“I dodged one of those branches and slipped into an eddy of the lake. Took everything I had to pull myself out,” Mehti said. “Do you think the Awaleen appreciate what we do for them?”
“The Awaleen are asleep in their tombs, and they hear no prayers and care for no honors,” Diya said. “The Alcalah is a boasting contest for the royals, with our lives as the trading cards.”
A low hum pulled my attention from Mehti’s reply. No one else seemed to hear it. I followed the source to a servant leaning against the wall behind Sorn. She halted her conversation with another servant abruptly, gaze dulling. She reached into her pocket with the same dreamy expression I had worn a few hours ago. Sorn’s head blocked my view of her hand, but the mystery of what she held disappeared when black twine fell from her fingers.
Screams erupted around us as a white, writhing cloud surged over the table. Some, including Mehti, tried to hide under the table, but slivers of white broke off from the ghaiba and slipped into their noses. The ghaiba split into small masses, each attacking a different person at the table. The screams vanished as the ghaiba took root inside them. Diya slumped back in her chair; Mehti’s head landed in the mumbar.
A shot of white raced toward me, and a pure burning sensation filled my nose. I coughed, and the ghaiba spilled from my open mouth in gray wafts, dissipating mournfully. Foiled by my cuffs.
At the end of the table, the royals lay facedown, whimpering into the linen. Except Arin, who closed his eyes and pinched the bridge of his nose, as though the ghaiba were nothing more than a pesky migraine. While it would not render him unconscious, even he could not avoid the ghaiba’s effects entirely.
I glanced at the unresponsive table and pushed my chair back. This was the opportunity I had been hoping for. During the journey to Omal, I had conspired with Sefa and Marek to break into Vaida’s room before the second trial and take her seal. We needed assurance in the event she came after Mahair for the loss of Timur.
If she wore the ring now, I could pry it from her unresisting finger and return to my seat in seconds. And it could only be seconds, because Arin would push through the sliver of ghaiba inside him and reclaim awareness faster than the others. I hadn’t shared our plan to steal the ring with him, though Sefa wanted to. There were instances where my friend forgot the strategic Commander was also the ever-maneuvering Nizahl Heir. While the seal would be a useful piece of leverage in my hands, it would be a lethal weapon in Arin’s.
None of the many rings on Vaida’s fingers were the one she had pressed to the wall in Lukub. I searched her pockets, checked her jangling necklace, but the ring wasn’t on her person.
Vaida lurched to the side, knocking a bowl of bissara into Felix’s lap. They were fighting past the minuscule amount of ghaiba inside them. Waking up, which meant Arin would open his eyes at any second.
I launched myself into my seat as Arin’s gaze flickered toward me, questioning. He had seen me return to my seat, but not from where.
Arin retrieved the doll from the moaning servant, winding the black twine around it once more. Without a concentration of the ghaiba in one place, the doll’s compulsion worked quickly on the individual pieces, and white plumes shot from limp mouths and noses. Arin wrapped the doll in a white cloth and placed it in the servant’s hand, reclaiming his chair as the table roused to life.
Murmurs broke out. Guards carried a sobbing Queen Hanan from the room. A few prodded the weeping servant toward Vaida. She deposited the doll on the table.
“Sultana, it was in my pocket, I do not know how it came to be there, please, I am so sorry.” Disconsolate, she covered her face.
My lips parted. I had taken the girl for an Omalian servant, but she was Lukubi. Arin had slipped Felix’s doll into the pocket of one of the servants traveling with Vaida.
At the sight of the doll, Felix purpled. Rage blossomed on Vaida’s face, and both royals shot to their feet. The aftereffects of the ghaiba had left them scattered, less vigilant of their audience.
“You idiot,” Vaida snarled. “I delivered them to you in a fortified stone box, and you tossed them for a servant to find?”
“I left them exactly where I said I would! My servants are competent enough to avoid objects they do not recognize!”
“If she had untwined that doll anywhere else, we would both be dead!” Vaida snapped.
A voice cut through their squabble, smooth and measured. “I did not realize magic had become such a problem in your kingdoms,” Arin said.
His gloved hand closed around the doll. A deathlike pallor whitened Felix’s face as the reality of their mistake hit. Vaida’s white-lined eyes widened. The table caged its breath. He had spoken the word few dared utter. Magic. He tossed the doll in front of Vaida. Those of us outside the eye of the storm stayed still and silent.
“Nizahl will gladly assist Omal and Lukub in sweeping out the scourge of magic. My armies are ready at a moment’s notice.”
Arin rose. The silver-tongued Nizahl Heir transformed before us. Ice encased his hardened features, and danger whispered in every movement of his poised body. The Commander’s stare was death’s cold caress, robbing Vaida and Felix of their breath.
I imagined what scene unfolded in the royals’ minds. Soldiers in black and violet swarming their kingdoms like locusts, sundering villages and raiding towns in search of magic. Troublesome youth would be labeled potential magic users and detained. Any trapped Jasadis would use offensive magic to avoid capture, sending towns crashing down around them. The Commander would glide through the destruction, the conductor of chaos.
Nizahl did not enter a kingdom it intended to leave whole.
Arin’s bone-chilling smile would unnerve even Sirauk’s deadly depths. The message was clear: an attack on his Champion would not go unanswered a second time.
“Will that be necessary?”
“No, no,” Felix said, tripping over his words in the rush. “There is a misunderstanding at play here. We did not—Vaida brought the dolls to—”
Vaida spoke over the bumbling Omal Heir, clear and firm. “It will not be necessary.”
She lowered her chin, tumbling her flower-woven braids over her shoulders. The specter of unspeakable horror retreated, leaving the Nizahl Heir to incline his head in acceptance. The room drew its first full breath.
In the following havoc of guards and servants, Arin slipped away. I followed, hesitating at the door. Vaida spoke quietly to her guardswoman. Felix aimed a crooked sneer in my direction. I waved, luxuriating in his loathing.
He’d swiped his paw at the wrong beast. I would suffer the consequences done to his pride if I failed at the Alcalah, but it did not matter. Watching the Sultana and Omal Heir experience for a moment what my people endured every day under the graveyard of Nizahl’s shadow was worth whatever Felix might do.