Everything inside me screamed at me to act. Shove my blade into his chest, hurl coins into his eyes and run, something. We’d taken the soldier’s body not too many miles from where the candy fell. All I could do was hope Hirun had done its job and carried the corpse to a different part of the river. Without a body, this piece of candy alone couldn’t link me to the soldier’s disappearance.
Adopting a guileless, unaffected tone, I said, “Am I the only person in Mahair who enjoys sweets? Perhaps one of your soldiers had a craving.”
The scar cutting across his jaw caught the lantern light when he tilted his head. A wound made doubly disturbing by the fact that it was meant to kill. And by appearance alone, it should have succeeded.
“Try again,” he said.
“What?”
“Think of a better lie. You’re capable of it.”
I gritted my teeth. If he aimed to prick my temper into revealing the truth, he needed a stronger arrow. “I apologize if my honesty is without adornment.”
He tucked the candy back into his pocket. I wanted to snatch it away and dash it under my boot. Thanks to my cuffs, exposing me as a Jasadi would be a lofty task. But I had concealed the soldier’s death hastily, without a quarter of the care I’d spent on concealing my identity. Either offense ended with my death.
An invisible noose tightened around my neck. If he intended to slowly chip at my sanity, his progress could not be faulted. I had always imagined my discovery as a brief, brutal affair. Like Adel’s. I had prepared myself for the lion, not for the circling vulture.
His implacable demeanor infuriated me. Enough for my tongue to loosen and say, “When will I have proven my innocence to you?”
“Your innocence?” Though his smile didn’t falter, the veneer of detachment dropped. He looked at me like sheer willpower alone prevented him from tearing me limb from limb.
This man is going to kill you, Hanim whispered. If not today, then someday soon.
Arin raised a gloved hand. I didn’t flinch as he drew a leaf from my braid. When he spoke, it was almost soothing. Rueful. “You cannot prove what doesn’t exist.”
A faraway shout. “The horses!”
The Commander turned his head. He paused, features going blank as he listened for something beyond my ears. I remained fixed to the spot, struggling to convince my pounding heart we were not seconds from death.
“Sire?” Jeru shuffled closer.
The musical troupes abandoned their instruments, plunging the festival into a confused silence. The blare of trumpets shook the air.
Movement rippled around me as one by one, the people of Mahair, drunks and children alike, dropped to their knees. Arin swept his hood back.
“Visitors,” Arin said.
CHAPTER SEVEN
The villagers scattered as a carriage bearing the Omalian crest rode through the center of the road, led by horses saddled in white chains. Giant wheels, lacquered in sparkling blue and white gems, fought their own weight as they spun over the uneven dirt. The carriage stopped in front of the platform, and two guardsmen flanked the door as the steps unfurled.
I angled my body behind the wall, just out of sight. Only Arin and his men remained standing. I spotted a puzzled and stained Fairel, clutching a yam sticky with molasses in her fist. “Fairel!” I hissed. I wanted her far away from whoever was about to step out of that carriage. Oblivious, Fairel slipped behind one of the chairs, nibbling at her yam.
A tangle of emotions somersaulted in my chest when the Omal Heir descended. He was smaller than I had imagined him. I searched for any family resemblance in his feathered dark hair or the proud nose sitting below darting hazel eyes.
At a glance, no one would ever assume I shared blood with the Omal Heir.
My father was born Emre, Heir of Omal. Three months after I entered the world, an arrow cleaved his throat open during a hunting trip for my mother’s birthday. Although Emre had left behind a rightful Heir—me—my grandparents had balked at the possibility that I might inherit Omal’s throne before I inherited Jasad’s. With my mother grieving in Bakir Tower, no one stopped the Malik and Malika from renouncing my claim to the Omal throne. For its part, Omal was all too eager to strip me from their line of inheritance; I imagined the rumors of my grandparents’ role in Emre’s death played a part.
Felix was my father’s nephew. The laws of Omal’s lineage should have prevented the throne from ever passing to him, but the murder of most of the royal family at the Blood Summit complicated matters. Though Queen Hanan would hold the throne until her death, I’d heard my paternal grandmother had all but sequestered herself in her palace. Leaving Omal in Felix’s highly incapable hands.