Page 43 of The Jasad Crown (The Scorched Throne #2)
CHAPTER TWENTY-EIGHT
SYLVIA
T here was nothing I loved more in this life than being proven right.
Drops of water pelted us from the roaring waterfall. Soaking wet and standing knee-deep at the westernmost part of Hirun River, I allowed vindication to warm me through my damp clothes. “I knew this was how you were all moving in and out of the mountains!”
Lateef’s brow furrowed. “When were you down here?”
“When she tried to escape,” Efra said.
“When Efra decided to watch me drown instead of calling for help,” I said at the same time. The current gently tugged at my legs as it tipped over the edge of the opening, joining the streams cascading toward Suhna Sea.
“When the Sareekh rescued her,” Maia piped in, avoiding the glares Efra and I shot her.
The waterfall gushed behind us, a powerful deluge curtaining us off from the steep drop into the sea. Ahead, the river snaked beneath the mountain, rising higher the farther it traveled. In a mile or so, our supply of air would probably narrow to a couple of inches above our heads.
If legends were true about Hirun running beneath the Desert Flats, was the other part of the story true?
Had hiding Hirun been Rovial’s punishment for Dania’s strike against his kingdom?
The Orbanians would always be in drought, always be reliant on creeks and streams, because the river that nourished the rest of the land had been hidden from them.
“Do you use a boat?” I asked, glancing around. “Or does one of you know how to help the rest of us breathe underwater?”
One of the Urabi I hadn’t interacted with much sloshed forward and cleared her throat. The river rippled around her, six long shapes rising to the surface.
“About that,” Kenzie said.
“Stop shouting!” Maia pleaded. “Efra, can’t you calm her down?”
Efra shuddered. “I told you—I will not use my magic on her. I nearly let her beat me to death on the cliffside rather than have my magic collide with the toxic vat of power roiling around inside her.”
“ Let me,” I hissed. “A moth with its wings tied back could beat you to death.”
“She’s hysterical. I will handle it,” Medhat announced, and lifted his hand to presumably strike me.
Two seconds later, he wheezed, grabbing at the throat I’d just punched.
“Essiya!” Namsa grabbed my elbows. I put up a token struggle, but truthfully, my hollering had turned to shrieking curses a while ago, and I didn’t particularly wish to strike Namsa in the throat.
“It won’t hurt you. Kenzie can control beasts of the river—it is why we brought her with us, despite her abysmal fighting skills. ”
Kenzie gasped. “I’ll fight you right now, Namsa!”
Namsa’s eyes, so very like Dawoud’s, bored into mine. “Breathe. Collect yourself. We would never put you in a position to be harmed.”
The frenzy drained slowly, leaving me loose-limbed and embarrassed. I didn’t shake Namsa’s grip off right away. “She’s never lost control of them?”
“Never.”
Kenzie nodded. She crossed spindle-thin arms over her chest, drawing herself tall. “I will have you know I was the premiere Rivertamer in my—”
I spoke over her. “And her magic will last until we reach the Omal palace?”
An outraged huff from Kenzie, but Namsa nodded. “She has been saving up her magic for weeks, so she’s brimming with it.”
It would have to do. I finally shook Namsa off and retreated, bracing myself before I glanced down.
Slitted bulbous eyes peered up at me, attached to seven monstrous crocodiles twice the width of my body and three times its length.
Rows of hard scales studded their backs, cresting over the menacing lash of their tails.
Spiky ridges ran in parallel lines between the gray and brown tiles of their tough skin.
I tried not to wince at the teeth protruding from their closed jaws, too long for the confines of their snouts.
I exhaled, reaching into my coat to palm Binyar’s journal. The critical piece of this journey, the evidence the Urabi had hinged their hopes on.
“We will reach Omal in three days. The palace in five,” Efra said. I bristled at his snide tone, wishing I hadn’t left my little kitmers hopping along the cliffside. “Unless you’d like to spend weeks stomping around Essam Woods, that is.”
We didn’t have weeks to spare. Even if we did, we were sharing Essam with Arin. Sooner or later, he would find me. He always did.
He told me he would come for me as soon as I left the mountains, and I believed him.
It hadn’t even surprised me to learn he’d known where I was.
Arin was methodical, slicing apart a problem the way Rory opened a frog beneath his knife.
He had spent years searching for the Urabi and Mufsids across the kingdoms, across the woods. There was only one option left.
“You have a map of the mountains?” I asked faintly. “A detailed map?”
