Chapter Nine Amunet
NINE AMUNET
Jasim clicked his tongue as he examined the pear in his hand. “There’s a bruise on the side of it. It’s hardly worth half a crown.”
The man behind the table gestured to the plethora of baskets in front of him, all filled with pears. “Then pick another one. But five crowns is the price.”
“I’ll give you one.”
“Five.”
I fisted my hands against my empty stomach and mumbled, “Just give him five.”
Jasim shot me a dark look. Darker than the looks he’d been sending me the whole way to this disgusting outpost. “It isn’t worth five crowns,” he hissed back to me. “None of these are.”
“We have to eat.”
“We eat what we can afford.”
“I can afford a damn pear.”
“Not right now you can’t.”
I glared at him, mentally cursing as my stomach rumbled.
I couldn’t remember the last time I’d really felt hunger.
It was nearly as unpleasant as the itch that had started up at the back of my neck.
Another symptom of not talking to Shaya for several days.
Equally as delightful as the din in my head, which was no longer scratching but tapping. A claw against glass.
Clink. Clink. Clink.
I fixed my arms at my sides, refusing to scratch and risk knocking my wig off.
Jasim mistook my muscles locking up and said, “Going to punch me this time?”
“Maybe.”
His brows lowered even farther. “Do it if you want, but we’ve only forty-seven crowns in our possession. Pay five for a stupid pear and we’ll run out before we’re even close to Reeda.”
I rolled my eyes. “Fine. I’ll find a place for us to sleep.”
“Keep your—”
“Head down, I know.” I stepped out from under the awning, cringing against the blaze of the sun.
Sweat had already made the ends of my wig stick to the irritated skin at my nape, but now beads of it rolled freely down my face.
I gritted my teeth against the discomfort and headed toward a clay building at the end of the street.
It was the only one large enough to be an inn.
Though I wouldn’t be surprised if this place didn’t know the meaning of the word.
The village was hardly more than five dirt roads and a dozen structures that vaguely resembled homes.
Squashed, as if a giant had stepped on them when the clay was still setting.
I peeked through the door of one to see that the floor was cushioned with straw.
If I had to sleep on a flea-infested clump of straw, I was going to scream.
I glanced up at the please-gods-let-that-be-an-inn. Even from here it looked to be covered in a layer or two of dirt. A door made of wooden slats blocked me from seeing any potential straw on the ground, but there—
A hand covered my mouth, and I was yanked back against a hard body. Something sharp scraped against my throat. A knife.
My eyes widened, fear sizzling through my veins. I didn’t even think before stomping down on the person’s foot.
A strangled curse huffed in my ear, but it gave me just enough room to jab my elbow back. The person grunted, their grip on me loosening, and I lunged to the side, ready to sprint back the way I’d come. Toward the open market, toward Jasim and his scimitars.
But the person’s weight slammed into me. With a cry, I crashed onto my stomach, wig flying off and teeth clacking together, catching my tongue between them. Pain ricocheted through me as the taste of copper filled my mouth. “Just—hold still!” the person grunted, a man’s voice.
I threw my head back, smashing into his nose. He swore again and fell off me. I flipped over, hood falling back, and scrambled away.
A man with a thick beard crouched a foot away from me, a hand to his bleeding nose. “Stubborn bitch. It was supposed to be quick.”
“Who are you?” I demanded.
The man spat out a clump of blood and gripped his knife tighter. “Prince Anwar sends his regards.”
Shit.
He launched himself at me again.
I rolled out of the way just as his knife caught me in the side, slashing through my cloak and skin like they were nothing at all.
Pain sliced through me, but I ground my teeth together, choking back my scream.
Before he could make another grab for me, I swung my hand up, heel of my palm slamming into his already injured nose.
There was a distinct crack. He screamed and grabbed at his nose as blood gushed.
In the next breath, I regained my feet, snatched my wig, and bolted, razors of pain cutting through my abdomen with every step. I pressed my hand to the wound, the warmth of blood coating my fingers, and kept going.
I burst into the market center, scanning quickly before remembering my wig.
With shaky hands, I fitted it back over my head, sparing a precious second to straighten it.
My eyes landed on Jasim’s familiar, broad back.
He was standing in front of another vendor’s stall.
I beelined toward him and grabbed his arm.
He turned with furrowed brows. “Your Majesty, I’m—”
“A man just tried to kill me.”
“What?” He glanced down at where I gripped my side, spotting the blooming crimson stain. His stunned expression vanished, replaced by cool, calculated fury. He angled his body to block me from the vendor and any other prying eyes as he scanned our surroundings. “Where?”
“Right behi—” But when I looked over my shoulder, there was no sign of him.
Jasim didn’t care. “We’re leaving. Now.”
The sun would be setting in a few hours, and we hadn’t eaten or slept.
But for once, I didn’t argue. Jasim wrapped his arm around my waist in a move that would seem like a casual display of affection to anyone looking but allowed him to press his hand to the wound in my side.
