Page 170 of The Jasad Crown
Lateef’s gaze bounced between us. He heaved another sigh. “Children.”
Neither of us spoke as the door swung shut behind the elder Jasadi. I tried to negotiate with my jaw. If it moved and produced speech—any speech—I would give it anything it wanted. I would stop clenching my teeth before bed. I would stop sucking the marrow out of beef bones. I would use my miswak before and after every meal.
“On the cliff, you asked if I would rather die than have magic. If existing as a Jasadi was too abhorrent for me to bear.”
Arin stared straight ahead, the lines of his body coiled tight with a pressure that must have bordered on painful.
“What was too abhorrent to bear was the hypocrisy,” Arin said, eerily flat. “The lies.” His laugh chilled me. “How often I cast you as a liar, when I was nothing more than the custom sword my father forged through magic to fight against the method of its own creation.”
I forced myself to slow down and choose my words with care. “Do you recall what I told you in the tunnels? The night Vaun draggedme into your chambers and you asked me how I could read Nizahl’s old language?”
“Vividly.” Arin cast a wry look my way. “I spent a significant amount of time after the Victor’s Ball reviewing the many missed opportunities to uncover your identity.”
I rolled my eyes. “Then you remember what I said. What I still believe. We build our reality on the foundation our world sets for us. You are not to blame for being planted in poisonous soil, Arin. Our choices come when we realize what we have grown into; when we look at the world around us and recognize our role in it. Only then, when you decide whether you will grow roots or tear yourself free, can you be truly held to account.”
Arin pushed his fingers through his hair, features as impenetrable as stone. “Quite a forgiving perspective. Do you think the Jasadis I drained, imprisoned, and executed would agree?”
“Your death is not a penance. It does not balance the scales,” I said.
“If I told you the same, would you listen?”
Thrown, I took a second to recenter myself. “That is different.”
“You haven’t forgiven yourself, either.”
“For what? Turning my back on Jasad?”
“No.” He glanced over, and I found myself held at the knifepoint of his gaze. “For surviving.”
The air left my chest. Arin’s unvarnished honesty was always an arrow to the throat. A clean and quick kill, leaving no shadows to hide behind.
I released a tremulous laugh. “What a pair we are. The magic-mad Malika and the magic-stripped Heir.”
“You are not mad.”
Yet.It lingered between us, another arrow neither of us was ready to aim.
“Even if I survive, what then? What do you think will happenafter the fortress is raised? The Awaleen-damned fortress. The others are so preoccupied with restoring it, I doubt they’ve given much consideration to what happens after. How will we rebuild Jasad without help from the other kingdoms? How will we trade if our fortress keeps out merchants? There are Jasadis like Adel, who have lived in other kingdoms their entire lives. Started families in Omal or Lukub or Orban or Nizahl. Jasadis whose great-great-grandparents left the kingdom centuries before the Jasad War, who have almost no magic and even less interest in returning to a scorched land they weren’t born to. Will they be forced to continue living in hiding, fearful of losing their lives over any innocent act of magic?”
I shook my head. “We need you.Ineed you. Just this morning, Namsa asked me about the number of wells around Usr Jasad and if we would need to dig more.”
“Twenty-seven, and yes.”
I groaned, covering my face. “If you have made it your new life’s mission to outdo me at every turn, consider it satisfied.”
Arin’s lips twisted. “You give me too much credit.”
“I give you exactly what you deserve,” I pointed out. “If you’d like me to list your flaws, I am happy to oblige. We can start off with your sense of fashion. Do you own coats without ravens? You could choose to have a new coat specially tailored for you every day for the rest of your life, and it would hardly scrape the surface of your ridiculous wealth. Does every single oneneedravens?”
Arin leaned in, bracing himself on the table and pinning me between the borders of his arms. “I didn’t realize you paid such attention to my wardrobe.”
Arin’s gaze traveled over me with aching slowness, trailing heat everywhere it landed. “What else is on your list?”
I swallowed. I had not seen him look like this since the Mirayah.
“Your hair. If I went to sleep with my hair down, I would wakeup with half of it stuck together and spend the next bath negotiating each curl apart. You go to sleep with your hair down, and it takes you one lazy swipe of your fingers to tame it again.”
“I see.” My mouth went dry as he twisted one of my curls around his finger, winding it into a spiral. “I can shave my head, if you would like.”