“I have several, but they’re far from finished.”
He had known where I was—he just hadn’t known how to get to me.
I took a deep breath, forcing myself to study the creatures again. A crocodile lashed the point of its tail, sending water arcing at my feet. I winced. I had ridden the Sareekh. These crocodiles were barely the size of one of the Sareekh’s scales. And yet—
I shuddered and turned to Medhat. I’d met the man briefly my first day in the mountain and instantly wanted to saw off his tongue.
On his worst days, Marek could talk for several hours straight, but Medhat—the Jasadi possessed a bottomless well of energy and an eagerness to wield it against every unwitting fool in his path.
Fooled by his youthful demeanor and gangly limbs, I had given him seventeen years of age until Namsa revealed he was older than me by eight years.
Mere minutes in his overwhelmingly cheerful presence, and I already wanted to lie down for a week. I pointed at him. “If you try to slap me again, I will liberate your hand from your body and feed it to my kitmers as a treat.”
The group made a disgusted face. I pressed on, puffing my chest. “With that said, I’m afraid you are going to need to tie me to the crocodile.”
It took sixteen hours to reach land. Sixteen hours traveling by water beneath the Desert Flats, slipping in and out of the river as the crocodiles swam at top speed.
Marek and Sefa were never going to believe me.
In the back of my head, I had been keeping a collection of all the stories I wanted to share with them when I saw them again.
Stories from the mountain, certainly, but also from before.
Stories from my childhood and Usr Jasad.
About the Blood Summit and Rawain and Hanim.
They had learned I was Essiya minutes before my magic destroyed the wing of the Citadel.
The minute they knew me completely was also the minute I lost them. How very consistent.
I wrung my hair out for the third time, grimacing at the twinge in my sore arms. We’d made camp for the night on the outskirts of Essam Woods. The trees this far northwest were more scattered than I was accustomed to, the wide gaps between them forming doorways of darkness around the perimeter.
The seven of us huddled next to the crackling fire.
Maia passed around soggy feeno sandwiches, the fluffy bread sliced down the center and filled with gibna rumi.
I hadn’t had gibna rumi in years . Not much of a loss, since the overly salty flavor and crumbly texture of the cheese always dried out my mouth. But food was food, and I was ravenous.
Someone scooted closer, an arm slinging onto the log braced behind me. “I think I saw you shiver earlier. If you need anyone to warm you up, I’ve been told my services are more than adequate,” Medhat said. Mischief glittered in eyes bluer than a spring sky.
I squinted suspiciously.
Silver and gold swirled in his irises. Flames danced on the ends of his fingers and melted into his calluses, flowing like red rivers through the lines of his palm. “Think about it.”
The other reason meeting Medhat exhausted me: he was yet another of the Urabi with a rare magic.
They’d called those with the ability to draw forth fire and manipulate it a wakeel el-nar.
Their services had been highly coveted in the Jasad military, but of those blessed with the terrifying power, most had the personality of a butterfly.
They preferred to flit through life using their fire for festival tricks and royal entertainment instead of lending it to battle.
“Medhat,” Namsa groaned from her sprawl near the fire. She had curled into a ball as soon as we trudged out of the river and hadn’t unfurled. “Leave the Malika alone.”
“We are only having fun,” Medhat pouted. “As a rule, I don’t irritate women who threaten to feed my body parts to their pets.”
He ran a hand through his wavy, sand-brown hair and shot me a grin. “Despite the insult to my honor, I do still try to make sure those women don’t freeze to death.”
“How about you check on the rest of us first?” Efra groused.
He had been the most active in our group, gathering wood and arranging makeshift bedding out of scattered leaves, moss, and weeds.
An admirable effort, if a wasted one. The upright among us certainly couldn’t unclench our frozen limbs long enough to lie down.
“You will have to forgive Efra,” Medhat shared in a conspiratorial whisper. “He’s usually much better mannered.”
My nostrils were too frozen to produce a respectable snort. “If you say so.”
Victory flashed in his toothy grin, and I stifled my groan. He had tricked me out of my stoic silence, and now he had a better notion of what buttons to push.
“Just sleep, Essiya,” Namsa mumbled. “He won’t shut up until you do.”
I rolled to the ground, cushioning my head in the crook of my arm. I was too nervous to sleep, but I could pretend.
After a stretch of petulant silence, Medhat shuffled in Efra’s direction, and I heard him muse, “Do you think I have the right chin shape for a beard?”