It’s perfect.”

“You can skulk wickedly around corners again,” Marek said, with a grin of such fraternal fondness that I could hardly bear it.

A dangerous torrent gathered strength inside me. My cuffs were burning vises around my wrists. I made an idle note of it. “Your kindness would be better spent on someone else.”

“Impossible,” Marek said. “I’ve never met someone who needs it more.”

This was far worse than I could have imagined. I had not earned this. Loyalty could be broken. These destructive fools loved me.

Love.Hanim mocked me.A new name for an old insanity.

When Arin threatened to expose Sefa and Marek, the tactic was only a piece of a much larger ploy. Without the offer of my freedom, without the threat of Felix’s armies, I would have walked away. I might have searched for methods to secure Sefa and Marek’s release, bartered and threatened to spare them from Nizahl’s tribunal.

But I wouldn’t have exchanged myself.

I stepped from the cover of trees, approaching Hirun with a stifled groan. Night had fallen, and the river’s silhouette frothed in the darkness.

“We can hide you,” Sefa blurted, darting away from Marek. She spoke fast, as though anticipating an objection. “Marek and I, we know how to move undetected. We have mastered the art of disappearance.”

“Sefa!” Marek demanded. “Don’t!”

Sefa splashed into the river, out of Marek’s reach. “We’re Nizahlan, Sylvia. I am sure you’ve gathered as much. What you don’t know is after we fled Nizahl, we spent two years flitting between Orbanian and Lukubi villages, surviving on what we could get by cheating or stealing.”

On my right, Marek sank to the ground, covering his head with his arms. A frog hopped onto his shoulder, its chest ballooning with a croak. A disbelieving chuckle slipped from my lips. “Do you mean to say you and Marek were vagrants?”

Sefa nodded vigorously. “Worse. Your route is nothing compared to our deceptions. We stole everything—jewels, clothes, farm tools. Then we sold them in the next village. We cheated our way into homes, charmed merchants and healers. Over and over, for years.”

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