I gritted my teeth. If he aimed to prick my temper into revealing the truth, he needed a stronger arrow. “I apologize if my honesty is without adornment.”
He tucked the candy back into his pocket. I wanted to snatch it away and dash it under my boot. Thanks to my cuffs, exposing me as a Jasadi would be a lofty task. But I had concealed the soldier’s death hastily, without a quarter of the care I’d spent on concealing my identity. Either offense ended with my death.
An invisible noose tightened around my neck. If he intended to slowly chip at my sanity, his progress could not be faulted. I had always imagined my discovery as a brief, brutal affair. Like Adel’s. I had prepared myself for the lion, not for the circling vulture.
His implacable demeanor infuriated me. Enough for my tongue to loosen and say, “When will I have proven my innocence to you?”
“Your innocence?” Though his smile didn’t falter, the veneer of detachment dropped. He looked at me like sheer willpower alone prevented him from tearing me limb from limb.
This man is going to kill you, Hanim whispered. If not today, then someday soon.
Arin raised a gloved hand. I didn’t flinch as he drew a leaf from my braid. When he spoke, it was almost soothing. Rueful. “You cannot prove what doesn’t exist.”
A faraway shout. “The horses!”
The Commander turned his head. He paused, features going blank as he listened for something beyond my ears. I remained fixed to the spot, struggling to convince my pounding heart we were not seconds from death.
“Sire?” Jeru shuffled closer.
The musical troupes abandoned their instruments, plunging the festival into a confused silence. The blare of trumpets shook the air.
Movement rippled around me as one by one, the people of Mahair, drunks and children alike, dropped to their knees. Arin swept his hood back.
“Visitors,” Arin said.
CHAPTER SEVEN
The villagers scattered as a carriage bearing the Omalian crest rode through the center of the road, led by horses saddled in white chains. Giant wheels, lacquered in sparkling blue and white gems, fought their own weight as they spun over the uneven dirt. The carriage stopped in front of the platform, and two guardsmen flanked the door as the steps unfurled.
I angled my body behind the wall, just out of sight. Only Arin and his men remained standing. I spotted a puzzled and stained Fairel, clutching a yam sticky with molasses in her fist. “Fairel!” I hissed. I wanted her far away from whoever was about to step out of that carriage. Oblivious, Fairel slipped behind one of the chairs, nibbling at her yam.
A tangle of emotions somersaulted in my chest when the Omal Heir descended. He was smaller than I had imagined him. I searched for any family resemblance in his feathered dark hair or the proud nose sitting below darting hazel eyes.
At a glance, no one would ever assume I shared blood with the Omal Heir.
My father was born Emre, Heir of Omal. Three months after I entered the world, an arrow cleaved his throat open during a hunting trip for my mother’s birthday. Although Emre had left behind a rightful Heir—me—my grandparents had balked at the possibility that I might inherit Omal’s throne before I inherited Jasad’s. With my mother grieving in Bakir Tower, no one stopped the Malik and Malika from renouncing my claim to the Omal throne. For its part, Omal was all too eager to strip me from their line of inheritance; I imagined the rumors of my grandparents’ role in Emre’s death played a part.
Felix was my father’s nephew. The laws of Omal’s lineage should have prevented the throne from ever passing to him, but the murder of most of the royal family at the Blood Summit complicated matters. Though Queen Hanan would hold the throne until her death, I’d heard my paternal grandmother had all but sequestered herself in her palace. Leaving Omal in Felix’s highly incapable hands.
No one in the village liked Felix, and for good reason. From the stories I’d heard, he had less political acumen than a rabid goat. They clearly weren’t wrong; there must have been miles of empty space in that giant head of his if he thought riding into Mahair in a carriage worth more than the entire village was the right move.
But an idiot Heir was still an Heir, and I mapped my escape. If I cut through the vagrant road, I could circle the crowd and sprint to the keep in under twenty minutes.
Arin met Felix by his carriage. Felix bounced on his shiny shoes. “So it is true. I heard you were patronizing our lower villages. It would have been remiss of me not to welcome you myself.”
“A generosity not soon forgotten,” came Arin’s mellifluous response. “Mahair is wonderful. A true tribute to its kingdom.”
“It has been too long since last we met.” Felix extended his hand to Arin. I cringed.
How could the Heir of the largest kingdom in the land be so unstudied in Nizahl’s customs? Inviting a touch from the Nizahl Heir carried dangerous implications. A child with the faintest trace of royal blood would know better. Two things were widely known about Arin: he was never seen without his gloves, and he did not touch unless he meant to kill. Fantastical gossip, I’d thought. Just more village nonsense. Now I wondered if Felix was aware of his fellow Heir’s ability to sense magic.
My brow furrowed. How had Marek been aware of it?
Arin’s gloved hand closed around Felix’s briefly. “Indeed. Shall we move to more private quarters to continue our reacquaintance?”
Felix glanced around. “Has the waleema concluded?”
“Nearly.” The first signs of impatience leaked into the Nizahl Heir’s tone. He glanced at the kneeling crowd. “You must be weary from your journey.”
“Nothing a hearty brew cannot fix,” said the royal dunce. He instructed the rider to house the horses with Arin’s and not “leave them alone with a half-wit stable hand.”
Maneuvering a carriage in such a tight space irritated the horses. They harrumphed, hooves clomping in a wide loop. One of Nadia’s chairs stood directly in the path of the carriage’s wheels. My heart dropped. I knew what would happen as soon as the rider reined the horses back, but I was too late.
“Stop! Stop!” Fairel shouted, launching herself toward the chair. I vaulted to my feet, braced to watch her get split in two. Yuli grabbed Fairel’s frock before she could intercept the carriage’s path. The chair splintered beneath the wheels, and Fairel shrieked. Spooked, the horses reared, sending an Omalian guardsman crashing into Felix. They went down in a heap.
Dusty and red with embarrassment, Felix slapped aside the guard’s hand and clamored to his feet. He glowered at Fairel. “Come here.”
Pulse pounding, I took a step from the shadows. The crowd sobered, watching Yuli unwillingly release Fairel. Bowed in front of the Omal Heir, her braids coming loose from their upturned horns, she was as much a threat as a river gnat.
“I apologize sincerely, my lord,” Fairel hurried to say. “The chairs—they’re my responsibility, you see, my mistress tasked me with their safe return—”