Page 110 of The Jasad Crown (The Scorched Throne #2)

JASAD

SIX YEARS AFTER THE ENTOMBMENT

A re you sure about this?” Sefa murmured.

Lateef was glad the Sultana had been able to travel for the festivities. He had missed the sad little seamstress.

The grief permanently clinging to the Sultana had shifted since the last time she visited.

The density of it had eased, allowing sparks of humor and interest to occasionally surface from the drowning darkness.

He imagined in time, he might even be able to look at her without seeing it etched in her eyes.

“I am,” Lateef answered. Attending the Summit in Orban had not been without its challenges, given the circumstances of the last Summit.

If the Supreme and Sultana had not been in attendance, Lateef would not have made the journey.

“Magic has returned across the kingdoms. We have traded peacefully for years, and the other rulers have opened their borders to us. Signing the new accords simply memorialized the terms of peace.”

“Have you seen him since the Summit?”

Lateef did not need to ask who she meant. “No.”

Children ran up the translucent steps of Usr Jasad, climbing for a better view of Qayida Namsa as she soared over Usr Jasad on the back of her kitmer. A halawany pushed his cart of sweets through the crowd, passing out sesame seed candies and chunks of halawa.

“Have you seen him since the Summit?” Lateef couldn’t help asking.

“Yes, about two months ago. I visited the Citadel for his birthday.” Sefa pushed a strand of hair behind her ear. “I didn’t want him to spend it alone.”

“He seemed well at the Summit.”

Her gaze tunneled, going somewhere Lateef could not follow.

“He does what he needs to do, and nothing more,” Sefa said quietly.

“It is like watching the sun take its rotation across the sky. He is sure and steady, but nothing… touches him. Nothing moves him. If it weren’t for Ehal and Niseeba, I think he could go years without interacting with another living creature. ”

Niseeba. Lateef snorted, amused each time he heard the kitmer’s name. The Jasad Malika may have been an odd woman, but nobody could accuse her of a bad sense of humor.

“He is an excellent Supreme,” Lateef said solicitously.

His own relationship with the Nizahl Supreme had been a fraught one.

The young man was brilliant, as clever and determined as the stories had suggested, but Lateef had been present when Essiya vanished into the mist. He had seen Arin after he recouped the magic his father had stolen from him.

Lateef had witnessed dozens of soldiers throw themselves on top of their ruler to prevent him from running onto the bridge.

Most importantly, Lateef had never forgotten seeing the Supreme fight his way out and tear through every soldier who stood between him and the bridge.

If Sefa herself had not stepped into his path, Arin of Nizahl would surely have vanished into Sirauk’s mist six years ago.

She had never told Lateef what she said to Arin that day in Janub Aya, and Lateef had never asked.

Efra elbowed his way through the crowd, Maia hoisted on his shoulders. She cheered Namsa’s name as a fleet of kitmers joined the Qayida, their wings beating in perfect synchrony.

“He will recover,” Lateef said. “It will not always be like this.”

Sefa’s quiet laugh broke Lateef’s heart. “Do you promise?”

Lateef wrapped his arm around her shoulders. “I promise.”

The Sultana leaned her head against him. “Will you come to the Citadel with me for his next birthday?”

“I will,” Lateef said. He paused. “What kind of gift does one purchase for Arin of Nizahl?”

The kitmers sailed parallel to the steps of Usr Jasad, the cheers of a thousand spectators chasing them through the air. The first of Essiya’s festivals, and the first time Sefa’s smile did not carry the ghost of grief behind it.