Chapter Twelve Amunet #2
Plenty of guards had sacrificed their lives for me—as recently as just a few days ago. It was nothing new. In fact, it was expected.
So why did panic shoot through me at Jasim doing the same? “You can’t—”
“Draw the blade,” Jasim ordered, eyeing the chimera. It was only a handful of feet away now. So close I could count the spots in its face, see the venom collecting at its tail.
Continuing to keep my movements slow, I drew the scimitar from the sheath and held it by my wounded side.
The chimera’s head lifted. My grip hardened around the pommel, adrenaline surged through my veins.
But then there was a commotion. Chatter, pots clanging together.
The chimera’s spotted ears went flat, teeth bared as it snarled. I squeezed my eyes shut. Jasim’s body curled tighter over mine, face in my neck, arm around my head. Trying to shield me as much as physically possible. Sand shifted as paws pounded. We braced, neither one of us breathing.
Nothing happened.
We didn’t move for several moments. But then Jasim dared to lift his head. His body relaxed against mine as he breathed, “It’s gone.”
I peeked open my eyes. Sure enough, the chimera had vanished. Chased off by the loud noise. As if he could read my mind, Jasim glanced over his shoulder. I followed his gaze.
In the distance, I could just make out the blond shapes of camels and the people riding atop them.
They were still far away, and part of our view was obstructed by the wide trunk of the cypress tree we’d camped under, but by the violet shade of their clothes, I knew they were merchants.
Probably traveling from Ketopolis to Reeda just like us.
And unwittingly saving our lives on the way.
I let go of the scimitar and sagged against the ground.
Letting out a deep breath, Jasim dropped his head, curls falling over his forehead and skimming my cheek. “Thank the gods. I was not looking forward to being a chimera’s breakfast.”
I laughed hoarsely. “It would have spit you right out.”
“I’ll have you know, I’m delicious.”
“Oh really? Covered in sweat and sand?”
“Seasoning.”
I laughed again. He lifted his head to grin at me, both of us nearly delirious with relief. We were all right. No assassin. No vicious beasts. I made a half-hearted attempt to swat his shoulder. Jasim easily caught my wrist and pinned it to the ground.
My laughter faded. With that one movement, I became hyperaware of his body on top of mine. Warm, firm. The calluses of his palm scratched against the sensitive skin of my wrist.
Jasim’s smile banked. So did his eyes. Irises going from dark sand to a midnight sky.
This was how we’d met three years ago. Sparring in the Khada Guard.
By then, I’d already been training with them for a few years, but in all that time, Jasim was the only one brave—or stupid—enough to actually put me on my ass.
The first to fight back, the first to look at me with something that was neither cruelty nor obsession, the first to call me his friend.
My first everything.
I licked my lips, and those dark eyes darted down to watch the movement. His breath dusted over my lips, so close I could practically taste him already. Warmth swirled in my stomach. “Thank you,” I murmured.
His voice was gravelly as he replied, “I promised to keep my queen alive, didn’t I?”
The usual warnings rang in my ears—it was a myth, an illusion, and so on—but with the residual adrenaline still flowing through my veins, my mind struggled to hear them.
An apology perched on my tongue. For hitting him.
For snapping at him. For the stupid words romantic entanglement.
He’d tease me for it—royals did not apologize, the Gods-Chosen did not, I never had. But I thought it might be worth it.
And then his gaze sank lower. To my side. “Sorry,” he mumbled, and released my wrist as he rolled off me.
I stared at the rustling leaves above me in blank surprise. Jasim had fucked me many times. He knew exactly when I was giving permission, and he’d never not seized that opportunity before.
“How’s your wound?” he asked.
When I looked at him, his eyes were firmly focused on my side. Which was stinging fiercely. But I said, “Fine.” Then I stood and brushed the sand off me, fire branding my cheeks.
Jasim merely nodded and stood, too, holstering his scimitar. He avoided my eyes. “We should get going, then.”
“Yeah.” I scratched my nape as I watched him ready our camels, my brows tight. Two seconds ago, he’d been willing to die for me. Now he couldn’t get away from me fast enough.
Unbidden, my nightmare rose in my mind. I hadn’t thought about that night in years, but the memory was so vivid, I could almost smell the pile of bodies.
Maybe King Zaid’s death had conjured it, or my own near end.
But as I dug my nails into the irritated skin of my neck, another thought occurred to me. One that made my blood chill.
Athar was the God of Mischief and Dreams. He was also Shaya’s son, and my half brother. It was possible he had sent me the memory. That he wanted to help me reach our father.
Sacrifices are necessary to reach him. You know that. But I needed a bigger one for this.
Jasim glanced over at me, holding the camels’ reins. “Ready?”
I stared at him as the thought took shape, calcified into a plan. I had intended to take Nasir’s best calf from Reeda and spill its blood in the Temple of Shaya. But if my nightmare had been a message from Athar, a cow would not be enough. I needed something bigger.
That horrible feeling crushed my chest again. Heavier. My ribs groaned beneath it.
As Jasim helped me onto the camel, careful of my wound, careful not to hurt me, my eyes burned, and an epiphany settled on my shoulders as loud as the cicadas chittering around us. Funny that I had never realized it before.
I was a really, really bad person.