Page 96 of The Jasad Crown (The Scorched Throne #2)

CHAPTER SIXTY-FOUR

ARIN

T he doors to the council room flew open beneath Arin’s hands.

As expected, the council was already on their feet, their shouts clearly heard from down the hall.

A moment later, and Arin might have caught them in the midst of making their escape.

The Citadel was the target of Vaida’s attack, and it had been too long since any of these soft-boiled nobles had fought a battle they were not assured they could win.

Years since they reckoned with the true meaning of their mortality.

Heads swiveled to Arin, and he was amused to find that only Bayoum seemed furious to see him freed from the Capsule. Relief rippled over the others.

Rawain watched him from the head of the table, entirely unsurprised at his son’s appearance.

The glow of health his father had carried throughout his fifty-some years had waned into a sickly gray.

Even his shoulders seemed to have shrunk, smaller than usual beneath the heavy fabric of his robes.

The place on the table where his scepter would typically lean was noticeably empty.

“Arrest him!” Bayoum roared. “Who allowed this traitor free?”

“He is your Heir!” Sama snarled. “The Commander of this kingdom.”

“Titles do not outlast treason!”

Arin ignored them. His father watched Arin, and Arin returned the attention in kind.

Had he played out this coup in his head already? In another world, Arin might have spent time explaining to the council what Rawain had done—the Blood Summit, the mined magic, the truth of Arin’s heritage. Arin would have wanted the straightforward approach, guided by facts and reason.

However, in that scenario, the council would need incontrovertible proof, and Arin did not have it. Meanwhile, the proof of Arin’s treason was covered by the sleeve of his father’s robe. Readily available and undeniable. A decision would be made, and it would not be in Arin’s favor.

Perhaps Rawain would be proud. Arin’s new strategy had been taken directly from his father.

“It will not be long before Vaida arrives at the gates of the Citadel with the Ruby Hounds,” Arin said.

The din of argument died. Bayoum still glared, but he had clearly been outmatched.

“Ruby Hounds cannot be cut down by modern swords. No armor will shield against them. They follow the Sultana and the Sultana alone.”

Arin crossed to the windows and flipped the lock pinning the two sides together. The window opened outward, delivering a refreshing breeze entirely at odds with the gravity of what lay behind the dark outline of Essam Woods.

“The tower’s alarm has not sounded,” Sama said, wiping her forehead on the inside of her wrist. “If Nizahl were in true danger, wouldn’t it have warned us?”

“Vaida hasn’t crossed through Nizahl’s borders yet.

” Arin traced the wall, following her path through the map inside his mind’s eye.

“She will have gone north first to retake the Ivory Palace and expel our soldiers. I imagine my father sent thousands of soldiers to barricade the Citadel for fifty miles out, at the very least. She will use the bulk of her army to tear through those soldiers, and the rest she will send around the mountains.” Arin’s finger moved over the wall.

“Where they will enter Nizahl through the lower villages.”

“Awaleen save us.” Gersiny sat heavily upon his chair, his cane crooked beneath his white-knuckled grip. “It will be a massacre.”

“Yes.” Arin inclined his head. “But it needn’t be.”

Gersiny raised his head, hope spilling over his greenish complexion. “Do you have a plan, Your Highness?”

Gersiny’s deference snapped the last of Bayoum’s pathetic restraint. “Have we forgotten the traitor disappeared with the Supreme’s scepter? That he is suspected of collaborating with the Jasadi rebels?” The counselor slapped his hand onto the table. “Who knows what magic his Jasadi whore placed—”

Bayoum’s scream shattered the night’s serenity. The other counselors shielded themselves from the splatter of blood as Arin’s dagger drove into the hand Bayoum set on the table. It wedged deep through wood and bone, the hilt resting an inch beneath the counselor’s middle knuckle.

