Not Marek and me. Whatever we felt, we felt in its full violence. But where I kept my feelings in a stranglehold, Marek felt—and expressed—his emotions to their fullest extent.
I needed to understand what was happening in his head. Another glib remark like that outside these tunnels could end in disaster. “Let us make truth our currency this time. What did you leave behind in Nizahl, Caleb?”
His contrition wavered into a grimace. Marek raised his knuckles to his temples, kneading his forehead. “Nothing good.”
I crossed my arms. “If you want my forgiveness, earn it.”
Marek dropped onto the bed. Resistance drained from him in a great sweep. “What do you want to hear? People like you and me keep our secrets for a reason.”
“ ‘People like you and me’？” I repeated with a disgust reserved for stepping in a bucket of fish heads. Did he want me to pat his hand and whine over our shared suffering? “Are you a Jasadi, too, Marek?”
“I did not mean—”
“I don’t care.”
He sighed.
“You want a story, Sylvia? I was born the youngest of five children to a family with an infamous military legacy. My father and mother had served in Supreme Munqal’s army. My grandparents, Supreme Tairal. On and on it went. The Lazur family was synonymous with Nizahlan military excellence. We were expected to join as soon as we were old enough. My sister, Amira, died at twenty-one in a clash between Nizahl’s lower villages. The grain stores had run low, and Nizahl’s soil is hostile to all but a few crops. Supreme Rawain was Commander at the time, and he sent soldiers to quell the violence with more violence.”
Marek raised his head to check that I was listening, then dropped it back on the bed. Golden hair fanned around his face. I perched at his side, keeping my expression carefully neutral. I considered this revelation of Marek’s lineage with the scrutiny I would afford a cut on my palm. Prodding the edges, testing the sting.
“Darin died in the border battles with Orban. The khawaga cut him open and poured cheap ale onto his insides for the animals to smell. They left him in the sun for six days. My last brother, Binyar, rose in the ranks quickly under Supreme Rawain. He was among those chosen to lead the siege on Jasad’s fortress after the Blood Summit. He never returned.”
A tear trickled toward Marek’s hair. He dashed it away.
Marek threw an arm over his face. “Hani was two years older than me. He wanted to enter Supreme Rawain’s confidence, forge a place for our family at the highest tables in the kingdom. He spent years trying to earn invitations to the most exclusive parties and bend the ears of the kingdom’s rich and powerful. What Hani did not grasp was that the inside of the Citadel was a thousand times more lethal than anything he might encounter on the battlefield. When I was thirteen, a prisoner was thrown into Nizahl’s most heavily fortified dungeon. A high-risk Jasadi prisoner who had nearly killed the Heir. Hani and a dozen soldiers guarding the cells were slaughtered by a group of Jasadis later that night. The prisoner vanished, and we laid Hani to rest next to Binyar and Amira. When my turn for conscription arrived, I fled.”
I sat up. “A Jasadi group killed your brother?”
Marek pushed himself upright. He tossed a half-formed smile in my direction. “I have no animosity toward Jasadis as a whole, if that is what you fear. The group that rescued the prisoner and killed my brother were skilled criminals.”
A group of Jasadis breaking into a highly fortified Nizahlan prison should have been the news on everyone’s tongue. Hanim, who regularly traveled into the kingdoms for supplies, would surely have heard about it. Not to mention a Jasadi almost killing the Nizahl Heir. Arin would have been… sixteen? Supreme Rawain must have expended great effort to bury the news.
An old conversation between Wes and Jeru surfaced.
I was appointed to his guard when he was sixteen.
I thought only Vaun was present for that.
How bad must the attack on Arin have been to still haunt his guards a decade later?
I tried to swallow past my dry throat. “Marek, do you remember what the group was called?”
Marek glanced at the door, lowering his voice to a whisper. “Yes, but you cannot speak of it to anyone. I only know because Hani mentioned them a few days before his murder, and he swore me to secrecy.”
Foreboding tiptoed down the rungs of my spine. “I promise.”
“I believe they called themselves the Mufsids.”
As predicted, Arin came to the tunnels only to sleep and swap guards. We had mere days before we were due to leave for Lukub, but he had opted to spend at least one of them hunting the Urabi who sent the Hound. He left detailed instructions on what each training session needed to accomplish, but the guards could be creative about the methods.