Page 168 of The Jasad Crown
“No one is holding you here,” I said, not unkindly. “There’s more than enough of us already.” Lateef had taken a seat after twenty minutes of uncertain hovering near the maps, and now he joined the rest of us, nibbling at his atayef and watching the Nizahl Heir circle the table.
Legs outstretched beside mine on the ground, Maia offered me a handful of sunflower seeds. I shook my head, and she hesitated before extending her arm past me, holding out the seeds to Marek.
Marek beamed. “Oh, you beautiful, wondrous thing,” he said, scooping half the seeds from Maia’s palm. His fingers lingered on hers a beat too long, casually scanning the woman on the other side of the seeds. “Thank you.”
“I can go fetch more, if you’d like,” Maia said, blissfully unaware she had fallen straight into Marek’s crosshairs.
“These are perfect, Maia. Just… perfect.” The last part emerged so lascivious and heated, it was a surprise the seeds didn’t roast right then. It also sailed past Maia, who flashed him a smile and turned back around.
I sighed. Marek’s inability to accept kindness without trying to offerhis body in return needed to be part of a longer conversation—ideally one he had with Sefa and not me. Pointing out Maia’s current marital status wouldn’t help. Marek had invited many a wedded woman into his bed, regardless of how many times their husbands tried to murder him.
I placed my chin on Marek’s shoulder as though I were about to kiss him on the cheek. “She’s a lahwa. The Urabi’s executioner.”
Marek blinked, turning slightly to meet my gaze. His attention dropped to my mouth. “Hmm?”
Awaleen below. He was hopeless.
A mean-spirited idea came to me. One I would have normally cast aside as pure pettiness, if I hadn’t already had my fill of stubborn Nizahlan men to last a lifetime.
I brought my mouth closer to Marek and whispered, “A lahwa kills bloodlessly. Elegantly. All she has to do is reach into your mind and draw out your greatest nightmare. Submerse you in your terror until it stops your heart and ends your life.”
I doubted he heard a word. The intrigue had fled from Marek’s features, replaced with a cross between unease and confusion. He regarded my lips like they were coated in poison.
My attempt to move closer met with resistance. Marek planted his hand over my face and pushed my head back. “Not funny.”
I swatted his sweaty hand away, wrinkling my nose. “Avoid gambling on a prize you don’t want to win.”
Rolling his eyes, he cracked a seed between his front teeth. “Too much has passed between us. Too many occasions where I watched you sniff the end of your braid and pick dirt out of your nails with a knife. My nightmares echo the sound of you clearing the phlegm from your throat in the morning.”
My jaw dropped. How dare—oh, he was a dead man. We would see whose morning sounds were more disgusting when I shaved off all his nice, shiny hair and stuffed it downhisthroat.
“Besides,” Marek said wryly, inclining his head toward the table,“I might take my chances with average husbands, but even I am not fool enough to bed the Commander’s… whatever you are.”
I followed Marek’s amused gaze to the table, where Arin had stopped scrutinizing the maps to stare at us. At my sheepish grin, he shook his head and returned to his task.
“See?” Marek said, altogether too pleased with himself.
“I see nothing. Eat your sunflower seeds.”
“He still calls me ‘the boy,’” Marek griped.
“It’s affectionate.”
“It’s patronizing. Might I remind you, he and I are only three years apart.”
“Wrong. You are an infant,” Jeru snapped. “Pay attention.”
We startled. I’d forgotten Jeru was on Marek’s other side. The guardsman hadn’t uttered a word all day.
At the table, Arin stopped pacing. He braced his palms wide across the table and bowed over the maps. Marek and I exchanged meaningful glances, and I pushed to my feet.
Standing at Arin’s shoulder while he loomed over a table covered in maps stirred a bittersweet nostalgia. The first time we’d been in this position, it had been over a map with the wordsScorched Landsover Jasad’s former territory. It had never crossed my mind that months later, Arin of Nizahl would be bent over another map—only this time, on behalf of the rebels he had spent years chasing.
“Hello,” I said, standing entirely too close.
He tilted his chin and studied me for a fraction of a second, as though waiting for bad news. When I continued to just smile like a drunken fool, his face softened. “Hello.”
“What do you think of our maps?”
