Page 91 of The Jasad Crown (The Scorched Throne #2)

CHAPTER FIFTY-NINE

ARIN

H e tucked the note into her clenched fist and drew the blanket over her shoulders before he stood.

And continued to stand, fixed in place.

Arin had always considered it a requirement of any leader to delineate their areas of strength and weakness. What could be more imperative than understanding where you might be tested and fail?

But as Arin watched Essiya wriggle into the empty pallet where he’d lain, her chin jutting out from under the covers as she burrowed deep, Arin did not know whether the ache coring him from the inside was strength or weakness.

It destabilized him. Unraveled him with every minute spent in her presence.

But it also gave him the strength to turn around and walk away.

Carving her out, pretending that leaving her side did not shatter pieces of him as he walked, was not a viable option. If she weakened him, so be it. Arin would be twice as strong.

The guard at Jeru’s door jerked awake at the sight of Arin heading toward him. He glanced behind Arin, searching for an escort, and leapt to his feet at the sight of the empty hall.

“You can’t be here,” the man said, panicked. Silver and gold swirled in his eyes, but Arin struck faster, locking an arm around his neck.

The first guard slumped just as the second guard rounded the corner carrying a clay ula and a plate of ruz ma’amar. Both fell at her feet at the sight of Arin carefully laying the guard on the ground.

A smart one; she did not attempt to fight Arin directly. Someone needed to sound the alarm, and she swung around, chest expanding with the beginnings of a scream.

It would have worked were Arin not already in motion. One of the guards’ chairs sailed across the short hall and slammed into her back.

A minute later, Arin dragged her unconscious form next to the other guard’s.

At least they had not wasted their magic on a useless attempt to hold him off.

Jeru glanced up at the sound of the creaking door, wide awake. At the sight of his Commander, Jeru nodded to himself. “I thought so.”

Without prompting, the guardsman followed Arin out of the room, stepping over the slumbering bodies at his threshold.

They had made their way around the corner when Marek stumbled out of his room, hair mussed in every direction and sleep hanging over him. He was holding an empty ula. When he spotted Arin and the unconscious guards, the sleep vanished. Comprehension dawned onto the farmhand.

“You cold-blooded traitor,” he breathed. “You’re abandoning her. She gave you every secret they have, and you’re leaving.”

“Marek, it is not what you think.” Jeru grabbed the boy’s arm.

Marek tore free, and Arin had the foresight to grab the front of Marek’s shirt before he could sprint down the hall and finish what the second guard had started.

Arin shoved him through the door he’d emerged from, stepping into the dark room with Jeru close behind.

“The Commander isn’t betraying the Malika,” Jeru said, glancing toward Sefa’s still outline on the bed.

“He is trying to help her. If he returns to Nizahl, he can recall the soldiers from Jasad. Remove the blockades from the trade routes the Jasadis need to reach their kingdom. He can prevent his father from sending recruits to die. Marek, if Arin returns, Jasad will have Nizahl at its side.”

Reluctantly, Marek’s attention slid to Jeru. “What about the Supreme?”

Arin abruptly released the boy and wiped his gloves on his pants. “My father is my responsibility. As is Vaida.”

The lump beneath the covers sat up, and Sefa regarded the three men in her bedroom coolly.

“Are you going to kill her?”

A thin shaft of light from the hall cut across Sefa’s silhouette. Despite the boredom in her tone, a warring mixture of regret and consternation simmered beneath the surface of Sefa’s sleep-lined features.

Arin briefly wondered which of her ever-shifting collection of faces Vaida had shown Sefa.

After Sefa cut off her finger, the Vaida Arin knew would have had each of the girl’s limbs tied to a different tree while a pack of starved mutts ripped her apart.

Leaving her in the Traitors’ Wells mere miles from Arin’s holding?

If he didn’t know any better, Arin might have thought Vaida wanted the seamstress saved.

Arin answered Essiya’s friend with the honesty she deserved. “I hope not.”

“Good,” Sefa murmured. She melted back into her covers, pausing halfway to peer at Arin. “I never thanked you for the High Counselor.”

“Then be relieved that I have no interest in your thanks.”

A private smile played on Sefa’s lips. “You and her really are perfect for each other.”

The strange half-Lukubi, half-Nizahlan girl disappeared beneath the covers, leaving Arin staring after her.

“All right,” Marek interjected, smoothing the wrinkles Arin had left in his collar. “Say I believe you about the Supreme. How exactly do you plan to overcome a charge of treason?”

Jeru dug his elbow into Marek, but Arin scarcely noticed.

“Murder is only treason if left unfinished,” Arin said. He tucked his hands into his pockets and turned to the door. “When I am done, they will call it succession.”