Arin allowed himself to take some pleasure in the spectacle of Bayoum pinned, baying like a stuck boar. The counselor writhed in Arin’s hold as he grabbed Bayoum by the collar and pulled out the dagger. Arin hauled him across the table, knocking over inkwells and empty chalices.

When Arin hoisted Bayoum’s head through the window, the counselor began to plead.

Incoherent babbling, a stream of pitiful appeals.

Arin didn’t hear a word of it. His head pounded, the edges of the void he’d managed to subdue in the Gibal straining against its restraints.

The darkness tore open at the back of Arin’s mind, and from its depth, reckless rage burst free.

Arin lowered his mouth to the counselor’s ear. “Tell High Counselor Rodan I said hello.”

Nobody intervened. Nobody stepped toward Bayoum’s defense.

The counselor’s shrill scream bounced between each wing of the Citadel as Arin heaved him through the window. When he landed, a small, still speck on the lawn of the Citadel, Arin and the raven mounted above the tower looked down upon the late counselor, both pairs of eyes cold and unmoved.

“As I was saying.” Arin turned back to the remaining counselors, withdrawing a handkerchief to clean the blood from his dagger. “The bloodshed is not inevitable. I can prevent it.”

Layla’s arrival did not distract the council, though her bloodstained gown won itself a smattering of raised brows. She responded to Arin’s questioning glance with a nod.

“How?” Sama demanded. “What means do you have to fight hundreds of Ruby Hounds?”

Faheem waved Sama aside. The High Counselor came around the table, ignoring the streaks of blood Bayoum’s hand had left across the surface. “What do you require, my lord? We can reinstate your inheritance. You can be Nizahl’s Heir again.”

“I have no interest in being the Heir,” Arin said. “My price for your lives is Nizahl’s crown.”

The council stopped short. Even his father, who had been watching the proceedings with an inscrutable expression, snapped to attention.

“You wish to be Supreme?” Faheem asked, as though he might have misheard. “Your Highness, it isn’t—your father—”

“My father is the traitor,” Arin said. “As Bayoum so succinctly put it, titles do not outlast treason.”

“We can supersede the laws of inheritance in a state of emergency. The Nitraus Vote isn’t just for the removal of a sitting Commander—it also permits the advancement of their title.

He needs three votes,” Layla said. A calculating gleam sparked in the emissary’s eyes, and Arin remembered why they had gotten along so well in their youth.

Layla loved devouring every morsel of knowledge about the kingdoms’ political framework, no matter how abstract or ancient.

“For the Nitraus Vote to advance a title, he would need the High Counselor’s vote and two others. ”

When Rawain stood, the counselors jumped.

His father’s presence, always so preeminent, had shrunk considerably.

“He is bluffing,” Rawain said calmly. “Everyone in this room knows how Arin favors those lower villages. He forbids their conscription, empties our treasuries for their little nimwa system, appoints their vagrants to his personal guard. Do you truly believe he will allow them to die if the power to stop it is in his grasp?”

Arin leaned back against the windowsill, wrapping his hands around the squared ends. “Do you remember what you told me after Galim’s Bend?” The words had been emblazoned into his core. “You said I have the most aggravating habit of measuring the worth of my life as equal to those around me.”

Movement across the horizon caught Arin’s eye. The tops of the trees rustled, rows upon rows bending beneath an invisible pressure. The movement rippled toward the gates with the unstoppable force of a wave barreling toward shore.

“Consider the habit broken,” Arin said.

Metal screamed as the wave reached the first gate. Arin did not flinch at the siren’s sudden wail. The piercing cry razed across Nizahl as the first gate to the Citadel fell.

Dress strategy in the right clothes, and it transformed into prophecy. As Arin had promised, Vaida had arrived at the gates. What, then, of the lower villages? The noble towns lying just behind, where their families lived?

Faheem knelt at Arin’s feet. “I am High Counselor Faheem Giran of Nizahl. My vote lies with the Commander, Supreme Arin of Nizahl.”

The blood drained out of Rawain’s face. He looked at Arin as though he had never seen him before.

