“I do not recognize it,” I whispered.
“Curious.”
I jolted in my seat. Arin and Vaun stood framed in the kitchen’s entrance. The Nizahl Heir glanced at the hastily discarded berry, and icy realization washed over me.
I was still being hunted. Arin would not stop until he uncovered my identity, culling the list of potential nobles in his systematic, efficient fashion.
My heartbeat slowed with new resolve. It wasn’t enough to simply hope I’d hidden my tracks. He would keep walking this path, and my only option was to direct where it led him. If he wanted clues, then I’d leave ones that took him far away from Essiya, Heir of Jasad.
I already had a good start. He had seemed puzzled at my violent outburst when the guards chased me through the woods. Nobles did not descend into a feral state under such conditions: they rolled into a ball and wept.
Vaun grimaced at the berries as though they had personally insulted his mother. Arin moved on smoothly, the moment locked in his web. “Wear tighter-fitting clothes,” he instructed. “You’ll be going into Hirun.”
CHAPTER SIXTEEN
Arin and Ren stayed away from the tunnels for the next few days. I’d overheard the guards discussing the Commander’s renewed rotations in Essam to search for evidence that could help him learn more about the Jasadi groups’ movements. I was glad for a reprieve. Others seemed to view the Heir’s absence with less relief. I returned from the washroom to find a smashed mess of fruit on my door. Juice trickled onto the ground, threatening to draw several armies of ants. I scraped a chunk from the top and held it to the lantern.
Jasad’s white berry.
Vaun was not as inclined to bide his time as Arin. It was becoming a dangerous pattern with the guardsman. There were worrisome ways he could harm me without directly violating Arin’s orders. The duty binding Vaun to Arin went deeper than that of the rest of the guards. Jeru, Wes, or Ren would gladly throw their lives at their Heir’s feet, but they were not subject to the tumult of protectiveness and rage plaguing Vaun.
On our walk to the tunnels, Wes had mentioned that Vaun had been by Arin’s side since childhood. Instead of flourishing into his own person, the guardsman seemed to have grown around Arin, branched into an extension of the Heir. Vaun believed in the Nizahl throne, in his kingdom’s ultimate supremacy, with the same fanatiscim driving his vitriolic hatred of Jasadis.
The answer hit me with the force of a gale.
Arin was to Vaun what Sefa was to Marek.
Which meant Vaun would stop at nothing to ensure the Heir’s security, even if it meant going against Arin’s will.
The thought bothered me through the next day. Arin had yet to return. After I finished my set of trainings, Jeru accompanied me to Hirun carrying two baskets of dirty clothes. I breathed in the river’s scent and felt a knot in my chest loosen. It smelled terrible, as always, but a familiar terrible.
Jeru cursed as he sloshed around the river’s shallow shore, trying to spread the clothes out on the rocks without losing them to the current. I considered offering to help, but I was enjoying a rare moment of sunshine and did not feel inclined to move. I leaned back against a tree and crossed my legs at the ankles, wishing I’d brought a treat from the kitchen.
Jeru finally managed to secure the clothes over the boulders and rocks. He scooped water into the empty baskets and poured it over the clothes. I didn’t see Arin’s coats anywhere. Shame. I would have loved to kick them to the fish.
I had just closed my eyes to bask in the sunlight when a shout struck me upright.
Jeru splashed in the middle of Hirun, struggling to keep afloat. The water flowed around him, leaving him fixed in the same spot.
Magic.
I bolted to my feet. An immaculately dressed woman stood on the banks of Hirun. Seven slits at the bottom of her abaya made the fabric seem to float around her legs, which were protected by gold-colored pants.
“We’ve been searching for you.” She turned around. Silver and gold swirled in her eyes. “Mawlati.”
Terror seized me in its grip and squeezed. The world spun, and I grabbed the tree for balance. She knew. She knew. Hadn’t I suspected as much? I’d been so desperate to be wrong that I barely let myself consider what I’d do when I came face-to-face with the Jasadis hunting me.
Mawlati. I hadn’t heard anyone but my grandmother called Mawlati. I never thought the title could belong to anyone other than her.
I forced myself straight. Weakness would win me no favor.
“Why do you call me Mawlati? The Jasad royal family is dead.”