Page 76 of The Jasad Heir
I craned my neck for our escaped horses. “We need to go.”
Arin tucked the note into his pocket, examining the vast wilderness around us. “They must have found out a member of the Mufsids made contact with you and kept watch over the road to Mahair.”
I cast a nervous glance around the woods. They could still be nearby.
Arin bent to retrieve his gloves and winced. Barely perceptible, and on most I would have ignored it, but Arin wincing was equivalent to a dozen soldiers screaming. He favored his right side, where the Hound had slashed at him.
“What did you say about martyrs, again?” I asked. “Are you angry because I used my magic on you? You passed through it in half a minute.”
He put on his gloves, content to pretend I didn’t exist. The fabric at his right side was matted, slightly darker than the rest.
I threw my arms up. “If you want to quietly bleed for the next hour, it is not my place to stop you. But don’t expect me to drag you to the tunnels if you faint!”
He paused. “I wouldn’t faint.”
“I know you are the mighty immortal man, impervious to the woes of us commoners. If it would behoove Your Highness to allow me to dress your injury—why, I can’t express how honored—”
“Fine.” Arin scowled. “Unless your magic includes secret physician abilities, I am not confident you won’t do more damage.”
“You’ve injured me.” I put a hand to my heart. “Somehow, I’ll find the strength to live another day. You may not, and I have little desire to be implicated for the Nizahl Heir’s murder without the actual pleasure of murdering you. Remove your vest, please. I promise to protect your virtue.”
From his dark glare, it appeared he didn’t appreciate my thoughtfulness. Arin tore the laces of his vest in a single yank. Heat pricked the back of my neck, and I studied my nailbeds.
He eased his coat, vest, and tunic off. I inhaled between my teeth. The creature had gouged scores into his side. A few were shallow enough to temporarily ignore, but four scratches were the size of my forearm. How was he still awake?
“Well?” He guided himself to a seat at the base of a tree, back straight and left arm angled away from his raw side. I crouched across from him and picked up the tunic.
The material was finer than anything I owned and did not tear easily. “My apprenticeship with Rory was not all chasing frogs.” It mostly was, actually, but Arin did not need to know I had learned how to wrap my own wounds with the rag and cup of dirty water Hanim usually left for me to patch myself up with.
The sleeves finally tore. I stripped them into long pieces, avoiding his face. “You have neglected to tell me if you’re angry.”
“You neglected to mention a hidden ability to sense Ruby Hounds.”
“Ruby Hounds, that’s the name! Weren’t those Baira’s guard dogs?” I said. “I thought they were extinct.”
After the entombment, magic had guttered like a dying candle across the kingdoms. Ruby Hounds took three centuries longer than Kapastra’s rochelyas to die. In their time, the dazzling Hounds heeded Lukub’s Sultanas alone. They had charged into battle alongside Lukub’s fiercest steeds, prowled the Ivory Palace’s grounds in the night. A century before the Battle of Zinish, the Ruby Hounds began to sicken, dying despite the Sultana’s best efforts. Magic had already disappeared in Omal, and with Lukub’s failing quickly, the Ruby Hounds rotted like fruit planted in tainted soil. Orban followed thirty years later.
“They are. To resurrect one is unheard of. The Urabi will be weakened after exerting such a large amount of magic.” Arin’s gaze, though shrouded with discomfort, was still keen on our surroundings. “They must truly wish to impress you.”
I knotted the sleeve strips together. “This is going to hurt,” I warned him, and placed the end of a strip between my teeth. The muscles in Arin’s stomach tensed, but he didn’t make a sound as I wrapped the makeshift bandage tightly around his torso. I had to press my knee into his hip to reach around his back. My knuckles grazed everywhere I wrapped the bandages. His chest, his waist, the small of his back. The effect on my magic was significantly duller than when he grasped my hand.
I made the mistake of glancing up and found my face inches from Arin’s. Curiosity hooded the gaze fixed on mine, entirely too attentive for someone in his condition.
“Stop looking at me,” I demanded. “I am not going to make a mistake.”
A soft laugh escaped Arin. The sound reverberated beneath the palm I’d placed on his chest. It was the first time I’d heard him really laugh. Baira’s blessed hair, how much blood had he lost?
“Are you aware you have five freckles under your jaw?” He offered this information to me with complete seriousness, as though it had escaped from a vault of secrets.
I resisted the impulse to touch my jaw. “They are called hasanas in Jasad, not freckles.” I cursed the heat in my ears that meant they were turning the same shade as the dead Hound and quickly refocused on my task.
“You dangle yourself over a rocky riverbed, beat down my guards, wedge your arm into a Hound’s mouth. Yet you blush at a bare chest.”
Naturally, this encouraged the redness in my ears to spread to my cheeks. I tied the next strip with more force than intended, pulling a pained grunt from the Heir.
“I am not blushing. I’m afraid you have become delirious.”
Arin tipped his head back against the tree. “Maybe.”
