Page 59 of The Jasad Crown (The Scorched Throne #2)

CHAPTER THIRTY-SEVEN

SYLVIA

T he Nizahl Heir was far more industrious than anyone with his looks had a right to be. He set about collecting fallen fronds for kindling, breaking the top layers into pieces to catch the flame. Once the spark had caught, he laid out his coat and gloves beside the fire.

“Are you going to ask me about it?”

Arin paused in the middle of untying the straps of his vest. After a beat, he continued, gaze fixed on the flames.

I wrapped my arms around my knees. The branches shuffled beneath a light breeze, scattering the shadows dancing across Arin’s grim face.

“The first one was there when I woke up.” I traced the vein on my palm. Without its light golden glow, it resembled a raised scar. “The rest began appearing afterward. Every time I use my magic, I find a new vein.”

“Why are you telling me this?”

“The others are hoping this war can be won without my magic, but I am not so optimistic,” I said. “I am afraid that I will have to choose—my mind or my people.”

Astonishment colored the gaze Arin turned onto me. “You have spent this entire time railing against the notion of magic-madness. You have told me again and again that it was a hoax.”

“In Mahair, I saved Raya’s life by transferring some of my magic to her. Not through her— to her. She woke up with silver-and-gold eyes.”

The crackling flames spat sparks into the air between us. In this meadow, on the outskirts of time and reality, the Nizahl Heir went deathly still.

“That isn’t possible.”

“You said it yourself, Arin.” I exhaled, tendrils of mist curling from my lips. “My magic does not behave as it should.”

“You cannot transfer magic. It has not been done since the Awaleen.”

“So I have heard.”

“Essiya, magic-madness—” Arin hesitated, a rare enough sight that I raised my brows.

“What I said earlier, about the reoccurrence of a case every century. Each one was a Jasadi. It didn’t matter which kingdom still had magic or how strong the magic.

Every single century, a massacre occurred at the hands of a magic-mad Jasadi, typically a child or adolescent.

Magic-madness isn’t new; the cases were simply too rare and sporadic for the kingdoms to properly track. ”

I did not know whether to laugh or cry. It must have taken him ages to filter through the countless texts of scholarly deception to find a trustworthy accounting of magic-madness. He wouldn’t be sharing the information with me if he hadn’t decided to believe it himself.

“You said it happens once a century. When was the last case?”

The Heir stayed quiet, and it was all I needed to know.

“It’s me, isn’t it?” I settled on a hoarse laugh, tipping my forehead onto my bent knees. “I am the next magic-mad Jasadi.”

“No.”

The denial, offered without any room for negotiation, only served to strip more of the protective layers between me and a complete collapse. He must have come to the same conclusion when he saw my vein appear, when he saw the kitmers. He knew .

“Magic consumed the others in childhood and adolescence, but what about someone whose magic has been trapped half of her life? She could survive into adulthood before it destroyed her.”

I unraveled, the past and future peeling in thick spirals around me. Only the core remained, and in it I saw the truth I’d shoved deep the instant I saw the vein on my palm. The truth I’d kicked into the corner alongside the shards of my memories, the mirrors of my mind waiting to be seen.

“Essiya—”

“If the others are wrong about Queen Hanan…” My voice held steady.

“I won’t be able to avoid using my magic, and the act will consume me.

What will remain is not someone who can be kept alive.

It will be someone ruled by power, and anyone in her way will burn.

Essiya, Sylvia—they won’t exist anymore. Do you understand?”

“Spell it out for me.” I stiffened at the coiled wrath in his eyes. “Say it.”

“If my magic overtakes my mind, you are the only one who will be able to stop me.”

In an instant, Arin’s hands were around my wrists, yanking me toward him. I careened forward, joining him on my knees as the fire crackled next to us.

A storm raged over the Nizahl Heir. I’d never seen anything like it before, not on Arin. Nothing had ever truly broken through his ice. Cracked it, perhaps, punched a hollow crater here and there…

Transfixed, I almost missed his lips moving.

“You want me to kill you?” he hissed. “Is that what you ask of me?”

“I don’t wish to die.” In the face of his rage, my own sparked to life, burning my hard-won resignation to ash.

