He folded back my collar.
Fastidious to a fault, it seems, Hanim observed. We might use it to our advantage.
By the cursed tombs, I would never understand him. The man hardly stirred at a raised blade, but he couldn’t tolerate a single crooked collar.
“We will work on improving your assault strategy,” Arin said. He thumbed the ragged cut I had made in his vest with a frown. “You will need it when Ren fishes himself from Hirun.”
Everyone in the keep knew Marek and Sefa bickered. They bickered about the best way to light a fire, how many thumps you need to properly beat a rug, what kinds of fruit seed tasted better roasted. Any notions the other wards entertained about the nature of Marek and Sefa’s relationship were put to rest early on. Bickering was either an outlet for pent-up amorous frustrations or a consequence of prolonged exposure. The former resolved itself eventually, and the latter did not. Their bickering rarely escalated into full arguments. And before today, I had never seen Marek and Sefa shout at each other.
“We were willing to flee Mahair with her in tow and incur the Commander’s wrath, but staying in a shelter with food, water, and beds is too much for you?” Sefa yelled.
I sat on Sefa’s new bed, watching with a peculiar mixture of curiosity and regret. If Niyar and Palia hadn’t killed Emre, I imagined watching my parents argue might have provoked a similar feeling.
“He thinks we’re linked to her magic. He can use us against her!” Marek raked through his hair. “We can’t stay here!”
“How would trying to escape help?” Sefa pounded the dust off the quilt at the foot of the bed. She aggressively folded it into a rectangle. “He would be committed to finding us, and we would be granted far less leeway than we have now!”
Marek covered his face, sliding down the door. Sefa watched him mutinously for a long moment. I tried to make myself smaller, less like a voyeur spying on their private moments. With a drawn sigh, Sefa left the quilt and knelt by Marek, gently prying his wrists apart.
“It’s just until after the trials. What’s one more adventure?”
I felt compelled to speak. “He wouldn’t harm you as punishment for my disobedience.” At Marek’s fiery glare, I added, “Not out of compassion. Logically, hurting you two would ruin my goodwill and keep me from training efficiently. It might even motivate us to flee together. I am not denying that inflicting pain is another tool at his disposal. Just not one he’ll turn to with other available options. But if you run, if you tell anyone about the tunnels… once the Commander reaches a decision, he cannot be dissuaded.”
“You mean he’ll kill us.” Sefa giggled, snuffing the sound in her elbow. “What danger is there in a brute?” Sefa said, echoing the answer I gave her the night I killed the soldier. “I kept wondering what you could have possibly meant. You meant this, didn’t you? The Nizahl Heir is polite, brilliant, handsome. He is the opposite of a brute, and a thousand times more dangerous for it, because you cannot know from which direction he will strike.”
“You find that funny?” Marek peered at Sefa with concern. He pressed the back of his hand to her forehead.
Sefa toppled from her crouch, joining Marek against the door. She dropped her head on his shoulder. “No.”
We sat there until Sefa’s eyelids drooped and light snores vibrated in her chest.
Marek’s lips tightened. “He knows who we are.”
I smiled wanly. “Caleb is a nice name.”
Marek’s flinch nearly knocked Sefa awake. His expression shuttered, and a faraway sorrow lined his features. “It was.”
His gaze hardened and snapped to mine. “We won’t enter Nizahl. If you don’t find a way to persuade him to release us before the third trial, we will take our chances in the woods.”
“Understood.”
“So. You’re a Jasadi.”
His discomfort was evident. Too many tales existed about Jasadis, expertly planted by Nizahl over the years to destroy any lingering sympathy for the scorched kingdom. Most people remembered Jasad before the siege, had traded outside the fortress and sent invitations to their waleemas. But even those old enough to remember Jasad at the peak of its power had succumbed to the distrust and fear sown in the last ten years.
“Do I frighten you now?” I was only partly joking.
Marek chuckled, sweeping Sefa into his arms as he stood. “No more than usual. I never much believed in the idea of magic-madness.” He laid her down on the bed, brushing her curls from her forehead. “Sefa is quite angry, though. She wanted to know why you made her wash clothes by hand all these years.”