Cold water splashed over my rage at the very notion. No, I had made my decision. My best route to freedom was through the Nizahl Heir. I hadn’t forgotten what Arin said yesterday. The Mufsids and Urabi chased the same Jasadi only if they had held an important post in Jasad. They either suspected who I was… or they somehow already knew.
“I do not remember a time when my magic flowed free.”
He clasped his hands behind his back. “Can it be fixed?”
I shook my head. If he pressed, I did not know if I could devise a lie capable of withstanding his scrutiny.
“It is an unusual cruelty. Your magic feels strong.”
I almost laughed. If only he knew. My grandparents would not have cuffed an average magic, nor would Hanim have been so desperate to unleash it. Abnormal magic defined my life. “You would know. Unusual cruelty is your specialty.”
Arin moved on without comment, though I was sure the matter of what suppressed my magic would be revisited. He seemed to tuck new information into the frightful web of his mind until he had collected all its threads. “The Champions’ Banquet will be held in Lukub in six weeks’ time. From there, we will depart for the first trial in Orban. We have until then to make you fit for this role.”
He walked to the corner of the room, crouching in front of the weapons chest I’d pilfered yesterday.
Clouds moved leisurely in the facsimile sky above us. “I still don’t understand why I must compete as Champion to lure the groups you seek. If they are the same ones who attacked me in the woods, they already know where I am.”
I crossed my arms over my chest, resisting the urge to shudder. The rotted corpse howling with Hanim’s voice would haunt me forever.
Arin froze. He straightened, turning toward me, and only bewilderment prevented me from stumbling back. “What attack?”
The severity of his tone surprised me. I recounted the confrontation with the mirage of Hanim’s corpse. Arin paced, and I could almost see him weaving this latest revelation into his web. “You did not recognize the corpse or see its summoner?”
“Correct.” A half lie. “It disappeared at the sound of your horse. Do you think the attacker belonged to the Mufsids?”
Arin shook his head. “They would not kill you unless you had already refused their offer to join. Have you spoken to anyone unfamiliar?”
“Only the Nizahl Heir and four of his unfriendliest guardsmen.”
Arin tipped his head back, gazing at the ceiling. Reminding himself of all the reasons he needed to keep me alive?
He pivoted on his heel, striding to the weapons chest again. I followed, pretending to view the weapons for the first time. I lifted a shield clearly crafted for someone born from giants and staggered under its weight. Painted on the front, the kitmer’s wings stretched high as it soared into a mighty blaze. Its beak opened in a bellow. The pride of Jasad. Rovial’s first companion.
Arin chose a curved dagger from the chest, weighing it in his palm. I lowered the shield to rest against my leg. Arin and knives were not—
With an almost unnatural swiftness, Arin lifted his arm and threw. I had enough time to glimpse the blurred form of the dagger cutting through the air, straight for my chest.
I didn’t think. In a burst of motion, I clapped my palms together, catching the hilt before the dagger could bury itself in my heart.
I raised the knife to my eyes, checking to make sure I hadn’t hallucinated the Nizahl Heir once again using me for target practice. I snarled, “Was yesterday’s stabbing session insufficient for you?”
“Fascinating,” he said. “That was a learned instinct. Who would teach an orphan girl to catch knives?”
“You aimed at my heart! What if it had met its mark?” I demanded. “Were you prepared to kill me on a guess?”
“Can you feel your magic?”
Unbelievable!
I flipped the dagger and hurled it. He caught it single-handed.
I beamed. “Now you’ve learned an orphan can throw knives, too. Isn’t it fascinating?”
Arin tossed the twice-foiled dagger into the weapons chest. To his credit, he didn’t seem bothered I’d thrown a knife at him. Arin lifted his chin, studying me with singular concentration. “What is your real name?”
I caged my breath, pinned in place by a thousand pinpricks of foreboding. I crushed the instinct screaming for me to swing the shield at his head and run. Half a decade of hiding ruined by the scheming of strangers. Not only had these groups implicated me as a Jasadi, they had also assured the Heir there was more to me than met the eye.