Page 141 of The Jasad Crown
“Not if you help him breathe,” Sefa said. “Not if you are his air in the chaos.”
Awaleen below, I had forgotten how hard Sefa’s particular insight could land. I exhaled roughly, dropping my forehead to my knees to block out the revelry taking place on the other side of the kitchen counter.
“How do you do it, Sefa?” I muffled my question against my knees. “You have endured an absolutely harrowing two months. If Marek hadn’t found you in time, you might have died in the Traitors’ Wells. How do you stay so calm through it all?”
Across the room, Marek shouted our names pleadingly. Sweat glistened on his forehead, and his hair had been mussed into afeathery gold nest on top of his head. Our contented isolation baffled him to no end.
Sefa wrinkled her nose at Marek. “Do you remember what Raya would say when I would moan and groan about whether my dresses would sell at market?”
“‘Save some stupid for tomorrow,’” Sefa and I said in unison. We exchanged a grin.
“Today, everyone I love is together and alive. Tomorrow, that might not be the case. I understand how easy it is to dwell in the aftermath of all your worst fears. To spend every day bracing for tomorrow’s pain. But, Essiya, you can’t survive in the future. You don’t exist there yet,” Sefa said. “How do I stay calm? Simple. I recognize that I am afraid because I still have something to lose, and if I’m afraid, then it hasn’t been lost yet. It means I have a chance to change the outcome.” Sefa’s hand settled over mine and, when I did not pull away, tightened. She held up our joined hands. “Did Sylvia ever think she’d be sitting here, letting me hold her hand without recoiling?”
I huffed, avoiding her knowing look. “I am not convinced I’ll keep letting you do it now.”
“Thank you for making the present worth fearing the future.”
Her sincerity would kill me before the night’s end. “Keep your thanks to yourself.”
Sefa’s laugh faded into quiet sobriety. She covered my hand with her other one. “Do not let the future reach you here. Do not let it torture you before its time.”
We watched children laugh as they gave chase through the throng of dancers; drummers’ fingertips, orange with garlic and oil, leave greasy impressions on the surface of their tubluh; Lateef pick up Namsa by her elbows and spin her around the dance floor as her short legs aimed for his knees; Efra eye Marek like all the ills of the world had been birthed alongside him.
And for a wonderful evening, the future failed to reach us.
CHAPTER FORTY-NINE
ARIN
The ice clinked around Arin’s empty glass as he watched the door.
It had been approximately two hours and seventeen minutes since he’d returned from Lukub. Twenty of those minutes had been spent sitting inside the empty carriage and staring at the Citadel. The tower that had been home to generations of Nizahl’s most powerful, to those bestowed with the sacred duty to protect the kingdoms from the horrors of misused magic. Supremes and their Commanders, fathers and sons, lineage upon lineage dating back to Fareed himself.
All a lie. An elaborate degradation of every value, every commandment, every principle Arin had been taught to uphold.
In the darkness of his chambers, Arin filled his glass and waited. Not much longer, now.
The knock came as the last drop of talwith slid down Arin’s throat.
“Enter,” he said.
Outside the window, the clouds shifted. Moonlight spilled into the room, its bluish hue illuminating the haggard guardsmen shuffling into Arin’s chambers.
“Sweet Sirauk,” Jeru whispered, taking in the wreckage of Arin’s room with wide eyes. The top of Arin’s bed had been shredded toslivers. Long scorch marks had eaten away at the carpet. The cabinet had been upended, ancient weapons and glass scattered on the windowsill and ground.
If Arin hadn’t opted to open the talwith, he might have started testing his weapons on the furniture in the ancillary rooms.
Vaun had gone stock-still, having noticed the object sitting center on Arin’s map table. The blood drained out of his face.
Jeru followed the trail of destruction to the map table and promptly blanched.
“Is that…” Jeru choked off, his fist flying to the hollow under his throat. He might as well vomit all over the carpet—it wasn’t as though Arin cared anymore.
Wes’s head stared at them from the center of the map table. Clouded gray eyes gazed into the distance, fixed on a point none of them could follow.
“I found him there,” Arin said. He crossed his legs, balancing the empty glass on top of his knee. “A message from my father, I imagine.”
“Why—why would the Supreme kill Wes?” Jeru had turned a fascinating shade of yellow.