Then he was guiding us back to our camels. “Can you ride on your own?”
I winced but nodded. I didn’t reject his help climbing into the high saddle.
Once I was situated, he swung up into his, and then we were galloping out of the village.
Wave after wave of fire shot through me as we ran.
I thought the muscle in my jaw would burst from how hard I clenched it, nails digging into my skin on either side of the wound as I clutched tightly at it.
Blood leaked all over my fingers. Too much. I was losing too much. “Jasim…”
“Just a little farther,” he responded. He didn’t stop until we found a patch of cypress trees. Between one very long blink and the next, he was beside me, pulling my camel down to its knees and then hefting me out of the saddle. He deposited me at the base of a tree.
Moving quickly, he fetched one of the sacks tied to his camel, yanked off my cloak, and hiked up my dress.
His eyes didn’t linger on my flesh or undergarments; he retrieved a needle and thread from the sack, lit a match, and held the flame to the tip of the needle.
He said, “This is going to hurt.” That was all the warning I got before he dug the needle into my side.
A breath hissed out of me, but I did my best to hold still as Jasim sewed me up. “He said Anwar sent him,” I panted.
“Figures.”
“What do you—” My breath caught as the needle stuck. I gripped handfuls of sand as I rode the wave of pain.
“Sorry,” Jasim mumbled.
Shutting my eyes, I tried to slow my breaths. “Why don’t you sound surprised that Anwar”—I sucked in another breath as my skin pulled—“sent an assassin after me?”
“Done.” Jasim set down the needle and rummaged in the sack for bandages. His fingers, now covered in my blood, were gentle and sure as he wrapped my midsection. I winced as he secured the knot. “I overheard some vendors talking. They said the Kaldfolk left the palace.”
“They left?” I stared as he nodded. “So they, what? Came to assassinate two royals and then decided not to seize control?”
“I don’t know. But with the king and your cousin dead, the Kaldfolk gone, and you on the run, it’s obvious the throne is empty. You’re not fully Gods-Chosen for another few weeks, which means you’re easiest to kill right now. Maybe without the might of the Underworld smiting those who try.”
“Thought about it, huh?”
“All the time,” he deadpanned. “Drink this.” Jasim thrust a waterskin into my hands.
I shoved it aside with an impatient click of my tongue and grabbed him by the collar. “I didn’t kill him. The assassin. I injured him but not enough to really slow him down. He’ll be back. He’ll try again.”
Jasim wrapped his fingers around my wrists but didn’t pull them away. He simply held them. “We’ll be ready,” he said, voice exceptionally gentle.
An incredulous scoff blasted out of me. “Ready? Ilias is making unusually large sacrifices in Wethai, probably trying to reach Shaya himself. Anwar is sending men to kill me. Sen—we haven’t had contact with him in…
fuck, I don’t remember, but he has ears all over Ketopolis.
He’ll have heard about the invasion by now, he’ll be plotting, and maybe Nasir—”
“Hey.” Jasim ducked his head to catch my eyes.
“I won’t let anything happen to you.” One of his thumbs smoothed up and down in an entirely unconscious movement, soothing, calming.
Gradually, my rushing pulse slowed. “I never should have let you out of my sight. It’s my job to watch over you, and I failed you.
It won’t happen again, my queen. I promise. ”
The way he said my queen in that soft tone, gazing at me with those brown eyes that resembled sand under a sunset, it sounded like a claim. As if he were calling me his.
My pulse picked up again. For a different reason.
I glanced at his cheek, the one I’d smacked, and swallowed thickly. There wasn’t even a hint of redness anymore. Still, that unpleasant feeling crushed my chest. “Does it hurt?”
He shook his head, not taking his eyes from mine. “You stopped being able to hurt me a long time ago, my queen.”
Between us, I heard the whisper of my words romantic entanglement. Inadequate. No wonder he’d laughed.
While Jasim had one look that sent me running, it was this one that always drew me back.
There was no blind, fanatical gleam. No lustful, hungry looks.
Just a tranquil gaze that said he cared for me.
Not the Gods-Chosen. Not the Queen of Ashorah.
Me. “Amunet” was separate from all the other titles.
Sometimes I thought she might not be any of them.
The back of my neck itched fiercely. As if there were something beneath my skin trying to burrow its way out.
Which reminded me that look was a delusion. For the both of us. I was the Gods-Chosen. I was the queen. Indulging in the contrary was stupid. And dangerous.
I slid my wrists from his grip and averted my eyes.
He pulled my dress back down over my legs. “We’ll stay here for the night. We should be in Reeda in a few days.” His eyes dipped to my side. “Maybe a little longer, depending on how fast we move.”
I nodded curtly. Scratched at the back of my neck.
Baba? You there?
No breeze came. Not that I expected it to.
Shaya had not saved me from the Kaldfolk. He had not saved me from an assassin.
Between that insufferable itch, the clink, clink, clink in my head, nefarious circling princes, and Jasim, we couldn’t reach Reeda fast enough.