Page 78 of The Jasad Heir

I thought only Vaun was present for that.

How bad must the attack on Arin have been to still haunt his guards a decade later?

I tried to swallow past my dry throat. “Marek, do you remember what the group was called?”

Marek glanced at the door, lowering his voice to a whisper. “Yes, but you cannot speak of it to anyone. I only know because Hani mentioned them a few days before his murder, and he swore me to secrecy.”

Foreboding tiptoed down the rungs of my spine. “I promise.”

“I believe they called themselves the Mufsids.”

As predicted, Arin came to the tunnels only to sleep and swap guards. We had mere days before we were due to leave for Lukub, but he had opted to spend at least one of them hunting the Urabi who sent the Hound. He left detailed instructions on what each training session needed to accomplish, but the guards could be creative about the methods.

Heavy footsteps approached the training mast while I stretched.Pleaselet it be Jeru substituting today. Wes focused more on defensive strategies and avoided my magic altogether. Ren preferred having me run in the muddiest portion of the woods and throw spears at moving targets until I could scarcely move.

The person who entered the training mast wasn’t any of them. It was Vaun.

“What are you doing here?” I asked, covering my unease with indignation. Loose training garments had replaced his uniform. “I don’t train with you.”

“Wrong. His Highness said you shouldn’t train with me if there were any available alternatives,” Vaun replied. “The others aren’t here.”

Alarm flared through me. Vaun and I hadn’t ever been truly alone. His loathing for me had only increased with time, and I was hardly penning prose about him.

Vaun grew up with the Heir. Of all the guards, he was the best. Fast, strong, and brutally efficient. I wouldn’t walk away undamaged.

If I objected, he’d back down. He had to.

“Afraid? I can always leave,” Vaun taunted. He’d been waiting for this. Possibly orchestrated the errands keeping everyone occupied.

Our reckoning had dawned, and I wasn’t turning away.

“Pick your weapon,” I said. “Let’s finish this.”

Malice shone behind Vaun’s wide grin. “Ah, there it is. So much pride for such a raggedy little orphan girl.” He didn’t spare the weapons lined on the chest a look. “Bare-fisted combat. There won’t always be a weapon to save you, will there?”

“You talk too much for someone who’s meant to be seen and not heard.”

We circled each other. I bounced on the springy mats, glancing at Palia’s and Niyar’s shapes on the wall. The bird soared overhead, wings catching on the breeze as the magic reset, and the scene played anew.

“Conditions?”

“Try not to die.” Vaun rolled his shoulders. “His Highness has plans hinging on your continued existence.”

The people moving in the walls around us meant less than nothing to him. He had threatened my friends, terrorized me every spare moment he could. Countless Jasadis had died at his hateful sword.

“I’m going to enjoy this,” I said.

I sprang first, aiming for his stomach. Getting him on the floor and disoriented was all I needed to end this victoriously. From there, it would be a simple matter of gouging out his eyes. Arin’s training was for a Champion; Hanim’s, for a survivor.

Vaun twisted out of reach, slamming his fist into the side of my head. I staggered, blinking back white sparks, and laughed.

“Is that it? Come now, Vaun. Where’s your passion?” I attacked again. My blow met its mark, and he grimaced.

Vaun fought well. Almost too well. By the time I was wiping blood from my chin, I knew he’d been paying attention. Listening to the guards’ conversations about my progress, memorizing my weaknesses. We fell into a violent pattern; I lunge, he swings, I either reel back or land my own blow. He was counting on my impatience swelling and causing a slip.

His strategy might have worked if my opponent had been anyone else. Vaun’s patience rivaled mine in fragility. It was a matter of who broke first.

“All this for your precious Heir? I’ll admit, he’s not the sharpest spade in the armory, but he’s not utterly useless. He can fight his own battles.” The gibe came out garbled. He’d split my lip with his elbow a few rounds ago.

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