Page 114 of The Jasad Crown
Before the nerves could sweep me away again, I slid to straddle Arin’s knees and kissed the sharp indent of his hip. He gasped, his stomach flexing beneath my palm. The hands fisted at his sides flew to my shoulders.
I had seen Arin of Nizahl’s eyes icy and unyielding, thunderous and terrifying, soft and fond. But never like this—unfocused, hazy, lost in sensation. A man existing in his body instead of only in his mind.
His hand splayed between my shoulder blades, the bite of his fingers a warm and possessive brand, and drew me back up to his mouth.
In the meadow of the ancient realm, I knew my days of running were coming to a close. I could go anywhere I wanted, but my destination would always be him. He had made himself the threshold to a world where it might finally be safe to land. To stay.
Arin turned us over, his body a powerful bow over mine, and I shaped silent promises against his shoulder.
I can’t promise to always stay, I said to his skin.But I can promise to never stop trying to come back.
A frog watched me from the edge of Hirun.
Awareness speared through the fog of sleep. I sat up immediately, grabbing my tunic from the pile beside me. The meadow had disappeared, taking the lake and lone date tree with it.
Trees surrounded us on every side. A symphony of crickets chirped from rotted logs scattered over the earth, and patches of frost-bitten dirt melted under the weary morning light.
We were back in Essam. The Mirayah had drifted while we slept and left us behind.
Relief melted through me, and I put my head in my hands before I embarrassed myself in front of the frog and started kissing the dead leaves.
Why had the Mirayah let us go? We had fallen asleep between its jaws, and it chilled me to think it could have decided to close its teeth around us as easily as it had decided to spit us back out.
But then, perhaps releasing your prey to the vicious wild was the greater punishment. A lesson to never shake the bars of your cage again.
Beside me, Arin slept soundly. His chest rose and fell with his even breaths, and I spent far too long staring at the smooth curve of the muscles in his arms. I possessed about as much artistic skill as a slab of wood, but I’d never been troubled by the fact until confronted with the tableau of a sleeping, bare-chested Nizahl Heir.
Upon closer examination, I flushed to the very tips of my ears at the crescent nail marks scattered across his neck and shoulders. I had felt every ripple of tension in those arms as he spread himself over me; gripped the back of his neck and lowered his head to mine like a drought-stricken woman reaching for rain. I was afraid to check his stomach for bite marks.
No matter the urge, Arin had indulged me. He had touched me like my pleasure was a sacred decree; unraveled me like he had taken a vow to do nothing else his entire life. I ached with the proof of his singular attention.
I turned my palms toward the sky. The wings webbed on each of my wrists glowed faintly, confirming what I already knew. What I had known as soon as consciousness crept in, carrying with it the too-familiar pressure against the back of my mind.
I had my magic again.
I tried to swallow past the dry lump in my throat. I had known it wouldn’t last. How could it? I had a kingdom to save, and he had a war on his horizon. Our paths would cross again, and it was up to Arin which side of the line he would be standing on when that time came.
The frog hopped closer, and my nose wrinkled at the rot and boiled-egg scent of Hirun.
I was going to get up. Just one more minute, and I would cast the same enchantment I had used over Arin in the Meridian Pass. It would protect him from any dangers until he woke. We had landed by raven-marked trees, which meant a Nizahl holding was nearby. Arin would find it, and by the time he reunited with his soldiers, I would be in the Omal palace.
Just one more minute, and I would walk away.
The frog croaked. Before I could toss a rock at the pest, a silver beak speared the earth and swallowed it whole.
I gawked as the kitmer straightened. When another appeared at its side, I beamed in delight. I’d thought the Mirayah destroyed these two after it caught their magic in its net.
Niseeba fluttered her wings, stamping from foot to foot. Beside her, Ingaz rooted through a decaying log in search of crickets.
“I will be just a minute,” I reassured them quietly. I prodded around my coat and withdrew a sheaf of papers. Taking a fortifying breath, I folded them into the inner pocket of Arin’s coat. The entries had survived my fall into the sea with minimal smudging.
The Urabi would kill me for this. Efra would get to crow from the rooftops about how heknew it all along.
Maybe he was right. Maybe the seeds of doubt sown in the Nizahl Heir would never fully flourish. Maybe Supreme Rawain’s lies had rooted too deep in Arin’s mind for anything else to ever grow.
In the measure of monster or man, what tips the scales?
“Stay out of sight, but make sure he returns to his holding unharmed,” I murmured to Niseeba. Between the two of them, the stern kitmer seemed to have taken a liking to Arin. “Keep him safe.”
