Page 15 of The Jasad Crown (The Scorched Throne #2)

CHAPTER EIGHT

SEFA

T he door opened easily. Sefa entered and slammed it shut behind her.

A bedroom twice the size of Raya’s keep and decorated with more color than Sefa had previously known existed assaulted her senses.

The chaotic explosion of craft wasn’t what Sefa would have expected.

One would think a ruler who tossed her enemies in open graves and let the world watch them starve wouldn’t sleep on bright yellow blankets.

“Hello there.”

A woman in a silk shift sat across a vanity heaped with creams, fragrances, and ornate bottles.

White-lined eyes nearly as dark as Sylvia’s met Sefa’s in the mirror, remarkably collected given the circumstances.

Gold cream smeared one of her eyelids, the other light brown.

Powder glittered over her high cheekbones, stars shining on her dark skin.

Vaida arched a brow. “I don’t imagine you’re lost.”

Not lost, but certainly speechless. Sefa hadn’t laid eyes on the Sultana in person before.

Well, she had seen slivers while hiding in Vaida’s wardrobe, but she had been preoccupied with the possibility of being caught and executed at the time.

The beauty of the Sultana was legend throughout the kingdoms, and Sefa could finally confirm it had not been exaggerated.

Sefa must have caught her in the middle of experimenting with her cosmetics.

Another commotion outside unstuck Sefa. “You are in grave danger, my lady.”

“I’m always in grave danger.” Sultana Vaida turned on the bench, facing Sefa. Dozens of braids cascaded over shoulders like sharply honed blades. “Are you the grave danger? If your aim is to kill me, don’t dawdle. I loathe trite conversation.”

Sefa’s mouth opened. She thought Sefa wanted to kill her?

Sefa wasn’t even armed. Crumbs clung to the front of her dress, which Sefa hadn’t taken off in days.

She would be the world’s most slovenly assassin.

“Sultana, I can assure you I was not dispatched to kill you. I am, however, stupid enough to barge into your chambers to beg you to hide before—”

A scratch came from the door. Sefa’s eyes widened. Uncertainty flickered over Vaida. She glanced at the door and back at Sefa.

The options presented themselves to Sefa in the endless stretch of the next minute.

She could scurry somewhere and hide, leaving the Sultana like a sitting duck for whoever burst through the door.

It was what Sylvia would do. Sylvia wouldn’t have entered the room to begin with.

She might have even tossed the assassins an extra knife for good luck.

Her friend didn’t indulge indecision over whether to save the life of someone guaranteed to make hers more difficult.

But Sefa had always believed that most decisions, no matter how complicated they might seem, could be clearly categorized as right or wrong. The decision to leave a weaponless woman to die in her own chambers was not the exception.

Another rattle of the door had Sefa darting forward and catching the Sultana’s wrist. The fearsome leader of Lukub proved surprisingly easy to manhandle.

Sefa threw open the doors to one of the many wardrobes tucked around the chamber and shoved Vaida behind a rack of coats bigger than the animals they were skinned from, hopping in after her.

As soon as she closed them inside the wardrobe, she heard the creak of the bedroom doors.

Vaida, too deep in the wardrobe to hear the sound, opened her mouth. Frustration bubbled through Sefa. For someone obsessed with preserving her safety, Sultana Vaida appeared determined to resist Sefa’s efforts to keep her alive.

Sefa slapped her hand over the Sultana’s mouth. They were squeezed behind the coats, close enough that Sefa saw the exact moment Vaida registered the sounds of a person rummaging through her chambers.

They held themselves still as the assailant drew closer. Angry mumbling filtered into the wardrobe. “Told him she wouldn’t be here. He’s put me in a bind this time, damn him.”

Something slammed to their right. The assassin was opening the other wardrobes. Vaida’s panicked eyes swung to Sefa and held.

She was afraid.

Sefa wasn’t sure why the revelation came as a shock.

Perhaps she’d spent too much time with Sylvia, who seemed to believe she feared death until she encountered an opportunity to run toward it like a bull with a branch up its rump.

Or Arin of Nizahl, who unflinchingly stood toe-to-toe with Sylvia even at her worst—a decision that would have seen a normal man slain ten times over.

Thanks to the company Sefa had kept in the tunnels, she’d forgotten what the normal response to an impending possibility of murder looked like.

Another slam, closer this time. Their wardrobe would be opened next.

Sefa released a silent exhale. She and Marek had been in similar situations in the past and escaped unscathed.

Granted, the last time they were in such a position, Sefa was nearly beaten to death, but she doubted the assassin would have time to get more than a couple of punches in.

