“Have you started doodling in your spare time?” I asked, squinting at the downward V shapes and scribbled names. I traced a bridge that might have been Sirauk.
Arin didn’t ask to see the map. “The mountains.”
My forehead furrowed. The carriage’s motion jostled me into the window. “Which ones?” Hundreds of mountains bordered the kingdoms, theoretically overlooking seas and deserted lands. Theoretically, because fewer than five had completed the journey to and from the mountains. Vast as they were, the most attention the mountains were given on maps was a quick scribble of their general locations.
“All of them,” Arin said. He crossed his ankle over his knee and separated the papers over his triangled lap. Met with my silence, he glanced up.
“You have a map of the mountains?” I asked faintly. “A detailed map?”
Arin’s expression strongly suggested he thought I had knocked my head against the carriage door one too many times. “I have several, but they’re far from finished.”
The fist around my heart squeezed. Acknowledging the Heir’s brilliance came naturally, but at some unidentifiable point, I had grown to admire it. Forgetting his peerless mind was in service to a pitiless kingdom. “We never stood a chance against you, did we? Rawain’s siege never really ended, because he has you to see it through to the very last Jasadi. Given a thousand fortresses, Jasad would still be doomed.”
Arin’s gaze shuttered. A chilly guardedness that had been gone long enough to make its return startling descended over the Heir.
“I can circumvent much,” Arin said. “But even I might falter at a thousand fortresses.”
A few miles from the Citadel, Ren steered Sefa and Marek’s carriage south. Only the Champions and the royal guests were permitted to enter the Citadel grounds, and of that exclusive few, none could spend the night inside the Citadel. The royals would lodge in the upper towns for the night, and the trial would be held in the morning. At the conclusion of the Victor’s Ball the following evening, everyone would be required to show a purpose for remaining in the kingdom.
Hospitality did not rank among Nizahl’s limited virtues.
Sefa and Marek would begin their portion of the plan tonight. After donning their disguises, the pair would sow rumors about the third trial’s security throughout the lower villages. I wanted Sefa and Marek to spend tonight in the Champions’ suites with me, but the rooms were wedged between the second and third gates to the Citadel. Too close to the Nizahl royals and people who might recognize them.
I wouldn’t see them until after the trial. They would wait for me in the carriage during the Victor’s Ball. We would ride out with a brigade of Nizahl soldiers and, if I won, the Victor’s appointed guards.
“We know how to take care of ourselves,” Sefa assured me.
I allowed Marek to pull me into a light hug, pushing my uncooperative arms to pat him on the back. “Trust yourself,” he murmured. When I nudged him loose, his gaze was on Arin’s carriage. “No one else.”
My worry remained long after their carriage disappeared. I reminded myself that they had been crooks and vagrants before coming to Mahair—they would manage a single night. So long as Sefa didn’t stop to help any whimpering puppies and get herself thrown into the back of a wagon, anyway.
One of Arin’s maps flew onto my foot as the carriage heaved to the right. I peered out the window, watching the wilderness of Essam disappear into smooth land.
The soldiers fanned out around us. The first of three looming black gates appeared. They were impossibly tall, disappearing into the hazy mist rolling beneath the moon. A raven forged from glinting steel took flight from between two clashing swords at the helm of the entrance. Nizahl’s symbol split in two as the gate yawned open. My trepidation spiked as we went through the next two gates, and I held my breath as our carriage glided forward.
The Citadel rose ahead of us in a cylindrical spiral of twisting iron and steel. The blade-like peak impaled the sky, as though punishing the clouds for daring to dwell higher. Several metal legs extended from the middle of the main spire, each connecting to one of the Citadel’s seven menacing wings. A spider of destruction poised to spring. Massive violet and black crests shone at the peak of every wing, the seven ravens’ sinister gazes tracking the reckless as they ventured into the maw of the beast.
“Welcome to Nizahl,” Arin said.
CHAPTER THIRTY-ONE
I would give Nizahl this: they were much quieter than the other kingdoms.