“But why? Why risk it?”
“Perhaps she blames the Citadel for her mother’s death. Perhaps she doesn’t care if her soldiers die in droves. It matters little. The wisdom of Vaida’s actions is not at issue.” Arin tilted his head. “The wisdom of yours, on the other hand… What have you come to bargain for, Suraira?”
I had ruminated over this inevitable question the whole journey from Vaida’s wing. There was only one answer. I had given a promise, and I intended to see it through.
“Marek and Sefa’s release,” I said promptly. “If you grant them leave to return to Omal after the second trial, I will stay our course.”
Unlike Arin, my disposition did not lend well to long periods of stillness. I fidgeted with the tasseled cushion and tried to consider what he could be thinking.
When I was seven years old, one of my tutors fell ill. Soraya had attempted to lift my spirits by constructing a maze out of Niyar’s thickest books. We sprinkled rice in the winding tunnels and folded bits of discarded fabric to create dead ends. After we finished, Soraya gathered crickets to race through our maze. Of the nearly two dozen competing, only one succeeded. It leapt to the top of the books and peered around, studying our haphazard creation. Instead of descending into the mass of sparring crickets below, it hopped on the books’ spines, cutting straight through the maze.
“He cheated!” I had cried, cupping it in my skirt.
“Maybe so.” Soraya picked up the cricket and balanced it on her finger. “To win a game, you must consider it from every angle, amari. Otherwise, you cannot rise above the commotion and secure victory.”
Arin finally spoke. “I will suffer a forfeiture and gain nothing in return. Your duties are unchanged, regardless of your options.”
Dread skittered along my bones. “Speak plainly. What do you want?”
“Kill the Lukub Champion during the first trial,” Arin said. “If he dies, you eliminate the possibility Vaida will use him to instigate war.”
He is a worthy adversary, Hanim said, reluctantly pleased. An efficient conclusion to a potential problem.
Efficient. Always efficient. I pushed from the chair, rounding to the window overlooking the courtyard. From this height, I could see past the bounds of the Ivory Palace, beyond the noble towns clustered around it. Snowcapped mountains studded the horizon like crooked teeth.
“If the Lukub Champion loses the first trial naturally, he will not become Victor. Why kill him and upset Vaida further?”
“Vaida will not know you killed him. No one enters Ayume except the Champions. The first three Champions to cross the forest and climb the bluff advance. The Lukub Champion will simply never reach the bluff. Tragic, but hardly unprecedented in the Alcalah.” Arin appeared beside me, gazing out at Lukub. “Vaida will not have chosen a weak Champion. Without your interference, he will almost certainly advance. If you merely sabotage the Lukub Champion, he will inform Vaida upon arrival.”
From the density of political pandemonium, Arin of Nizahl rose. He mapped every visible path to the finish, and he secured his victory.
I swallowed past the knot in my throat. “If I do this, Sefa and Marek will be assigned soldiers to escort them to Mahair.”
“Plenty,” Arin confirmed. I could sense his gaze on the side of my face. “The soldiers will be tasked with protecting Mahair in case Vaida seeks retribution.”
I traced shapes into the fogged window. Lukubis did not have the constitution to be viciously exiled from their land, nor the magic to weave themselves into strange societies.
“Only you are capable of painting murder as the logical choice.”
Arin’s breath brushed the top of my head. If I turned around, I had a notion we’d be no more than a hairsbreadth apart. “Are we agreed?”
I tore my gaze from the glittering kingdom.
“We are.”
CHAPTER TWENTY-THREE
Like a good little Champion, I allowed the attendants to help me dress for the banquet. Zizi, Mirna, and Ava chattered away while they untangled my hair and fussed with my gown. Comments about the meal, the guests, the wandering guards. They tried to rub sweet-smelling oils on my body, but I slapped their hands away. My politeness had its limits.
Since they were here as the Heir’s staff, Sefa and Marek would be dining with the soldiers. After the attendants departed, I dug out Rory’s golden gloves from my parcels. I needed an anchor to home, a line I could follow to shore in a sea of unknown.
I laid a palm on the mirror. The woman in the reflection cut an imposing figure in a billowing black gown. Thin violet lace crisscrossed from her hips to her breasts, exposing ribbons of her skin. The skirt fell shorter in the front, revealing her heeled boots, and trailed in a silky spill behind her. The Nizahl emblem hung from her pendant, displayed below her collarbones. Her hair fell in shiny ropes around her.
Regal. Striking. A false queen.
I clasped the pendant and shut my eyes. I let myself imagine ripping it from around my neck and grinding it beneath my boot. Tearing myself from this gown and setting it aflame, scouring the taint of Nizahl from my body in boiling water.
Standing in a Nizahlan gown, under a Lukubi roof, I felt more like the Jasad Heir than ever. Was it possible to miss someone you had almost been? Someone who but for a stumble in the sands of fate, I would have become.
Inexplicably, the watch guard frog hopped into my thoughts. Its frenzied croak averting its fellow frogs from my clutches at its own expense. What made the watch guard braver than the frogs who fled?
I opened my eyes. Rubbing the soft metal of my cuffs, I focused on why I was here. I would be almost-Essiya until the end of the Alcalah, when I would finally become Sylvia. I was my own most persistent ghost, and I had grown weary of her haunting.
I opened the door. Wes’s brows nearly disappeared to the back of his head. “Huh.”
Articulate. I walked at a fast clip down the crowded hall. We were to gather at the massive stairwell on the second floor. Each ruler but Vaida would descend with their Champion. If I wound up late twice and interrupted Vaida’s grand entrance, Arin might just elect to push me down the stairs.
A group of guards, royals, and Champions had gathered at the head of the stairs, milling around in conversation. A hum of anticipation vibrated in the air. I scanned for Arin and found him tucked into an alcove, arms crossed over his chest. The only color in his black ensemble was a violet belt around his trim waist and the matching detailing on his coat. He had brushed his hair back, but a renegade silver lock fell over his temple. Broad-shouldered and polished, Arin observed the others with feigned boredom. A predator playing at docility, probably contemplating the creative ways someone could try to kill him. He was the most achingly beautiful threat I’d ever seen.