I took comfort in its familiar embrace. “If you recall, the only reason Jasadis need my magic is because your father burned our kingdom to the ground, and you have dedicated your life to destroying magic.”

“I have not declared war,” Arin bit out. “I am handling the other kingdoms, preventing the mobilization of any armies, and I—”

When his silence lengthened, I shook my trapped wrists. “What?”

“I have searched for other solutions,” Arin said. Slow, almost wary. “Other mechanisms to address the dangers of magic without resorting to war.”

My right wrist dropped as Arin reached back, searching in the inner pocket of his drying coat. When he withdrew a shiny, flattened silver slab, I wrenched out of his grip, falling backward in my haste to retreat.

I rolled, grabbing the dagger from where I’d left it by the tree. I scanned for any exit from this meadow, but the sloping hills stretched endlessly around me. We were trapped until the Mirayah decided we weren’t.

I had worn those cuffs my entire life. I had seen them every night as I went to bed and every morning as I dressed; scratched at them until my skin broke; traced the runes carved into their surface until I could draw them in my sleep.

“This is your solution?” My lips curled. Anger vibrated through every inch of my body. “Design more cuffs? Suppress the magic of every Jasadi?”

Arin rose without drawing his own dagger.

I struggled not to stare at the cuff, nausea roiling in my gut.

“Jasadis are already losing their magic. In mere generations, it will be gone, just as the other kingdoms lost theirs. What is the harm in cutting it off now? You would have no need to hide. No need to fear magic mining or losing your mind.”

“You said yourself that true magic-madness only occurs once a century.” I gestured toward myself with the dagger. “I am the last one! Once I die, it will be over. Jasad’s magic will fade within the next century and take magic-madness with it.”

Arin threw the cuff to the ground, using both hands to rake through his hair. “You say you don’t wish to die, but you won’t accept any solution outside of your death. Do you think surrendering to your magic is bravery? Do you think it will atone for your past?”

I advanced on him, the tip of my dagger pressing into his half-laced vest. Arin did not bother knocking it from my grip, and the insult incinerated the last shreds of my reason.

“Instead of worrying about my past, let us discuss Nizahl’s.

You say that you adhere to the founding laws of your kingdom—when the Awaleen appointed Fareed to oversee magic, was it to prevent magic from existing?

Or was it to protect against its abuse?”

I relished Arin’s frown for only a second before pressing on.

“Your father and the rest of the kingdoms benefited from my grandparents’ magic mining.

When Rawain decided Jasad’s power had grown beyond its parameters, he burned our kingdom to the ground.

Is that the decree of Nizahl? When did protecting against the dangers of magic become synonymous with destroying magic itself? ”

I hurled the dagger to the ground. It plunged into the grass beside the cuff. “Our magic is part of us. Suppressing it is no better than mining it.”

“What would you have me do?” Arin spoke through gritted teeth.

“Pretend that Jasad’s magic does not have the capability to decimate thousands upon thousands of lives until it has weakened enough to no longer pose a danger?

Risk another century of magic mining? Another century of the kingdoms losing resources and land to Jasad because they have no way to fight back? ”

“I want you to do what you were appointed to do, Commander. You cannot criticize me for surrendering to my magic when you have surrendered to your fears.” Exhaustion crashed through me, a bucket of water dousing my panic at the sight of the cuff.

“If you let it, fear will make ruins of the future. You will build the rest of your life on the grave of every good thing you might have had, if only you had let yourself try.”

I settled the heel of my boot onto the knife’s hilt and pushed it deeper into the dirt.

“If the next Malik or Malika abuses their magic, intervene. Honor the principles of Nizahl, of our Awaleen. Use that”—I jabbed a derisive finger at the cuff—“if your theory proves incorrect and another case of magic-madness arises after me. If any rulers who come after me try to mine Jasadi magic, slit their throat or throw them to the Urabi.”

“After you.” His bitter tone cracked a whip across my skin. “You still expect to die.”

“Not if I can help it,” I said. “Not if everything goes according to plan.” I did not need to mention how little faith I had in this plan.

“And if it doesn’t, you want me to kill you. Is that right?”

I drew myself up tall. “It would be your duty. It is your oath to protect against the abuses of magic, and if I go mad—”

“You will not go mad.”

“But if —”