He couldn’t see him. Kapastra’s crooked horns, I told my magic to shield him, and it rendered him invisible.
A whisper of alarm snaked through me. I had expended more magic than all the Urabi attackers combined. I should have felt exhausted. Half-dead.
I sprinted toward Arin without a hint of fatigue. I grabbed his coat and pulled myself onto the horse. Wresting the reins from his slackened grip, I snapped the horse into a trot. Arin didn’t react, trapped in his torment.
“Leave him alone,” I growled to the nothingness. My magic pulsed. I did not know how to repel the crags, but I had an acceptable grasp on how to block their influence. My cuffs burned as my magic cut off the insidious power assailing Arin.
His muscles loosened fractionally. I hadn’t blocked everything.
I slid one arm over Arin’s midsection. The other went across his chest, crooked so I could clasp my hands together at his shoulder. A diagonal, backward embrace. His heart raced beneath my wrist. “One, two,” I counted. “You’re alive.” I tightened my hold as his shallow breaths came faster. “Three, four. You’re safe.”
I didn’t know if he could hear me. Would a distraction help? The tools at my disposal were few, so I employed the quickest. “I was a mean child and an eternal nuisance to my caregivers. In Jasad, our fig and date trees sometimes grew into one. The gardeners would weave these hybrid trees into creations you cannot even imagine. A labyrinth of branches almost as tall as the obelisk in Vaida’s palace. I used to find the highest spot in those trees and draw for hours. I’d enchant the cicadas to swarm groups of children or create leaf monsters to skulk behind the fruit merchants and scare their customers. A boy once told me the black spots on strawberries are dead spider eggs, and I have not eaten a strawberry since.”
The rise and fall of his chest started to even. Encouraged, I continued, “The woman who raised me after Jasad fell is why I cannot tolerate touch.” The words stuck in my throat, unwilling to budge. Ashamed. “I miss her, sometimes. I hear her voice, scolding or taunting me, guiding me in danger. I hear her more than my own mother. Five years of terror and pain, and I have the nerve to miss her.”
A gloved hand slid over mine. I startled, rushing to withdraw my arms. Arin’s grip tightened. “Don’t.”
After a few minutes, I relaxed. I rested my cheek against his coat. It carried his scent, a wonderful amalgam of ink and rain. My eyelids dropped.
Ah, the exhaustion. I was not immune to it, after all. It pleased me, sharing such a small but universal Jasadi experience.
I must have dozed against Arin’s back. When I opened my eyes, we had cleared the canyon, and dozens of soldiers surrounded us. Arin’s expression was carefully blank. Dread turned my stomach. Nothing good ever accompanied Arin’s detachment.
He flicked his wrist without turning away from me. The soldiers rode away, fanning out like ants in the desert. We dismounted.
“The attackers’ magic moved the canyon. Pushed it farther apart and knocked my soldiers loose, allowing the Urabi to escape.” His voice was flat. “Might you know anything about it?”
“If you plan to dangle your hook in the water,” I said hotly, “you would do well to inform your bait.”
“We have an agreement.” His threat was almost obscured by the condescension of its delivery.
“I am still here, aren’t I?” I spread my arms wide. “If I had wanted to leave with them, I would have. I said I would compete for you, not help you catch them.”
I had foolishly lowered my guard, forgetting how suddenly and deeply Arin’s icy demeanor could cut. It yanked the tail of my hurt and snapped it into a frenzy. I took a step, bringing myself close to the Heir.
“You are right. You are not your father. Rawain is cruel by nature, but you?” I lifted my chin, spearing him with the full force of my wrath. “You are cruel by choice.”
CHAPTER TWENTY-FIVE
The soldiers carried the bodies of their fallen into Orban after dusk.
Wes and Jeru took me straight to the Champions’ Pavilion. Five homes built a quarter of a mile from one another formed a loose semicircle. Every home had a kitchen, a washroom, and two sleeping quarters. The royals stayed in King Murib’s castle. The Pavilion was prepared for the Champions every three years and housed Orban’s grain stores the rest of the time.
Unlike Lukubis, Orbanians rejected all extravagance. Early in the Alcalah’s history, they had tried to force the Champions to stay in tents.
Moss had completely obscured the fifth house. Vines draped around the former dwelling of the Jasadi Champion. The home was a blight upon the Champion’s Pavilion to some, an uncomfortable reminder for others.