Page 58 of The Jasad Crown (The Scorched Throne #2)

“This isn’t Essam.” A statement of the obvious to Arin, but I couldn’t let these woods think they had fooled me. Essam Woods had been my home for a quarter of my life; it had sheltered me, hunted me, shaped me. Within it, I had been prey and predator.

In these woods, I was only prey.

“Magic does not govern the Mirayah,” Arin murmured.

He pressed the hilt of a dagger into the hand hanging at my side, and I closed my fingers around it as Arin and I shifted around each other once more.

Every story I had heard about the Mirayah unfolded in the shadows between the trees, every monster and murderer rumored to have fled to the legendary refuge.

“The Mirayah governs magic. Don’t touch the trees, and do not leave my side. ”

I supposed I deserved the dig—the last time Arin told me not to touch the trees, I had slapped my hand directly over poisoned sap in Ayume Forest.

“The Mirayah moves from place to place within Essam Woods,” Arin continued, his back pressed to mine. “If we can find the edge, we can cross before it moves again.”

How were we supposed to find the edge? We had no notion of our location, no landmarks to guide our path.

“I could climb to the top of one of these trees. I might be able to see where the Mirayah ends.”

“No.”

“Arin—”

“The minute you leave my side, it will whisk you away,” Arin snapped. “I can—I can feel it. It wants you to itself, and my presence is an obstruction.”

I shuddered, wrapping both hands around the dagger. What did the Mirayah want with me?

A guttural growl rolled out from the shadows. I froze as another joined it, then another.

Ten sets of slitted blue eyes appeared in the gloom.

Before I could consider the wisdom of unleashing my scream, Arin grabbed my hand and yanked, dragging me behind him as we ran. “Rochelyas!”

Rochelyas? Kapastra’s poisonous pet lizards? I thought Rovial killed them all when he waged war against Omal. Damn it to the tombs, how long had the Mirayah been here, leeching from the magic of the woods?

We sprinted through the trees, weaving between tauntingly low branches and the shifting ground beneath us. Arin’s steely grip on my hand dragged me forward each time I faltered.

My chest heaved with the effort of staying upright as we fled through the woods, the injuries I’d ignored in Mahair screaming at my abuse. First a dulhath, then mutated soldiers, then rochelyas? What was next, Ruby Hounds?

I slammed into Arin as he abruptly halted. He caught me with an arm around my middle before I could pitch to the ground, drawing me against him.

“Do you see what I see?” he asked.

We stood at the top of a gently sloping hill overlooking a verdant meadow.

I didn’t need to glance over my shoulder to know the trees had disappeared.

The temperature had shifted again, the light fog rolling over the green plains warm and sticky against my skin.

If my hair hadn’t already gone through every level of torture known to a scalp, ten minutes in this weather would double it in size.

The sun had recently set on this meadow, leaving the sky a morose blue, and night had begun its steady encroachment.

“I know this place,” I said suddenly and not entirely of my own volition. Distractedly, I tugged Arin forward, focus narrowing on the single tree in the endless stretch of green around us.

Arin allowed me to lead him across the hill. The grass crunched beneath my feet, entirely too fresh. Even in the best of seasons, none of the kingdoms had so many acres of healthy and undisturbed land. It would have been farmed or built upon.

A small lake appeared on the other side of the hills, stars twinkling over its placid surface. As beautiful as the lake in Ayume, which had thickened around me as I waded into its toxic depths, crushing me slowly.

We would not be going for a nighttime swim.

I stopped beside the tree, all thoughts of the Mirayah fading beneath the tide of recognition cresting over the back of my mind.

“I have been here before,” I gasped. Before Arin could stop me, I sealed my palm to the bark.

I knew these striations like I knew the lines on my palm.

The spiky layers of the trunk, each thorn of wood curving upward like a corn husk.

At the top, red roots sprouted long branches, feathered with thin green around the stem.

“This was a date tree,” I said, as I had once crouched in a burning room and said, The Malik and Malika of Jasad were magic miners. Absolute. Unequivocal. “It burned.”

I glanced at Arin, who was watching me with transparent concern. “We are in Jasad.”

Or at least, what would eventually become Jasad.

“We’re safe here,” I insisted, drawing Arin to the ground beside me. “The Mirayah wouldn’t dare.”

Arin observed me strangely, as though I had begun to slur my speech or speak in tongues. It was the same look Efra wore when my magic swept through me, scrambling my thoughts beneath its undertow. But my magic wasn’t here now. It was just me.

I shivered, wrapping my arms around myself as I leaned against the tree.

Just me.