Page 58 of The Jasad Heir

They would die. They would be put into a wagon for Nizahl and never reach their destination. And I would have no way of knowing.

My fingers curled against the pressure swelling in my veins.

Marek spit blood directly onto Vaun’s face. The hotheaded fool was going to get himself killed, and the only person who could stop Vaun seemed disinclined to intervene.

“Sylvia!” Sefa shrieked.

The ground shook. Overhead, a flock of birds left their roost in a burst. The pressure lessened on my cuffs. This time, the surge of magic was cleaner. Less agonizing as it slammed around, seeking an exit.

This time, some of it succeeded.

Ren shouted as he was catapulted backward, falling into Hirun with a splash. The current eagerly swept him away. Vaun’s muscles locked, though his eyes still darted around in confusion. Marek shoved him aside, and the guard keeled over easily. My empty stomach contracted.

The eye that hadn’t swollen shut in Marek’s face widened. Sefa’s breaths came too fast, juddering out of her shaking body. “Am I dead?” She patted at her throat.

“You’re a Jasadi,” Marek breathed.

Arin seemed to have forgotten about the two wards. He kicked Vaun’s shin, but the guard could only quiver. A calculating gleam sparked in the Heir’s gaze. Marek stumbled upright, helped along by Sefa. Before they could go any farther, Arin casually raised his blade. “I wouldn’t recommend running,” he said.

Marek sneered, shoving Sefa behind him. “Go! It’s only one dagger.”

I groped around in my cloak, a litany of curses on my lips. A single dagger was all he needed. Sefa would sever her own limbs before leaving Marek to die, and Arin probably knew it.

Sefa had turned out the pockets when she washed my cloak. Had she returned everything to its original place?

My fingers closed around a solid, cool shape.

It was exceptionally satisfying that my magic over Vaun broke at the same instant Arin found the tip of my blade pressed against his side.

“Vaun, if you take a single step, your Heir will be dead before the blade leaves his body,” I said.

“I will feed your bones to the dogs,” Vaun snarled. “Jasadi filth.”

I pushed the dagger against the hard plane of Arin’s stomach, tearing through his black vest. Arin glanced at the blade, then at me. He pursed his lips, looking vaguely annoyed.

There are two dozen ways he could disarm you, Hanim said.Half of them involve your own blade buried in your body.

I spoke fast. “My magic responds in their presence when it responds to little else. They know about my abilities now. They might reveal my magic if you send them to Nizahl. Any confidence is easy to betray under the right pressure.”

“A sound argument for killing them,” Arin said. Sefa had her arms around Marek’s waist, holding him up. They watched us with the wariness of chickens on the butcher’s block.

“Or keeping them in the tunnels.”

Arin blinked, and I pressed my advantage. “It’s the most practical option. They are the sole clue we have to my magic, and they can hardly spread my secret from the tunnels.”

The fastest route to persuade Arin lay in logic, and from the furrow forming in his brow, I had him.

“Why lose a bargaining chip needlessly?” I pushed.

“And if they escape?”

“They won’t.”

Arin assessed the trembling Nizahlans. I held my breath, my palm slick around the dagger’s hilt. Essam was unnaturally quiet, waiting with me.

Though his voice was soft, the wind carried his words like ice falling from a seething sky. “Do not waste this mercy,” Arin said. “It will not be granted twice.”

He dropped his arm. Relief coursed through me. The argument for sparing their lives had triumphed. A tenuous victory. If Sefa and Marek proved too troublesome, Arin’s scale would shift in death’s favor.

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