Sefa moved much faster than they expected.

She spoke directly in Vaida’s ear. “Stay here. Do not move.”

Red-tipped fingernails caught Sefa’s sleeve. Sefa patted the Sultana’s hand before gently prizing it off.

With as much stealth as she could manage in the cramped space, Sefa slid the most expensive-looking of the furs over her stained dress. If this didn’t work, at least she would die in luxury.

Sefa reared her leg back and kicked the wardrobe doors open. Sultana Vaida was still obscured behind the other coats, and Sefa avoided rustling the rack when she careened out of the wardrobe.

The assassin jumped a foot in the air. His knife swung toward her. “You aren’t the Sultana.”

Sefa quickly shed the coat, glancing around guiltily.

“Are you one of the new guards? I’m so sorry.

Sultana Vaida went for her bath, and I—her clothes are so beautiful, and I only wanted to try—you won’t tell anyone, will you?

Oh please, please don’t. I just started working in the kitchen.

My mama won’t take me back if I’m dismissed.

” Tears slid down Sefa’s cheeks. She gazed at the assassin from under wet eyelashes.

With her ratty gown and generally unkempt appearance, Sefa certainly looked the part of lowly staff.

His confusion grew while she babbled, but she was handing him an excuse with a bow and a scented rose. Was this the caliber of assassin being sent after one of the most powerful people in the kingdoms? Sefa was almost offended on the Sultana’s behalf.

“Yes, I’m a guard.” He puffed up his chest and lowered the knife. “There was a noise.”

“I heard it! From down the hall, I believe. I got so scared, I hid in the wardrobe. Would you like me to fetch the other guards to accompany you? It can’t be safe traveling alone with the assailant still wandering.”

“No!” The assassin pursed his lips. “No, you stay here. Don’t leave this room. Understand? It isn’t safe.”

Too, too easy. Sefa squeezed out another tear. “As you see fit.”

“Where did you say the Sultana’s baths were?”

“Walk down the hall and take two rights. The door is covered with rose petals.” Sefa had no idea where the hall led. Into the clutches of an armed guard, hopefully.

He pulled open the door a crack and glanced out. After checking Sefa hadn’t moved from her spot, he slid outside, pulling the door shut behind him.

Sefa immediately dragged the velvet bench in front of the door. The odds of him returning were slim, but she never underestimated the brainlessness of some men. He’d broken the lock, but she turned it anyway.

In the middle of assessing whether she could topple one of the wardrobes to block the door, Sefa jumped a foot in the air when a hand settled on her shoulder.

Sefa whirled around to find the Sultana directly behind her, dark eyes regarding her with no trace of the fear Sefa had seen in the wardrobe.

Sefa could almost convince herself she had hallucinated it.

“He won’t return. The palace gates close during an attack. There is no escape for him.” She removed her hand and walked to an overstuffed emerald chair by the window. “You are quite a capable performer. I am impressed.”

Sefa swallowed. Without the imminent threat of harm, her nerves failed her.

What if Sultana Vaida recognized her? Sefa did not harbor a shadow of a doubt that the Nizahl Heir had guards searching for her and Marek.

They had proven themselves the best leverage against Sylvia during the Alcalah.

If the Sultana knew who Sefa was, she’d either order her killed or use her as a bargaining chip with Arin.

“It is a necessity of my station in life, Your Majesty.”

Vaida smiled. “Mine, too. What is your name?”

Her name? She had too many names. Sayali was hunted in Nizahl, and after the Victor’s Ball, so was Sefa.

“Zahra. My name is Zahra.” Her heart jumped to her throat.

“Zahra.” The word rolled from the Sultana’s tongue without a hint of recognition. “Tell me, Zahra, why are you in my palace? Do not mistake my inquiry for ingratitude, as your service to me tonight cannot be faulted.”

“It is a service anyone would have gladly performed, my lady.”

Sultana Vaida’s lips twisted wryly. “I am flattered you think so.” She lifted an expectant brow.

Embarrassment tripped the words into a mumble. “I am here as an escort to one of your guests.”

A glance at Sefa’s tragic attire would determine exactly what kind of escort she meant. Sultana Vaida tilted her head. “Which guest?”

Sefa opened her mouth—and stopped. Oh no. Oh, she had forgotten his real name. If she didn’t answer quickly, Vaida would think Sefa’s lies hadn’t ended with the assassin.

She hung her head. “To be perfectly honest, Your Majesty, I don’t recall. I have been referring to him as ‘Corpse Walker’ in my head.”