I faded in and out of consciousness as Hanim loomed over me, working to wrap my torso in strips of linen and rabbit hide. A bubble of happiness rose above my agony. She cared. She didn’t want me to hurt.
A sting on my cheek pulled my eyes open. Hanim slapped me again. “You do not get to die,” she snapped. Her eyes were pitiless. “Death is not for those with debts to repay.”
“Sylvia! Sylvia, stop!”
I became aware of arms winding around my chest, holding me back. Vaun was on the ground, clutching his bleeding nose. I shoved Wes away. My back hit the wall.
“I told him not to touch me.” I sounded delirious even to my own ears. “I told him.”
Vaun surged to his feet and knotted a fist in my hair. He yanked hard, knocking me to the ground. “She will be taken to His Highness.”
Wes watched Vaun maneuver my kicking form down the corridor with no small amount of disbelief. He didn’t follow.
Vaun dragged me down the hall with both hands in my hair. The stone scraped and tore at me, and he moved too fast for me to try standing. I kept my hands in my hair, trying to minimize the pressure against my scalp. Each time I resisted, he yanked harder, and my eyes watered.
He released one hand to shove open a door. I was tossed onto a thick blue rug.
“My liege, I apologize for interrupting you so late in the evening. I discovered the Jasadi exploring the tunnels and behaving evasively. When I questioned her, she turned violent. She clearly has intentions to cause you harm.”
I used the wall to hoist myself to my feet. Seated in an armchair by the window, very much looking like he’d planned to retire for the night, was the Nizahl Heir. Without looking up, he closed the text on his lap and set it to the side.
“He is lying,” I said, but it emerged tired and without any fire. What did it matter? He would not take the word of a Jasadi over his own guardsman.
Arin ignored me. “Did she express these intentions to you?”
Vaun shifted. “No, of course not, but—”
“Was she wielding a weapon when you apprehended her?”
Vaun and I were equally baffled. “She means you ill, sire!”
“I am certain she does.” He tapped the arm of the couch. The sight of Arin’s bare hand was startling. “Many do. Arresting them all would be a lofty task indeed.”
“She—”
“She is not easily provoked,” Arin said. “Aside from her fits and failures of humor, the Jasadi is not prone to rabid reactionism.”
I frowned. Failures of humor?
“He put his hand on my waist.” I stared straight at Vaun, not bothering to hide my vindictive satisfaction. He had dragged me to the Heir only to have his own legitimacy questioned. “When I told him not to touch me, he put a hand on my stomach.” I spoke the last part through clenched teeth, resisting the instinct to wrap my arms around my middle. “I am a weapon for the Heir, and you will treat me with the dignity you afford a sword, if not a person. You are not meant to wield me.”
Arin’s gaze slid to Vaun and hardened. Though his voice didn’t change, a frigid chill swept through the room. “You put your hands on her.”
Vaun dropped his chin, which I imagined to be the Nizahl version of wringing one’s hands. “I had no other option, my liege. She would not return to her room.”
I wanted to lunge at him, tear his sinew with my teeth and stomp his chest into a feast for the dogs. “I am here because I chose it, not because you have trapped me, you pus-ridden swine b—”
I fell silent as Arin approached. He was wearing a thin black shirt and pants, light fare compared to his usual layers of black and violet. Silver hair fell around his jaw, highlighting the fading bruise on his cheekbone. His ability to intimidate wasn’t softened by his relaxed attire. Vaun fell to a kneeling position, lowering his head. “Forgive me, my liege. I acted without consulting you.”
“Yes, that much seems apparent,” Arin said. “Leave. We will discuss this at a more appropriate juncture.”
Vaun glanced up. “What should I do with the girl?”
“You should do what I ask and only that.” Again, Arin remained perfectly pleasant, but Vaun paled like the Heir had personally called for his beheading. “Go.”
I massaged the roots of my hair with a wince. First the Nizahl soldier in the woods, now Vaun. My scalp had taken a beating in the last two weeks.
I remained close to the door, carefully avoiding glancing at Arin. I didn’t want to risk exiting into the hall with Vaun still nearby, so I took my time studying the Heir’s room. There wasn’t much to see. A tall wardrobe, a bed only slightly bigger than my own, a tiny square table no wider than a book, and a much larger table covered in inkwells and partially unrolled maps. I wondered what he thought of the tiny table. They were once a staple in every Jasadi household, folded and tucked behind the furniture until a guest arrived. The host would place a saucer and an aromatic, palm-size cup of ahwa on that table, maybe slide a plate of biscuits or kunafa beside it. I’d loved the smell of ahwa, though the one time I’d tasted it I’d spat it right out. But Soraya would still sneak me empty cups from the kitchen so I could sniff the leftover dark sludge like a candle.