“He is lying!” Rawain shouted. “He will not sacrifice the lower villages!”

The next to kneel was Layla. “I am Layla Ayud, diplomat of Nizahl, and my vote lies with the Commander, Supreme Arin of Nizahl.”

Gersiny, the oldest counselor in the room, shrank beneath the wail of the siren. Sama chewed her lip, and Arin knew she wanted an answer to her question. She wanted a how , and the presence of Vaida’s Hounds at their threshold did not alter her skepticism.

“I have grandchildren in the lower villages,” Gersiny finally gasped. Frail hands cupped his cane as he implored Rawain. “They are all I have.”

Rawain clasped the old man’s arm. “He won’t allow harm to come to them. I swear to you on my crown, Arin is lying .”

But Gersiny was shaking his head. “The Nizahl Heir has never lied to us before.” Faheem helped the counselor free himself from Rawain and take a knee before Arin.

“I am—” He swallowed. “I am Gersiny Biyad, once High Counselor to Supreme Munqual, present advisor to Supreme Rawain, and my vote lies with the Commander, Supreme Arin of Nizahl.”

Screams floated through the window as the second gate shrieked beneath the horde of Ruby Hounds.

“Thank you,” Arin said. He settled his gaze on his father. “I accept.”

The rest happened with satisfying speed. The guards were called in, and Arin allowed the counselors to take refuge in the Citadel’s basement. Rauf and Zach were to watch over them, but should his father’s guardsmen attempt to leave the basement, they were to be killed.

When only his father remained, Arin stopped the last guard with a wave. “Wait by the door. When I leave, take him to the Capsule.”

The guard bowed as he retreated, closing the door behind him.

His father’s gaze remained steady as Arin approached.

“How strange is love,” Rawain mused. “You betray me, you manipulate my council into stealing my throne, and yet my anger is rivaled by my pride. Within a year, you accomplished what your mother and I failed to do in our entire lifetimes. The Nizahl crown and the Jasad Malika—yours. Both thrones under your name.”

At Arin’s silence, Rawain laughed. “Surprised? Please, Arin. I made the mistake of betting on Hanim, and her love was useless to me. But Essiya of Jasad? Her love is worth a kingdom. When she is your wife, Jasad will be yours.”

“I will never sit on the Jasad throne,” Arin said. “The Jasad crown will belong to my wife, and my wife alone.”

Wisps of smoke curled into the room. Vaida had arrived at the third gate.

Rawain tipped his head, a laconic smile twisting the corners of his mouth. “I see the specter of my wrathful son behind the mask of the merciful new Supreme. Which is true, I wonder?”

“Which is true, indeed,” Arin said. He raised a hand to the side of Rawain’s face.

A scratch sliced along Rawain’s cheek, and Arin pressed the edge of his thumb against it.

Not enough to draw blood, but enough to show he could.

“I imagine you will have much to think about in the Capsule, but allow me to give you one more.”

Leaning in, Arin whispered, “You were right. During the Alcalah, I took a mold of Vaida’s ring.

As soon as the Jasad Heir destroyed the Victor’s Ball, I had every blacksmith in Nizahl engrave the sigil into our swords, our shields, our arrows.

I barricaded the path around the mountains to our lower villages with the same sigil—a sigil I believe can kill the Ruby Hounds.

In the event I was mistaken, I diverted two thousand soldiers to begin evacuations of the lower villages before I left Nizahl.

The Ruby Hounds will not penetrate our kingdom past the Citadel. ”

A breathless laugh caught on the edges of Rawain’s teeth. His eyes shone, and until the day Arin died, he would never know whether it was with hate or pride.

When Arin left, the guard swiftly entering behind him to whisk Rawain to the Capsule, he spared a glance toward Fareed’s statue above the war room. The first Supreme; the first conduit.

Beneath the archway of Nizahl’s founder, Arin made one last promise.

“I will do better than him.”